Chapter Thirty-Seven
"Reckless Fool"

May 2nd, 1992
Gringotts Wizarding Bank

It was a little soothing to know that her rage over finding out that Dumbledore had unknowingly been employing a Death Eater—and possibly some form of Voldemort—was met with equal fury by the goblins after figuring out that the break-in they'd suffered last year had likely been made by the same person.

Ragnok had been in a snit for an hour. Bogrod, one of Dorea's personal account managers, stayed with her in the office to take down notes and any potential thoughts she had that might assist the goblins, who were determined to help locate the now missing Quirinius Quirrell.

It made her sick to her stomach to know that the man, and therefore, very likely Voldemort himself, had not only been inside of Hogwarts and so close to her grandson, but that Dorea had confronted him once at the Board of Governors meeting, and had not suspected anything about him other than incompetence. She had even shared angry words with Minerva about the fact that Harry had been injured when under Quirrell's supervision for detention. Thankfully, Minerva was well aware that Dorea needed to vent her frustrations as a grandmother, and once that was done, the two were able to get back to sorting through what to do next. She had also promised that from that point forward, any detentions assigned to Harry—or any of the children related to coven members—would be handled directly by her or Severus Snape.

Despite being a former Death Eater himself, the man had proved himself helpful to the coven multiple times. Even Harry had written home after the last incident with the older Slytherin boys, stating that he was shocked but glad that Professor Snape had been the one to see the fight.

Bogrod set down a parchment in front of her, and Dorea pricked her finger, pressing it to the page. Like many times before in the bank, it glowed gold before settling into the paper.

"Please extend my gratitude to Ragnok and the rest of the horde over your organisation and openness about the artefacts in our vaults," she said with a smile, watching in amusement at how Bogrod still, after all these years, stared at her as though she were his own piece of deity due to her dragon blood. "I'm very pleased that all of the goblin-made items have been returned to their rightful owners."

Bogrod nodded, taking the scroll. "We still can't access the vault of Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Soon," Dorea said. "I know it's a bother because the vault likely contains many things. We'll figure out a way to access it without breaking any goblin law."

She knew it bothered them, sticking to their own rules. Despite being a Black and under coven law now, Bellatrix's vault had been reassigned under the Lestrange blood, and no one but her or her husband and his idiot brother were allowed inside. Goblins were proud of their security at Gringotts—which was why Quirrell getting away with breaking in had become such a thorn in their side—and despite the fact that all owners of the vault were in Azkaban, they could not break their own rules and just enter, taking things without permission. It would make them thieves.

With her business at the bank done, Dorea left the private room, a respectful nod given to Bogrod as she stepped through the open door.

"We will send word of any news, should it cross our desks, Dorea Opaleye."

"As ever, you are a gracious host, Master Bogrod."

"Even goblins adore you."

Turning around at the familiar voice, Dorea was surprised to see Tiberius standing there in finer robes than before. His silver hair had been pulled back, half of it secured behind his head with the remainder hanging down to his shoulders. The finely pressed dark robes looked good on him, but she was a liar if she said she didn't prefer the ones that looked more comfortable.

"Mister Ogd—" she began to say, but stopped at the look of incredulous amusement on his face. "Tiberius. It's good to see you. I hope only good things bring you to the bank today."

He chuckled, patting one of his pockets, the coins within jingling. "Just came to look over the monthly account statements and make a little withdrawal. Nothing requiring the personal assistance of goblins. Tell me," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "do they worship you behind those closed doors?"

"Oh, hush," she scolded playfully, stepping forward and giving him a good shove in the shoulder. "The goblins have always been very respectful and helpful."

"Opaleye?"

Sighing lightly, Dorea rolled her eyes a bit. "It's no secret now how I survived my illness. And goblins are quite enamoured of dragons."

Grinning, Tiberius shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Well, dragons are known to horde a bit of gold now and then."

Smirking, Dorea replied, "Among other things."

He laughed, a pleasantly rough sound that made her cheeks warm just a bit. "I do love a woman with secrets."

"As long as she's allowed to keep them," she said with a challenging lift to her brow. "I'd hate to see what happens to a man who dared to suss them out."

"I wouldn't dream of it, my dear lady." He held his arm out to her. "May I escort you back into Diagon? Perhaps if I play my cards right, I could convince you to hop into Florean's with me."

She took his arm, hesitating only briefly before breathing in the scent of cinnamon that seemed to cling to his robes as though the scent were woven into the very fabric. "Whisky for breakfast and ice cream for lunch? Are you certain you've left Hogwarts? Perhaps you're actually just two small Hufflepuffs in a large set of robes with a fake beard."

He tugged on his beard with his free hand. "Good Sticking Charm, that."

As Tiberius led her down the steps of the bank and into Diagon Alley, talking endlessly about his favourite flavours of ice cream, and how he had known Florean back when they had attended Hogwarts together, Dorea thought about his previous offer of dinner. She'd let busywork of the coven consume her thoughts during her every waking moment, but every so often, a glimmer of Tiberius's smile would edge its way into her mind.

The rest of her coven, Minerva and Augusta excluded, were mostly going on with their lives outside of coven business.

Cassie claimed to have a fleet of lovers, though Dorea was pretty certain that her sister was actually in love with Aberforth. Callidora, Cedrella, and Lucretia had been happily married for decades. Even her younger nieces, Andromeda and Narcissa were joyful in their unions. Camilla was in a long term relationship with Pomona Sprout, Nymphadora was not being nearly as secretive about her relationship with Bill Weasley, and Theia had been with Remus for over a year now. Mary was married with little ones underfoot, and even Jacintha had been courting with Thoros since the prior autumn. Only Belina refused to get involved in romantic affairs, having a general dislike of people outside of the family.

Dorea wondered if there was something about losing a husband to death that made everything harder. She, Minerva, and Augusta were similar in that way, but she also knew that the others had their own reasons for not pursuing another man's affections: Augusta preferred her solitude, and Minerva was too busy with her students to bother. Dorea tried to use the coven as an excuse, or Harry, or Sirius, or . . . but it all seemed to come up short.

Excuses. She could hear the word echoing around in her head in the gentle timbre of Charlus's voice.

Swallowing a bit of her pride—bitter in taste—Dorea interrupted Tiberius's ramblings as they approached Florean's. "I don't want ice cream."

He stopped and looked at her, his brows drawn together. Only then did she realised that her tone had been harsh.

Flushing, she brought a hand to her face and sighed, looking down. "I'm out of practice here, please forgive me."

His features softened, and Tiberius smiled. "Didn't realise one needed to practice eating ice cream."

Shooting him a slightly irritated look for his cheek, she was further annoyed that he seemed completely at ease with her narrowed gaze. "Dinner," she finally blurted out. The sudden look of surprise in his eyes was pleasant. At least she could catch him off guard, which made her feel better.

Eventually, he smiled, retaking his casual posture. "You'd rather have ice cream for dinner?"

Scoffing loudly, Dorea withdrew her arm from the crook of his elbow and threw both of her hands up. "Oh, you're positively insufferable, do you know that?"

Grinning from ear to ear, his eyes crinkling in the corners, Tiberius nodded. "I've been told as much. So dinner? Tonight? How about I take you to the Winter Willow?"

Dorea cleared her throat, thinking of the restaurant he had in mind. It was fancy, but private in the seating arrangements, or so she had been informed. Jacintha and Narcissa had both recommended it to her plenty of times. "I'll see you at seven."

Despite the pressing concern of what to say if Sirius were to see her getting dressed to go out that night, Dorea enjoyed primping in front of the mirror before dinner. She put aside her normal robes, favouring a deep burgundy tea length dress with a modest neckline. The colour was just a shade darker than her hair—despite the few strands of silver she found every so often. Thanks to the dragon blood, her health was almost always at its peak, so instead of the dark colours washing out her skin, her cheeks blossomed with a healthy pink glow that she stubbornly refused to associate with the flush of anticipation coming from a suitor.

Her worries about Sirius were far from her mind as her son had apparently found a new job. It was the third in as many months, but she refused to complain about his flighty personality, as the work—temporary or otherwise—at least got him out of the house.

She arrived at the restaurant exactly on time, shocked to see Tiberius already waiting for her, and wearing a comfortable-looking blazer and pressed trousers. His shoes were old and worn, and looked like they had not been shined in quite a few years, but she genuinely enjoyed the sight of him, looking so very at ease in his own skin. He was a man who had lived a long life and had zero qualms about falsifying whatever it was he was selling.

His smile was wide as he approached her, kissing the back of her hand before cupping it in both of his and sending a warmth all the way up her arm. "You are a vision, as ever."

"You clean up quite nicely," she said with a smirk. "Tossed out the fancy robes, I see."

He playfully scoffed, rolling his eyes. "My business attire, I assure you. You, however, seem to come with accessories?"

Confused, she watched as he reached his hand out toward her face. Thinking that he was going to touch her emerald earrings, she tilted her head to the side to allow him a look. They were too expensive, but they had been a gift from James years back. Charlus had offered to pay him a certain amount for helping to wrangle several flutterby bushes in the garden that were infested with doxies.

Instead of touching her earrings, however, Tiberius pulled his hand back after gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing a small pink feather.

Glaring at the offensive little thing, Dorea muttered, "Little shit," under her breath.

That earned her a bright grin from Tiberius. "Dare I ask?"

Sighing, she pulled her hand back and adjusted her hair, silently checking for more feathers. "I happen to have a loose fwooper in my home," she said tersely. "I plan on roasting him on a spit the moment I'm able to catch the rotten thing."

"Violent little witch," Tiberius said with a wink, tucking the feather into his breast pocket as though it were a silk pocket square. "Shall we?"

The food was delicious and the waitstaff absolutely delightful. Tiberius was apparently a regular, so they were treated like celebrities long before the first waitress realised who Dorea was. The poor girl had stammered out nervous apologies after dropping the water, forgetting for several minutes that it was a magical establishment and she had a wand in her apron before she stopped mopping up the mess with a napkin.

"I can't tell if they adore you or are afraid of you," Tiberius said, looking at her as though either option would please him.

Dorea brought her glass of champagne to her lips, sipping lightly and swallowing before whispering, "I do enjoy both."

They made small talk here and there, chatting about how the weather was clearing up, and how neither of them currently had much confidence in the Minister—considering his appointment of Umbridge—but since it seemed that things under his hand ran smoothly for the time being, there wasn't too much to complain about.

"Wish things at Hogwarts ran as a smoothly," she said softly, turning her attention down to her mostly empty plate, poking idly at a few remaining roasted carrots with her fork.

Touching her free hand, Tiberius said, "It can't be easy. After everything you've been through, I mean. I don't have children of my own, but I remember when you and your coven made your little entrance in the Wizengamot. I thought you were brilliant. I saw the paper before, with you and your grandson. It must be hard with him gone most of the year."

Smiling sadly, she nodded. "It's harder than I thought it would be." Clearing her throat, she opted to change the subject. "Why did you never marry and have children?"

Laughing, Tiberius took a sip of his whisky. She watched carefully as he savoured the flavour, glancing down at the glass with each sip to examine the colour as though it would change each time. "I was always too busy. I know I worked hard for what I have, but I'd be a fool to admit that luck didn't have a good part in it as well. Seemed like anytime that things started to settle enough for me to get out much, new opportunities opened up for me. Besides, I have nieces and nephews. My brother Titus married very young. I was happy to play uncle."

"I wonder if my sister feels the same way," she said, thinking of Cassie and always wondering if her sister didn't secretly wish her life had taken a different path. "Are you and your brother close?"

Tiberius shook his head. "He died ten years back." When Dorea opened her mouth to offer condolences, he cut her off with a small smile and a subtle wave of his hand. "He had a good life. It was an accident outside of St Mungo's. Some people tend to forget that the whole street isn't magical. He was hit by a car. He was instantly dead, or so the Healers say."

"It's still hard to lose someone," Dorea said. "Do you still keep in touch with his family?"

Tiberius nodded after another sip of his drink, still looking down at the glass as he swallowed. "My nephew went off to tour the world after Hogwarts. Found a pretty girl in Tokyo to settle down with. They both teach at Mahoutokoro. I stay close with both of my nieces. Roslynn married into the McLaggen family, and they've got a boy in Hogwarts now. I'm closer with Rosie since she peddles my wares." After Dorea raised a curious brow, Tiberius smirked, "She runs the Three Broomsticks up in Hogsmeade. Sells only Ogden's best, good girl. None of that Blishen's shit."

"Your niece is Rosmerta?" Dorea asked. "She and my son . . . I mean to say—"

Nodding, Tiberius chuckled. "I met your boy once, you know. Outside of that trial, I mean. He's a good lad. Seems a bit lost, and Rosmerta's not really one to settle down. She tells me they broke up amicably, and she'd be happy to see him come around if he's ever in the area."

Thinking about Sirius and how happy he had seemed with Rosmerta, Dorea wondered if she had pushed him in regards to Hammond. "He was happy with her, but . . . Sirius doesn't yet know his path, I think. He's having troubles with his current boyfriend. I don't know all of the details, but one of his close friends confided in me that they were assaulted in London by some Muggles last autumn. Despite living his whole life in a magical environment, I sometimes think Sirius would prefer to be around Muggles. None of them know who he is, who his mother is, or . . . or who his godson is."

The conversation briefly halted when the waitress returned, still flushed red with embarrassment over her earlier accident. She said nothing but gave them both smiles as she took their plates.

"Does he work there?" Tiberius asked once the girl departed. "Your son. Does he work in London?"

Laughing quietly, Dorea shook her head. "He's on a career hunt, these days. He tried a little stint with the Knight Bus, but apparently didn't get along well with the driver. Then he tried assisting Ollivander for a week. Some twenty-something boy came in with a broken wand, and the first that Sirius handed him sent sparks off and nearly set his hair on fire. He's trying his hand as an expert at the Museum of Muggle Curiosities this week. I'll give it until next Monday before he realises he can't play with all the items and gets bored."

Finishing off his whisky, Tiberius picked up the dessert menu and tapped his wand against it, ordering himself a sticky toffee pudding before holding the menu out to her. She tapped her own wand on the little plaque, selecting a lemon sorbet.

"If he want something to do, I could always—"

"Thank you, but no," Dorea said, shaking her head. "I adore my boy more than all the stars in the sky including the one he was named for, but I am not blind to his faults. I'd rather he indulge in job where he can play about with Muggle things than live his passion for firewhisky out."

Nodding in understanding, Tiberius smiled. "Well, if you ever change your mind, or if there's ever anything else I can do for you and your family, please . . . don't ever hesitate."

She thought of Tiberius's uncle, Bob Ogden, and the informations he supplied that had led the coven to discover not only the mystery of Tom Riddle's family but also another Horcrux. "You cannot imagine how much you've already done for me."

It wasn't odd when coven members met in the manor, even if his mother wasn't there: Theia practically lived in Remus's room these days—a far better bed to sleep in than the one she kept over the Leaky. Enid and Cedrella were often found either in the greenhouse or the back garden, foraging and planting to their heart's delight. Lucretia, in particular, had claimed the library as her own personal space. Sometimes, Sirius would see her go in and come out days later, never realising that she hadn't gone home during that time.

So when he overheard witches whispering in said library, it didn't even occur to him to stop and eavesdrop. Most coven gossip made little sense to him anyway, and whenever anything sounded interesting enough to get involved in, he would be spotted and someone would cast a Silencing Charm. Granted, the last time that had happened was when the women were planning a Beltane celebration that included a fertility rite they were helping a small group of witches with—just one of many things the coven offered to the public on a case by case basis.

He wasn't very interested in the whispers as he walked by the library, set on making his way to the kitchen to see if Dobby had saved a bit of roast from the night before. A long day of working in a museum filled with Muggle things—and not being allowed to touch or play with them—left him exhausted, frustrated, and hungry.

"I don't blame her, of course. If any of my boys had been killed in the war, or at all, I couldn't imagine being presented with this kind of power. It hurts my heart just to think about it. Poor Dorea."

Heart sinking, Sirius stopped in his steps and paused, turning to look back at the library door, left cracked open. Cedrella's words poked something inside of him, like a sharp stick stabbing into the dying embers of a fire.

"Has anyone tried it since Minerva spoke with her husband?" Callidora asked in a hushed tone.

Eyes slightly widening, Sirius swallowed down his suddenly rapid heartbeat. He knew that McGonagall's husband had died. And Cedrella had mentioned James, though not by name but the implication was clear enough.

"I tested it with my father," Lucretia said. "Just as Minerva told us. The stone didn't hurt him at all, but I didn't hold onto him long enough to test the longevity of the magic. He claimed it was likely a fake until I let him try to explain any other way that I would have been able to speak with him beyond the veil of death," she added with a sad little laugh. "Then he said we were foolish to play with relics like this."

"Sounds like something Arcturus would say," Cedrella replied.

Sirius unwillingly flashed back to his childhood. Walburga hardly kept children's books around the home, preferring instead to school him on the genealogy of every pureblood family in Britain followed up by law books regarding Wizengamot proceedings and old tomes of Dark Magic that he knew—even at eight years old—he never wanted to play with. But the first summer he'd spent with the Potters, Charlus pulled out some old book and began reading from Beedle. Sirius always preferred The Fountain of Fair Fortune, but James . . . James had loved The Tale of the Three Brothers. Unsurprisingly, it was also Harry's favourite bedtime story.

Just a story.

Feeling panic rising, Sirius stepped in front of the crack in the door to observe.

In the centre of the room, with books all spread out over a nearby table, Cedrella, Lucretia, and Callidora flipped through a book each in their own hands as they whispered.

"I don't even want to touch the thing, truth be told," Cedrella said, glancing behind her at the table to something that Sirius could not see. "I've lost loved ones, certainly, but I know a fair few that've parted this world who would still have words with me from my youth. I was a terror."

"If any of us would be described thus, I'd wager you,"Callidora added with a small smile. "Touching the stone won't do a thing. You've got to spin it thrice, just as Lucretia said. Just like Minerva did."

Cedrella shook her head emphatically. "Call it superstition if you'd like, but I'd just as well not touch it, thank you."

"Don't get sidetracked," Lucretia gently scolded, putting her book down and picking up a quill and a bit of parchment. "We're going to respect all of our wishes and not contact any loved ones for our purpose. We need to figure out how to channel the stone in order to speak with anyone who might have an idea of what to do next."

"Do you have Herpo the Foul written on your list?" Callidora asked, snatching the parchment from Lucretia. "All things considered, can we even be assured that he's dead?"

"No," Lucretia snapped, taking back the list, "but do you know anyone else who's made a bloody Horcrux? I figure begin with the source of what we know from history. It's either that or try to reach out to any dead Death Eaters, and it's not as though the living ones have been very forthcoming about things. Nott, Lucius, and Goyle have all been dead ends there. Not as though we could even ask them to help search for what we're looking for, that is."

Sirius's stomach churned with the words he was hearing. Everything all coming together in a jumble inside of his head. Half of what they were saying couldn't possibly be true. The other half . . . a Horcrux? He knew the word. He'd seen it in Walburga's books from long ago, and then again when researching Dark Magic for the Order during the first war. Dumbledore had brought a small collection from his personal library, and when he'd caught Sirius halfway through a chapter on wicked ways to earn oneself immortality, he'd all but snatched the book right out of Sirius's hands.

All at once, it clicked together.

The thing the coven had buried in the garden.

The place warded so that the children wouldn't go near.

The darkness and scorch marks on the burnt earth where nothing ever grew, not since the day they'd dug that hole.

He placed a hand against the wall to steady himself in the hopes of steadying his pulse in the process, but it didn't work. All he could think about was the idea in his head that the bastard that murdered his best friends and scarred Harry for life was somehow, inexplicably, still alive. There were rumours, certainly, and something upsetting had gone on at Hogwarts recently . . . Something about a professor in leagues with Death Eaters. His mother had been so furious that she'd gone out in the orchards and didn't come back until sunrise, looking cried out and magically spent. When he'd asked her what happened, she told him that he would have to make an oath not to tell a soul, and for some reason, Sirius hadn't wanted to know then. There was a look in her eyes that reminded him of Azkaban. She looked like she'd seen a Dementor, and he didn't want to experience that. It felt cowardly at the time, but she had reassured him that Harry was safe and the coven was working on it, so he'd stupidly let it go and rushed off to see about working for the bloody Knight Bus!

While he had spent the years since Azkaban trying to be a parent only to feel like he wasn't measuring up, and completely useless at everything else including relationships and a career, his mother and her circle of witches had been dealing with the Darkest magic known, all in the hopes of doing what Sirius had wanted to do all those years ago: murder Voldemort for good.

But now he knew.

And he knew he needed to tell his mother.

He wanted to help.

But suddenly, as Cedrella took a step to the side, Sirius's attention was drawn to a small stone sitting in the middle of a book. While he could not read the words from this distance, he knew the well-worn cover and the too-long golden ribbon hanging from the pages. A stone sitting in the open spine of the Tales of Beedle the Bard.

Impulsively, recklessly, and without thought, Sirius aimed his wand and muttered, "Accio!"

The book flew toward him, the stone captured and pinned between the pages.

The very second that the book reached his hand—he gripped tightly to the cover, his wand trapped between—the stone fell out, landing in his open palm. At the same time, all three witches looked up, eyes wide and looking more terrifying than he had ever seen them.

"Sirius!" Lucretia yelled.

Perhaps on instinct, or purely on muscle memory after hearing his name called like that, Sirius dropped the book and shoved the stone between his teeth before shifting down into Padfoot and immediately taking off down the corridor.

He could hear the door fly open behind him, so loud that it might've broken the hinges, but he refused to look back. Several spells shot beside him, missing him only by centimetres. Nothing offensive by the look of the colors that impacted the wall, but he knew they were aiming to stop him, and something in his heart couldn't allow that.

He didn't know why just then, but he needed this stone.

He turned a corner sharply, colliding with the opposite wall in the process and leaving behind a Padfoot-sized dent. Several paintings on the wall grumbled in complaint, and one screamed in terror as it plummeted all of four feet to the marble floor below.

Knowing that he could not outrun them forever, Padfoot ducked into a small, doorless tunnel that Dobby—and the many house-elves over the generations that came before him—used to travel between rooms while avoiding carrying around dirty laundry or bins of rubbish. Most could Apparate around freely, but magic was best spent doing their duties, and many elves wouldn't bother with Apparition since it made their jobs easier, and an easy life for an elf was often something that they'd punish themselves for even thinking about.

The small tunnel was even smaller for a dog of his size, but less easy for a grown witch to navigate. Had Minerva or Cassie been there, he knew he would have been in a world of trouble, but the three women at his back, continually shouting after him, were no match for his speed, especially when the tunnel let out in the back garden near the compost pile that Dobby kept well fed for the greenhouse.

Making his way to the orchards in an attempt to hide among the trees, Sirius shifted back into human form once he reached the stream that cut through the land. Looking back and hearing the witches in the far distance, he knew he only had a short time before they either caught up with him or realised they could Apparate right to his location if spotted.

He had been lost for so long. Perhaps long before the war had even begun. The only time he had felt safe was with the Potters, and it had all been because of James. James, who had given him a safe haven and a family. James, who had trusted him to be his original Secret Keeper before everything went tits up. James, who had made him Harry's godfather, and in doing so, made Sirius a dad. James, who was his brother.

James, who would know what Sirius should do now.

Spinning the stone thrice in the palm of his hand, Sirius clenched his eyes shut tightly, and wished, more than anything else in the world, to see his brother again.

"You're a reckless, goddamned fool."

Sirius felt bile rise in his throat at the voice. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked at the spectral form—not quite human, not quite ghost—in front of him. He could actually feel the blood drain from his face, his head slightly dizzy from the swiftness of it.

"I take it you didn't mean for it to be me."

Opening his mouth, Sirius all but thought he'd completely lost his voice until he croaked out, "Reggie?"

Regulus smirked at him, that same annoying, self-righteous fucking grin he'd perfected since he was thirteen and started slinging slurs across the Slytherin table right along with his pompous serpent friends. But he wasn't thirteen now. No. He was as old as Sirius last remembered him but looking much better. While still alive, Regulus had looked haunted those last few months before he'd disappeared from the face of the earth, only to be proclaimed dead by a shrieking Howler Sirius had received from Walburga, saying over and over that it should have been Sirius who died. The black shadows beneath Regulus's eyes were now gone, and the paleness of his skin looked natural, almost shimmering as bits of starlight cut through him.

"In truth, I've been waiting for some time now to be called. I didn't think it would be you."

Sirius swallowed, feeling as though his feet weren't connected with the ground. "Reggie, I—"

"And I know I'm not the brother you were likely seeking, but all the same, I'd wager that I shall be of more use to you than James Potter." He looked irritated, the same way he always had when they were young and Sirius brought James around or even mentioned him by name in front of Regulus. Jealous and spiteful. But there was something else there in his eyes as well. Sirius couldn't quite put his finger on it. In some weird way, he looked like Remus. He looked burdened.

"Sirius Orion Black!" Cedrella shrieked at him as she approached from behind. "You are in so much trouble, young man. You give that bloody rock right back here this very instant!"

Sirius's hand clenched around the stone, unable to take his eyes off of the vision of his little brother.

Regulus looked over Sirius's shoulder. "Tell them to shut up."

"Shut up," Sirius said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Not you . . . Er . . . I mean, yes you, but . . . that wasn't me," he tried to say. "I didn't—"

"Tell them you know where Kreacher got the locket. It's where I died."

Sucking in a sharp breath, Sirius finally turned around to face his aunts. His eyes were wide still, stinging with a lack of blinking and unshed tears. "I know where Kreacher got the locket."

Cedrella still looked furious, and Callidora had her wand aimed at him. But Lucretia lifted her hand to stop any spells from being cast, her eyes full of curiosity and obvious concern. "What did you say?"

His throat suddenly dry, Sirius whispered, "Kreacher . . . He found the locket in the place where . . ."

Slowly stepping forward, Lucretia held out her hands in supplication. "Where what, Sirius?"

"Where Regulus died."

As though they were a single unit, all three witches looked over Sirius's shoulder, to where Regulus was. They searched and searched, each appearing more and more worried by the minute.

"He's here?" Cedrella asked, bringing a hand to her mouth.

Sirius nodded.

"I don't know how much time I've got. They've only mucked about with the stone a few times, and there could be a limitation before I'm affected. So be clear and concise and repeat my every word, understood?"

"Yes."

"They've successfully destroyed two, but I know of at least three others. I'd only put it all together after I died, unfortunately, and I can't see everything from beyond death, so I'm not sure of all the details or if there are more. But he entrusted a book to one of his followers, something else to Bella, and there's another . . . something from one of the Founders. I'm sorry, but I don't know where. Tell them that I hope this helps."

Sirius turned back again and met his brother's saddened gaze.

"Tell them . . . Tell them I tried to help. I wasn't strong enough."

"Reggie—"

"Don't," Regulus cut him off. "No use in getting all emotional over someone who's been dead for twelve years. And frankly, that should apply to Potter as well, if I'm being perfectly honest. The dead don't mourn you, Sirius. Don't spend what life you've left wasting it away on the lot of us."

"Sirius?" Lucretia said, stepping close enough to touch his shoulder. "What's he saying?"

Regulus gestured to Sirius's hand. "Give them back the stone. Tell them you've all got work to do."

Eventually, Sirius's fingers loosened around the stone as he choked out through the tears that finally spilt over onto his cheeks. "I'm sorry."

"Me too, Siri. For everything."