CHAPTER 11: CLEAN AGAIN

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"Compassion is not weakness."

-Hubert H. Humphrey

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Lord Voldemort's eyes almost seemed to glow in the dimness, his walk steady and in no rush, and his hands clasped behind his back. His black hair blended with the darkness of the hall and the white contours of his face were eerie…to someone who had been looking at silver masks all night as Regulus had, the Dark Lord's features resembled a skull. His skin and countenance seemed slightly blurred as if he were a ghost made corporeal somehow. He was cloaked in black with green velvet embellishments and Kreacher's ears could be seen sticking out behind his figure as the elf obediently followed this highest of masters.

"My Lord," Regulus breathed. He cast his eyes down. "I had not expected—"

"I see you assisted in this evening's diversion," Voldemort interrupted, a curt nod gesturing to Regulus' wind-blown hair as he reached his young servant.

"My apologies, my Lord," Regulus replied. "If I had known to expect you, I would never have allowed my appearance to be so disheveled."

Voldemort's lips twitched, pleased. "Your smooth tongue does you credit, Mr. Black."

"Thank you, my Lord," Regulus said humbly. "You grace our household with your visit. How may I serve you?"

"I have merely come for just that—a visit. I trust rounds went well?" He began walking slowly back down the hall in the direction Regulus had come from, and Regulus followed at his side.

"Flawlessly, my Lord."

"You are tired," he observed.

"I always have the energy to serve you, my Lord," Regulus answered.

Voldemort's lips twitched again. "Your elf has been showing me around the place—I had not quite seen all of it yet though I have been here often. It is a fine manor."

"Thank you, my Lord. Every stone is at your disposal."

Voldemort chuckled; a low, silky sound. "If the rest of my followers but had your composure, discipline and wit, Mr. Black, things would go much more smoothly," he observed. It was a high compliment and Regulus blinked twice. "I feel certain you will serve me well in the years to come."

Regulus was about to open the door for him to the fireplace room where most were still enjoying themselves, but Voldemort shook his head once and put a bony white hand to his lips in an odd, ancient gesture. "No no," he said in a low voice. "I need not deal with them all tonight and aid in drinking the rest of your father's good brandy." They continued down the hall. "I, like you, are anticipating today's end." He was looking ahead of him and speaking conversationally with his bony hands behind his back as if the two of them were old friends, but Regulus knew much better. The Dark Lord had a motive for everything he did. And right now he was singling Regulus out. Why?

"It is a weakening of our spirits and body, fatigue," the Dark Lord continued. "It marks a lack of strength and drive. Much the same lack of strength that those who would deny the righteousness of our cause suffer from." They had reached the grand front doors. Voldemort turned to look levelly at Regulus. "The strength that separates those who will go to any lengths to clear the path, and those too weak to do so."

Regulus was silent.

"I would hate to see weakness such as that in you, Mr. Black," Voldemort murmured. "You are so very promising."

"You shall not, my Lord," Regulus said in a low voice in reply.

Voldemort gave him a last indecipherable look and then was gone with a low whooshing crack.

Regulus closed his eyes and let his breath out with a loud gust. He walked to a wall and then leaned his back heavily against it.

"Lord Master is very regal," Kreacher breathed. "He is very powerful. Lord Master singles Master Regulus out. Lord Master honors Master Regulus. Lord Master honors the Black house, honors Kreacher to serve him…"

Regulus wasn't listening. He numbly shoved off the wall and walked back into the fireplace room. Some had left, and still others took leave after politely speaking briefly with Regulus a last time. Crabbe pocketed a few high-quality Firewhiskeys before Apparating out. Barty drained his whiskey, said goodbye to Regulus, and left as well. Regulus found himself alone with Severus Snape but for Kreacher who was now cleaning up. Able to be more comfortable in front of Severus who he'd gone to school with, Regulus dropped into an armchair with a groan.

Severus chuckled, loosening up as well now that the intimidating company had vacated. He came over to take another armchair. "That's about how I feel," he replied. "One has to be on ones toes with our lot."

Regulus nodded slowly.

"The flight was fun, though," Severus continued, almost to himself. "Did you see that one witch Apparate in such a state that she left her skirt and a shoe?" He sniggered.

"No, I missed that," Regulus replied.

Severus was quiet for a few moments, then asked in a different tone, "Do you still talk to Lenna Albeney sometimes?"

Though taken aback, Regulus didn't show a hint of it. He snorted softly and muttered, "What, that Ravenclaw who tutored me in Potions?"

Severus' lips thinned and his eyebrows pulled together in annoyance. "Regulus, I know you fancied her. You'd stare at her like someone had done a form-freezing jinx on your face."

"Well, you're one to talk," Regulus replied, rolling his eyes as if it was all old history. "You used to trot after Evans like she held the answers to all of life's questions."

Severus' features twisted as if in pain, but his words were smooth. "Albeney spoke to her often—they were friends in Potions. Do you know if she still talks to—er, Evans?" He was trying to sound casual, but his leaned-forward posture, clasped hands and intent eyes negated it completely. It looked to Regulus as if he wasn't the only one with a forbidden love. He was surprised Severus would trust him with such information.

"It's 'Potter' now, innit?" Regulus muttered, looking into the fire.

"Yes," Severus answered with another spasm of pain.

"Poor girl," Regulus chuckled. "Severus, I can't say I keep up contact with Albeney anymore. What we had was a long time ago and what with me being here and her probably off curing diseases in Africa or something, we're real different people now. But we parted ways on good terms. If you like, I can see if my owl can still find her and I'll ask about Lily."

"Thank you," Severus replied, his face lightening.

"You'd think there would be other ways than through me, though, Severus."

Severus looked away, frustration in his eyes. "She and—and Potter are well hidden. No one I could talk to knows anything and people that would know certainly won't tell me. She used to send letters sometimes, to say how she was doing and what's been going on in her life, but a letter hasn't come for a long time."

"And you're worried," Regulus finished softly.

Severus turned his head to glare at him as if just realizing how much trouble he could get in for informing someone of his heartache. But Regulus reached out and put his hand on Severus' shoulder.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, mate," he said gently. "They'd have you believe otherwise" —he tilted his head toward the door— "but don't believe it."

"What would you know?" Severus sneered. "The way you act, it seems like you've never felt anything strongly in your life."

"And believe me," Regulus replied in a low voice, withdrawing his hand, "I work hard to appear that way." He stood. "Now, no offense, but I'm about dead on my feet right now and will be going up to bed. You're welcome to spend the night here, or you can go—er, where exactly are you living nowadays, anyway?"

"Spinner's End," Severus replied, his expression flat. Regulus nodded.

"Alright, well, up to you. But I will say goodnight." He downed the rest of someone's glass of brandy that was sitting on the table beside his armchair and began walking toward the doorway. "Kreacher, you did well today," he said, pausing before leaving the doorframe.

"Thank you, Master Regulus," the elf exclaimed, beaming. "Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black and all its guests!"

"And Severus," Regulus continued, "it was good to talk to you. You're one of the few of us I can actually do so with, and I'll remember about that owl to Albeney. Have a goodnight."

Severus nodded in response and Regulus left the room. After a few steps he heard the pop of Severus Apparating out of Grimmauld Place. Regulus Apparated up to his room, opened and closed a few drawers, and ran the sink water in the adjoining bathroom to give the usual pretense of going to bed in his own room, then he Apparated into the hall of Lenna's apartment complex, said the password spell that unlocked the doorway's enchantments, and unlocked the door with a flick of his wand.

He slipped off his shoes and shut the door quietly behind him; it glowed a soft purple for a moment as the enchantments reset. Knowing the apartment well by now, he deftly maneuvered through the darkness into her bedroom and by the light of the streetlamps shining inside through her window, he gazed at her sleeping form in bed. Rarely had he felt so tainted. He'd spoken to the Dark Lord tonight. How could he come here? How could he continue to bring himself and all the evil that came with him into her sanctuary?

He leaned against the wall beside the bed and slid silently down it until he was sitting on the floor. Her face was turned toward him and it was peaceful, flawless, innocent…beautiful. Regulus dropped his head into his hands and his body shook with heavy, harsh breathing.

"Come to bed, Regulus," came her gentle voice.

Regulus' head snapped up and he stared into her open eyes. His eyes felt bloodshot. He shook his head jerkily. "I'm dirty," he whispered.

"I will make you clean again," she whispered back and reached her arm out from under the covers, extending her hand toward him. A life line to a drowning man. Regulus swallowed and after a moment, reached out and put his hand in hers. He lifted himself on his shaky legs and climbed slowly into her warm bed.

Lenna took him in her arms and kissed away the memory of the fear on the villagers' faces, the hot prickle of his Mark, and the image of the Dark Lord's piercing eyes. She caressed his face and the last hard lines and pressure points of stress melted away under her hands. Her lips found his and his world righted itself and shook itself clean as the unmasked and unadulterated core of him resurfaced.

He had no energy to speak and drifted off soundly as she held him tenderly in the darkness, cleansing his dirty skin with her goodness.

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