Chapter 37: Legacy

…

"There's an awful lot of blood around that water is thicker than."

-Mignon Mclaughin

…

Kreacher loved the holidays.

He had scrubbed and polished every inch of Grimmauld Place until it shone, and hung wreaths, holly, and mistletoe. A great vase of poinsettia sat in the middle of the long dining table and smaller arrangements of the flower decorated coffee tables. In all main rooms, a tall pine fastened with golden balls glittered in a corner or against a wall. Towels in the bathrooms were a matching green and gold.

Regulus chewed on a chocolate truffle from a batch the elf had made earlier as he leaned against the counter in the kitchen. His mother was at the table writing slowly on a roll of fine parchment.

The holidays made Regulus miss his brother. They had never really spent any time together at school, but during their younger years they would both come home for Christmas break together and forget their differences once in a while for a snowball fight or ordering Kreacher to make their favorite holiday toffee. They would sometimes both pick up a book in the evenings and read late into the night in front of the great fireplace, sharing ideas if one of them read something particularly interesting or thought of something to comment on.

Sirius would always inevitably get into a fight with one or both of their parents—or sometimes even Kreacher, as the two of them had an old animosity toward one another, especially right before he was disowned, when he had "broken Mistress' heart" by moving out—but in the times when his family wasn't screaming at one another, it had been nice to have him home.

Regulus remembered the first Christmas Sirius had been invited to stay at the Potters all break—it was the same year months later when he had left for good, abandoning his family and his parent's wishes for his future. After he was gone, Orion and Walburga had compensated for their loss with being extra pressuring and involved toward their younger son.

Regulus chewed slowly, glancing at his mother and then away from her. He brought a hand up to touch his inside pocket where his wedding band hid. Sirius didn't even know he was married.

No one did.

No one he had shared the majority of his life with knew. The thought made Regulus feel alien in his own home.

After a minute he was about to ask his mother where his father was, but then the question was answered for him as the deep tones of his father's raised voice could be heard from upstairs. Regulus couldn't discern his words but he also heard Kreacher's voice—unusually high-pitched as he attempted to defend himself from Orion's accusations.

Regulus flinched as he heard a crash and then Kreacher's pleas. His mother had not even blinked at the noise. Orion continued to storm and rage and abuse the elf. It was not until long after the confrontation had ceased and his father had sequestered himself in his study that Regulus climbed the stairs quietly. He too had been on the receiving end of his father's temper, but Orion would never physically abuse his family as he would the elf.

He turned the small tarnished handle and ducked into the un-needed storage space upstairs where he knew he would find Kreacher bandaging himself. He put a finger to his lips as he shut the tiny door and then couched low as he moved toward the elf. When he took away his finger, Kreacher immediately whispered passionately, "Kreacher is very well, Master Regulus. He's very well, Master Regulus does not need to—"

"Master Regulus wants to," he replied quietly and took the bandages from Kreacher and began to dress his scrapes and bloodied limbs himself. Kreacher's small eyes brimmed with tears and he turned his head as if to hide them. He murmured "Thank you, Master Regulus, thank you" every few moments.

Regulus felt a swell of something warm inside him akin to pride as he dressed some scrapes and healed the worst of the damage with his wand. In this regard he was not his parents' son. Kreacher was a product of the life he had led within these walls: he was prejudiced against Muggle borns and blood traitors, idealized dark magic and those who wielded its power, and was so unreservedly loyal to the Black family that he held no resentment after being treated in this malicious manner. Some might say that his hinges were a tad loose in that regard. But Regulus knew that however different or lowly the elf was, he felt the same pains. He too suffered under unkindness and treasured decency. Regulus was also fairly certain, with the ache of bitter truth that was hard to accept, that the elf was the only being in the house that truly cared for him as the person he was.

"Kreacher will do better," he vowed fervently, wiping his nose with the back of his bony hand.

"You're doing very well. For instance, your truffles are delicious."

"They are Master Regulus' favorite." Kreacher smiled.

Regulus chuckled. "Yes, they are. You shall make Master Regulus fat." As the elf's face fell, he added quickly, "Which is a good thing."

"Thank you, Master," Kreacher said a last time before Regulus left the storage space that was Kreacher's hideaway.

He went into his bedroom and shut the door. Absently he checked his watch for what might have been the twentieth time that evening. There was still some time before he was expected at the Christmas party. He looked over at his desk drawer and couldn't help scowling at it. In it were his notes on Horcruxes and the possible locations of the Dark Lord's. He had looked over them again and again, brainstorming, but again and again got nowhere. The drawer now seemed to be mocking his lack of success from across the room.

He forced himself to look away from it, and shoved some clothes and a toothbrush into a duffle bag which he then shrunk and slipped into his pocket. He was staying overnight tonight either at Cal and Grace's or at Lenna's apartment. He then lay back on his bed, lounging, and picked up the folded Daily Prophet that Kreacher had placed there earlier for him. He scanned the paper for Lenna's name but it didn't look like she had an article in it that day. His eyes found his face a few pages in where all the known Death Eaters were glaring up at the reader in warning. They had a family photo of him, not an Azkaban mug shot, and therefore he was one of the handsomer faces.

Another face caught his eye and he had to cast his memory back a few months to remember where he'd seen it. In a small square looking up from the solemn obituaries in the back was one of the men whose body Death Eaters had eradicated on Halloween. Regulus refused to let his eyes move beneath the photo. He didn't want to know where the man had worked, what his name was, or what family he had left behind.

The list of names on the list of missing was even longer this week…

Regulus crunched the paper in his hands and threw it off of the bed. He rubbed his jaw, eyes brooding. Lenna was still safe…the Dark Lord had no idea about her…but Regulus had a nagging bad feeling that he had been beginning to come down harder on him—as if he suspected something. Regulus still had never taken a life for the Dark Lord…and he wondered—even as well as he disguised and buried his true feelings—if Voldemort could sense his hatred for the servitude he had pledged himself to give. Secrets are nigh impossible to keep from Lord Voldemort, and here he was trying to secretly deal a blow that would facilitate his destruction. Not getting anywhere, of course…but still. Trying. Right under his nose.

Regulus knew he was in danger. He was always in danger. Both he and Len knew that. It didn't make it easier. He didn't know if he had years or weeks. And there was no way he could pass on his knowledge of the Dark Lord's secret without mortality endangering whoever it was he told. Lenna was in enough danger already. He was not about to put her in more, even if it meant letting this crucial information die with him.

'Die with him'—how morbid. He was about to go to a Christmas party. He needed to cheer up.

Regulus walked into his bathroom and shaved and preened himself so he would look nice. He left a stubble on his chin, though, as Len liked a little facial hair. He changed into clean clothes—a warm gray sweater and casual pants and shoes.

He looked at his watch again and was surprised to see it was passed the time he had planned on leaving. Lost in thought, he hadn't realized the passage of time. He closed his bedroom door behind him and walked swiftly down the dark hallway and down the stairs to the front coat closet. He pulled out his fur-lined winter cloak and shrugged it on as he went back into the kitchen. His mother looked up and surveyed him as he pulled a square dish with a cover out of a cupboard and began filling it with truffles.

Feeling her eyes on him, he muttered, "I won't be back tonight."

"Where are you going?"

"A friend's party."

"Whose?"

"I'm a grown adult and don't need to divulge every facet of my life to you," was his curt response. Walburga's lips mashed together in displeasure.

"Your father wished to speak to you."

Regulus grimaced. "Very well." Holding the dish of truffles in one arm, he went into his father's study. Orion was reading a letter in an armchair and looked up expressionlessly as his son entered the room.

"You wished to speak to me?"

"There are some new books in our concealed basement room."

"Yes. The Dark Lord asked Lucius to put them in a safe place and Lucius chose Grimmauld Place. I put the books there myself. Lucius doesn't know of the room."

Orion rubbed his jaw; it was the same motion Regulus did when he was thinking. He didn't like noticing similarities between him and his father. Handsome features and an ugly personality was a legacy of the Black family. Though age had lined, stooped, and grayed him, Orion had once been just as handsome as both his sons, in fact Sirius and Regulus looked very like him, though perhaps they had their mother's finer nose. It was as if Regulus had watched his parents deteriorate through the years, both in looks and disposition. His mother had always been haughty and short-tempered even when he and Sirius were boys, but Regulus remembered times when she had been softer. When she had been a mother to him. After all, he was her prized son, the default seeing as her eldest had been such a disappointment. They had lavished praise and attention upon him enough to inflate his head to ignorance. But now she was angry, aloof, detached… Orion had always been absent for much of Regulus' life, but he could still remember being educated by him in this study—a time alone with his father that he had much valued. He remembered Christmases and birthdays. Trips to Germany, Norway, Brazil… Now, excepting their physical similarities, he barely recognized the man in front of him.

"Those books, they're of a rare kind," Orion grunted. "Dark stuff, Regulus."

"I would expect nothing else, if the Dark Lord wants them guarded."

"You be careful of that."

"I'm not going to use them, if that's what you're getting at, father."

"You use them if you need to," he dismissed, "but I'm glad to hear they're not yours."

"No, they're not mine."

Orion eyed his cloak and the truffles. "You're headed out."

"Yes."

His father nodded and looked back at his letter which Regulus took as cue to leave. He walked out of the house and Apparated away on the doorstep.

…