I couldn't help but pace around the tiny room, my heart thudding uncomfortably in my chest. I gripped my wand in both hands, wringing it nervously, straining my ears to try and hear what was being said on the other side of the door. Unfortunately, Dumbledore's muffliato was enough to ensure that all I heard was an indistinct humming. Infuriating.
It had been four months since the parley in the orchard. Four months since the final defiance of James and Lily Potter. Four months since they had gone into hiding, and two months since the birth of their baby boy, Harry. Tom was certain Sirius Black was their secret-keeper, but Black turned out to be a slippery fellow, hard to pin down, and Tom was losing patience.
He had already sent Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange on the hunt for the other baby, Neville. His parents had been smart enough to send the child into hiding, but they hadn't stood a chance against two of Tom's most insidious Death Eaters. Rumor had it they were now holed up in St. Mungo's, too addled to be of any further use. No matter to Tom, however. He had since concluded that it must be the Potters' son whom was foretold by the prophecy. After all, why else would the rest of the Order be so bent on protecting his family? Tom never could understand friendship, loyalty and love.
Meanwhile, Severus Snape had completely lost his mettle and turned spy for Albus Dumbledore - a secret he had tried and failed to keep from me. He was still terrible at Occlumency. He was terrified when I confronted him about it, but I quickly reassured him.
"I'm not going to tell Our Lord," I had hissed, checking over my shoulder to make sure we were alone. "I want you to bring me to Dumbledore."
"What?" Snape had whispered, his black eyes nervous. "Why?"
"Same reason you went crawling to him, idiot," I'd spat. "I can't sit by and let Lord Voldemort hunt and murder an innocent baby."
"Such things never seemed to bother you before," Snape had sneered. I glowered at him.
"No, nor you," I retorted, "but this is different. Somehow this is bigger than all of us, and I must do something to stop it. Enough is enough. I've tried to reach out to Alastor Moody in the past, but he's shut me out. I must see Dumbledore." Reluctantly, Snape had agreed to arrange a meeting. A few weeks later, I'd found a note hidden under my teacup, telling me to come to The Hogshead pub in Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve.
So, here I was, for all the good it seemed to do. I had been ushered into this tiny drawing room by the unruly barkeep and locked inside. For all I knew, it was a set up. As I paced, I couldn't help but wonder if I was about to be ambushed by the Order any second. However, they'd left me my wand, which was a sign of goodwill. Finally, the door opened and in walked Snape, followed by Albus Dumbledore and, to my surprise, Alastor Moody.
"Alastor!" I cried, completely forgetting the cold, regal image I'd created for myself as I rushed to the aging Auror and hugged him. He didn't return the embrace, but grunted in my ear in a way that wasn't wholly unfriendly. He finally pried me off with a profound clearing of his throat.
"All right, all right, girl," he growled, his normal eye glistening as he looked me over, "calm down."
I swallowed hard, choking back tears. Dumbledore remained politely preoccupied with the tapestries, while Snape simply gawked at me. "Alastor, I'm so, so sorry," I said quietly. "I know you will never understand me, but can you forgive me?"
Moody frowned and seemed to chew his tongue for a moment in thought, his electric blue eye swiveling madly before coming to a halt on my left arm. He nodded curtly, gesturing toward my arm with his walking stick. "Let's see it, then," he gruffed. I glanced at Dumbledore, instinctively clutching my arm to my chest, and shook my head like a little girl being scolded by her father.
"Damn it, girl, we all know you've got one!" Moody barked, and reached out to grab my arm. He shoved my sleeve roughly up to my elbow, exposing the Dark Mark imprinted on the soft white flesh of my forearm. Dumbledore seemed to forget the tapestries, his sharp eyes drawn to the mark. Snape turned his face away. He was the only one in the room who understood the depth of shame that came with that mark.
Moody scowled at the mark for several long moments before throwing my arm away in disgust. I hurriedly tugged my sleeve back down, tears stinging my eyes. "Well," Moody said in a low, even voice, "I had to see it for myself. I half believed maybe it wasn't true. But it appears you are just a stupid as-"
"Thank you, Alastor," interrupted Dumbledore, his cool, calm voice covering my wounded pride like a balm. He turned to me with a mixture of sternness and compassion in his twinkling eyes. "Ms. Delacroix," he said calmly, "am I to understand that you have come here today seeking to make amends for your actions?"
I nodded, feeling every bit a school girl, rather than the proud, frightening Dark witch I had become. "Yes, sir," I answered. "I've wanted to help for so long, but wasn't sure how."
Dumbledore regarded me long and hard, his piercing eyes searching mine for any sign of duplicity. I steadied myself and met his gaze, willing him to look into my mind. I am totally repentant, I thought desperately. Let me prove myself. He nodded slowly, then turned his back to me and began a slow pace around the room. The air hung heavy with tension as Moody, Snape and I watched Dumbledore. I could almost hear the gears turning in that brilliant mind of his.
Finally, he stopped and turned to Snape and Moody. "Leave us," he said gently, "please." Snape immediately swept from the room, his black robes billowing behind him. Moody hesitated, his electric eye vibrating slightly as it glared at me.
"All due respect, Dumbledore, but I'd rather not leave you alone with-"
"I am in no danger from Ms. Delacroix," Dumbledore cut across him, kindly but firmly. Moody let out a low growl, shot me a withering look, then stumped away, slamming the door behind him. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
Silence hung for a few moments longer, before Dumbledore gestured to a chair and invited me to sit. He poured each of us a glass of Firewhiskey, toasted my health, and swallowed his measure with a satisfied gulp. I sipped mine gingerly, on tinterhooks, waiting for him to speak. Finally, he leaned forward, steepling his fingers against his beard, and smiled.
"Tell me, Ms. Delacroix," he said quietly, "what do you know about Astral Projection?"
My eyebrows went up and I frowned. This wasn't what I had expected. "I know as much as anyone, I expect," I answered. "Astral Projection is the act of separating one's spirit from one's body. Projecting it into another place or time. It's said to be extremely difficult, and very dangerous."
Dumbledore nodded. "Very dangerous, indeed," he said. "Just how far are you willing to go to protect the Potter child, Madam?"
I thought for a moment, biting my lip. Astral Projection was one of the rarest forms of magic, and had been known to wreak devastating consequences for witches and wizards who botched it. But I was no stranger to fear and danger. I had lived a lifetime alongside the most dangerous wizard of all time and lived to tell the tale. I swallowed the remainder of my Firewhiskey and banged the glass down onto the table. "I've been a slave to Lord Voldemort long enough," I said. "I'm willing to do whatever I can to reclaim my humanity. I want to help. I want to stop Tom Riddle."
"Good," said Dumbledore with a grim smile. "Then we begin."
Time seemed to move in slow motion over the following months. Snape and I kept up our dangerous game of sabotage, barely daring to look at each other lest Tom suspect anything. I spent every moment I could hide away studying Astral Projection, but it was proving more difficult than I had even imagined. Dumbledore seemed to think that my proclivity for Legilimency was a major advantage, but that was only projecting my mind and my thoughts. My spirit was a different matter.
I was also finding it more and more difficult to find time to be alone. Tom had been working on a top secret project for some time, and I could tell he was nearing success with whatever it was by the sharp upturn in his manic glee. As ever, the happier he was, the more he wanted me around - a fact that would have been romantic in any normal relationship, but in the case of my torrid affair with Lord Voldemort, it felt like a tightening of chains.
It was a balmy afternoon in late April when Tom summoned me to the garden. I had been holed up in my room studying Astral Projection, so I took a few minutes to hide my mind, drawing a thick veil of Occlumency over my betrayal lest Tom should try to peek into my head.
When I reached the garden, I found not only Tom, but the Lestranges, both resplendant with glee, and a vaguely familiar young wizard on his hands and knees, a trickle of blood running down his temple. He was breathing heavily, spitting blood from his swollen mouth. Tom was pacing back and forth in front of the young man, and looked up when I approached.
"Ah, my Lady, you're just in time," he said, sweeping over to me and taking me up in an intimate embrace. I could see the old manic red gleam in his eyes, feel the dangerous static of dark magic that enveloped him, hear the deadly croon in his voice which almost always meant coming death and destruction. I felt an instant of dread, but decades of practice mastered me, and I smiled brilliantly back at Lord Voldemort as he ushered me over to where the young man now sat back on his knees, his fists clenched in his lap.
"Amelie, I'd like you to meet young Regulus Black," Tom said cheerfully. Bellatrix giggled darkly.
"Charmed, I'm sure," I said, looking down my nose at Black, whose eyes were bright with determination and fear. When several moments passed with no answer from Black, Tom stepped deftly forward and grasped him by the hair, his fist close to Black's scalp, wrenching him to his feet.
"Tsk, tsk," Tom clucked, his voice wavering between a laugh and a growl, "such poor manners. Not what I've come to expect from the noble and most ancient house of Black. You will greet my Lady as befits her station." Tom released his hair and shoved him forward, so that he stumbled closer to me. "Bow, Regulus," he commanded.
Black glared at me with hatred in his eyes, and without a word he spat at my feet. Almost instantly Tom was upon him, throwing him to the ground and raining blow after blow with his bare fists. Bellatrix cheered, Rodolphus looked on with an expression of boredom, and I watched from behind my careful veil of nonchalance, as Tom beat Black to a bloody pulp.
Finally he stopped, his hands covered in blood, and he turned to me with that maniacal grin. "Do you know why young Regulus came to call today, my dear?" Tom said conversationally, while Black bled and moaned on the ground behind him.
"To congratulate you on your recent successes, I'm sure?" I said sarcastically. Tom laughed.
"Yes, that is what I expected, too! After all, Regulus has been integral to my most recent project. I gave him the highest of honors in his assignment, charging him with something I wouldn't trust to just anyone," Tom said.
"He certainly looks honored," I laughed, and the Lestranges joined in with loud and raucous snickers. Black was attempting to sit up, but seemed dizzy behind his swollen eyes. Tom heaved a great, theatrical sigh.
"He had such promise, too," he said, suddenly serious. "I had great hopes for him. But he came here today asking to be relieved of duty. It seems our young friend no longer wishes to be a Death Eater."
"Eat death before death eats you!" sang Bellatrix before falling into a fit of insane laughter.
I spared a long look at Black, masking a familiar ache of sadness with a cold sneer. I shook my head, exhaled a very genuine sigh, and said, "Oh, Regulus, you know better."
Tom seemed to think my statement very funny, and he laughed long and hard, chorused by the Lestranges, while Black watched with a resigned look on his bloody face. When Tom's laughter died, a dark silence rang in the garden. The mirth drained from his handsome face as he turned to me with a dangerous look. I felt suddenly as though ice had dropped into my stomach. He knew.
"He does know better," Tom said with a slow nod. "I hope you know better, too, my love." We locked eyes and I could feel him prodding at the edges of my mind. But my Occlumency was unparalleled, even by Voldemort. I frowned.
"Tom, how could you even think that I would want to leave your service? To leave you?"
Tom regarded me for a long moment, then waved a hand at the Lestranges. "Leave us," he commanded, and they Disapparated without a word. Regulus sat on the grass, watching us with detached interest. Tom closed the distance between us and held my face between his bloody hands.
"I can't put my finger on it, but something has changed," he murmured, red eyes poring into mine. "I feel as though I'm losing you."
"You could never. I live and breathe to serve you, my Lord," I said breathlessly, trying to ignore the slick wetness of Black's blood on my skin. "Tom, I love you." That much was still true.
He held my face for a few moments longer before he stepped back and took out his wand. The breath caught in my throat, as for a brief moment I was sure my life was at an end. Surprisingly, however, Tom turned the wand around and held it out to me, handle first. "Prove it," he said.
I didn't have to ask what he meant. A young, foolish defector of a Death Eater sat bleeding on the ground, and Tom was demanding proof of my loyalty. I took a deep breath and raised my chin, taking Tom's wand in my hand. He stepped aside, revealing the sad form of Regulus Black, but never took his eyes off me.
Black's eyes met mine as I raised the wand. With a flash of Legilimency I pushed into Black's mind, inserting just two words: Forgive me. Black gave the smallest of nods, his dark eyes registering something like pity for me. He set his bloodied jaw. I swallowed my growing anguish.
"Avada kedavra!" I cried, and Regulus Black was no more.