a/n: Thank you to my beta, Rachael, and to TheLoud for gently poking me to finish writing this chapter.
My alternative name for it is 'the one where Regulus gets angsty'. No specific content warnings, not really, but lots of mention of death and lots of angst. It isn't the cheeriest chapter, but this isn't the cheeriest fic.
Thank you also to the guest reviewers from the last chapter (and before). I try to reply to reviewers, because it just feels nice, so thank you. Especially for the compliment on the characterisation - some of these characters I find a challenge so it's lovely to hear that I'm getting them reasonably right. And I'm a stickler for detail so getting the locations right matters to me!
Chapter Forty-Eight: Francis
Regulus
August 1979, Hambleton Hall
Bella was certainly enjoying being home again. She presided over the house with an even more gleeful air these days, swishing around the formal dining room ordering house-elves about. She had always been one to dress well, admittedly, but wearing her finest robes to a simple gathering of Death Eaters, an unscheduled one, suggested something more than just a wish to be well presented at all times.
Perhaps it was that her husband was in Azkaban. Regulus had heard the rumours of her and the Dark Lord. He knew as well as anyone that Bellatrix had opposed the marriage with Rodolphus Lestrange. She had been meant for Sirius, after all, to be the lady of the Black family. And then Andromeda had taken off with the Mudblood, and she had been forced into the marriage with Lestrange in Andromeda's place.
Regulus had not been old enough to understand what it was that was happening, not in full. He had understood enough to know that something was compelling her to do as her father had told. Narcissa had given him the rest of the information some years later. At that time it had seemed entirely necessary. The family's honour had been at stake, and Uncle Cygnus and Grandfather Pollux had acted to restore that. It was the reason that these rituals had been invented, after all.
Now it did not seem quite so necessary, although he was still not sure how he would have solved the problem without using the Genus Cognatio and ensuring her obedience. The Lestranges had been angry, and rightfully so. But so had Bellatrix.
Had forcing her obedience been the optimal route? Regulus did not know.
He tore his mind from these matters of the past, and returned himself firmly to the present.
"Of course," said Yaxley, "it is not so much a matter of when, but where. We have been ordered not to do it in front of anyone who can identify us."
"That should be obvious." Nott relaxed into a chaise with his goblet in his hand. There was a blood-stain up his sleeve, but he did not appear to care. "But then, we have benefited from their inability to do that. It is not as if we are indiscriminately attacking. We are simply acting on the information they have been so foolish as to give us."
"Indeed," said MacNair. He was a tall, brutish man, and one Regulus had never warmed to. He enjoyed killing. He liked to torture. He did not do it for the promise of a better society, but for the fun of the act. Regulus had always found that faintly sickening.
One of the useless friends of Malfoy's, Crabbe or Goyle, spoke next.
"Just doing the work of the Dark Lord," he said. "Scare them, it will. Get them to stop. Get them to see the reason."
"It's possible they are all beyond that," said Yaxley. "Don't you think, Black?"
Regulus nodded. He'd always said the Order of the Phoenix deserved to be taught a lesson. Ought to stop opposing what was so clearly the right path.
Sirius was in the Order. Regulus did not want to kill Sirius. He could not so much as think that here, or he would be punished for the insubordination. He had been warned that he would have to fulfil the task.
He was forced to wonder if there was such thing as a correct path, to the exclusion of all others.
"Tonight's was hard work," said MacNair. "Didn't want to repent at all."
"My point," said Yaxley. "Hopefully some of the rest of the list will be easier to persuade."
"Or not," said MacNair. "I don't care. Potter won't be any easier. I remember him from school. I look forward to killing Potter, in fact. Bastard's up his own arse."
"What was his name again?" Crabbe asked. "The one tonight. It wasn't Potter. I forget."
"Macmillan," Nott replied. "The runty one. Francis, or some such ponce's name. Not even a proper wizarding name, in my opinion. Wizards should have names they can be proud of."
"Ah, yes, what is your son's name again?" asked Selwyn. "Congratulations, once again."
"Theodore. A strong, wizarding name, with history."
"Indeed," said MacNair, who wasn't the brightest. "Screamed like a proper nancy boy, he did, that Macmillan. Deserved everything we gave him. He's been fucking some lad from another good family, that's the rumour, and he's been seen with the Order. Fought with them. Deserves it." MacNair had blood on his robes, too.
"Did you finish the job?" asked someone. Regulus was no longer entirely listening. His head was full of smoke. The goblet in his hand felt cold.
"Nah. Going back, after this. He'll stew a while. Might be able to convert him yet. Might just kill him."
"Make sure you do, one way or another," said Yaxley.
Regulus felt as though he ought to run from the room, but that would not help him survive this. It would help none of them survive this.
But he had to get to Francis.
It was true that Francis had ended whatever it was that they had between them, and Regulus had rationalised that he was correct to have done so. Regulus was to marry, after all. Had married. It may have been perfectly acceptable for a man to have a companion, but Francis did not have to accept that role if he did not wish to, Regulus supposed. However much Regulus wished he could have stayed, it was not his choice in the entirety.
That choice had belonged to Francis.
Regulus had been allowed his own choices.
He had chosen to care about the man, even though they had not spoken since the morning that they had left Hogwarts for the final time. Even if he had refused an invite to Regulus' wedding.
Even if, as it now seemed, the man was a blood traitor.
He had chosen to join the Dark Lord.
He had chosen not to kill his brother.
The Dark Lord entered, with fanfare and then with silence from the assembled men and handful of women. Regulus emptied his mind as Grandfather Pollux had taught him. These were not thoughts it would do to be seen with, not at all. And Regulus had been taught how to behave in all circumstances. Almost all, except for what to do when the man you had carried on a relationship with had been left for dead by your own allies.
Where, he wondered, was the etiquette in that?
He emptied his mind once more.
"My faithful," began the Dark Lord. He was powerful, truly so. "My followers. My most loyal. I thank you for attending me tonight."
There was a murmur from the room, and the shuffling of feet as the assembled arranged themselves into a formation. Regulus took his position, between Severus Snape and Aldous Selwyn. He bowed his head low as the Dark Lord swept past and did not pause beside him. He was grateful. He did not wish to attract attention tonight.
"Yaxley," said the Dark Lord, pausing in front of the bulky, dark haired man, several down from Regulus. "How goes our programme?"
"We have begun," said Yaxley. "We have tracked down eighteen members of the Order of the Phoenix to their homes, and we attacked the first tonight. He will be dead by sunrise, or converted to our cause."
"See to it," said the Dark Lord. The imperious tone went, replaced by a softer one. "I do apologise if I summoned you from your work, but we must discuss our progress from time to time, must we not? I am certain all of these would make adequate recruits, if they can be so persuaded."
He walked on, seeming to float rather than to move his legs underneath the layers of robes. As if he was not quite human. His face, too, was not so much that of a man but of something more than that. Regulus was, of course, aware of the Horcrux, but that would not dehumanise a man so much. Could it? A single Horcrux could not do so much, no. Regulus had read almost all the material on the matter.
"Antonin." Instead of standing tall as Yaxley had, Antonin Dolohov appeared to cower under the Dark Lord's stare. "You have had less success in recent months. The Order has continually disrupted our experiments. Have you yet found a way to continue them in a way that the Order cannot detect?"
"I think so, my Lord."
"I am not satisfied with merely you thinking that you have dealt with this. I require that you are certain."
"My Lord, I will make it certain, my Lord."
"Good. I expect results. The experiments will continue until we have reached a conclusion. I must know."
"You will know, my Lord, soon."
He moved on, going from man to man in the circle, stopping for a few questions or words of praise. Each and every one of them was so earnest, so eager to please their Lord. His Lord. Regulus' stomach twisted in on itself, the palms of his hands beginning to feel damp. If he was to be questioned, he was not sure what he would say. What he would reveal without speech.
His breathing quickened. He must stay calm, he knew that. He knew that well. He was a Black, and he must act like one.
If that was what he wished to be.
"Regulus."
Regulus raised his head, enough to show that he was ready but not enough to meet the Dark Lord's eyes.
"How are you progressing with your aim?"
"Well, my Lord. I have established his usual pattern. I will be acting in just a short time."
He kept his mind blank. One did not lie in the presence of the Dark Lord.
"See that you do."
He left, going to Severus, now, and Regulus did not dare to think anything at all. The hammering of his heart on his chest did not lessen. His voice, if he was to speak, would have shaken. His hands, too. One did not lie in the presence of the Dark Lord, and yet he had done so.
As soon as he could leave without it looking to be suspicious he did so, murmuring excuses about Adeline having need of him.
"Got her pregnant yet?" asked Severus, and Regulus stuttered something. Thankfully the assembled seemed to assume him prudish, rather than having traitorous thoughts, and he was allowed to leave with no more than a few back-slaps and ribald jokes.
"Get her belly filled tonight!" shouted Yaxley, as Regulus took his leave.
He walked down the length of the hallway, boots on the polished wood, the very hallway he had walked up in order to take the Mark. A year ago almost exactly. He had considered himself honoured, the ultimate honour. Lucius Malfoy had recommended him personally, the youngest ever to take the Mark, and he had been proud. He had been doing good in the world.
Now, he was not so sure that he was.
He had been asked to kill his brother. He was being asked to condone experimentation that he was not sure that he agreed with the principles of. He was being asked to watch as his former, well, whatever it was to him, his Francis, was murdered for a cause. The cause to protect pure-blood society.
And the Dark Lord was sanctioning the killing of purebloods. Blood traitors. He had to remember that they were blood traitors. They did not have the worth that he did, that their faithful did. How many times had he said that Sirius deserved everything he had coming? How many times had he looked at him, and not been able to understand how they could have come from the same family? How many times had he wondered how it was ever possible that he had loved his brother?
But it was pure blood that was being spilt, and blood belonging to Francis Macmillan, and Regulus was not sure that he knew what to think.
He supposed that this was traitorous thoughts, indeed. A thin line that he must walk, between a loyal follower and a traitor. Blood traitor. The risk of becoming everything he had so despised.
His hands shook as he prepared to Apparate. He must steady himself, he knew, because to do otherwise would be dangerous. The Macmillan's house was on the outskirts of Keswick. He had accompanied Lyra there several times. He must go now, before MacNair and Nott and others decided to return.
It was smaller than he had remembered. Less imposing than the last house he had paid a call to, with its trail of yellow roses hanging down and over the front door. He ran, near tripping, up the flagstone path. The Dark Mark did not yet hover over the building. That, in itself, held some positive omens.
"Francis?" he asked, at the open door. "Francis?"
He tried shouting louder, but there was still no response. The entirety of the Macmillan family were unavailable in some way, judging by his unimpeded progress into the old, rambling cottage. The lights were on, a fire flickering in the grate of a room that he passed. But, aside from the occasional crackle of a log combusting, there was nothing but silence.
The hallway was long and narrow, painted a navy blue. Regulus picked his way along it, avoiding the blood dotted along the parquet floors.
"Francis?"
"Reg…lus." His voice. Francis.
Regulus sped up.
Francis was in a small room, mahogany furniture and the smell of smoke. Francis, not sat in a chair, but on the floor in a pool of his own blood. His face was ashen, his mouth croaking Regulus' name with what appeared to be the ends of his energies.
"Francis!"
It was exactly as he had feared it would be. The blood, the way that he only twitched, not moved as if he was a real, living wizard. He had known that this was to be what he would find here, but he still could not quite process it. As if it was happening to somebody else, not to him. Not to Francis.
Regulus knelt down beside him, feeling an instant damp permeating his robes. He ignored that. What to do? Where ought he start?
The throat. He remembered that. Close the wound at the throat and the blood loss could be better controlled. Severus Snape had shown him a spell. It was effective. He should use that.
Francis' breathing began to steady as the wound on his neck closed. He tried for words, gasping, steadying himself.
"Your lot."
"The Dark Lord?" He had not been here, Regulus was certain of it, but he asked.
"Not him personally. Not important enough for him. Followers."
MacNair. Nott. The other one. Regulus would see that they paid.
The slashes on his chest, now they would not heal with any of the spells that Regulus knew.
"I was asked to join," Francis croaked. He did not need to say what, for Regulus to understand. "I refused."
"And they did this?" Regulus stared at the blood. There was so much of it, and it was not that Regulus had not seen a man bleed out onto a floor before. He had caused this sort of injury himself.
Francis was rallying. His breathing was slow and steady, his hands had relaxed their vice-like grip on the wand now at his side. No colour had returned to his face, but neither had it paled further.
"Oh, I reckon they'd have liked to do more. Those marks you have, they burned. They went. Said they would come back for me." A small, set smile. "They won't get me."
Regulus felt an urge to suggest that Francis should join the Dark Lord, should give in to their demands, because that would be the way to prevent injuries such as these. His life was worth more than this. He had the urge to shout at him, to tell him that joining the Order of the Phoenix was only ever going to have led to this. To disaster, to injury, to death. It was a fool's errand.
Almost as much as Regulus' own.
"Will you hide?" he asked, instead. "Please, hide."
"Yeah," said Francis, and he seemed to be losing consciousness, the recovery as brief as it had been hopeful. "Regulus. They tried to kill me. Your friends."
Regulus paused. Francis' eyes closed.
"They are no friends of mine," he said. He could have sworn he saw a faint smile crossing Francis' face, and that emboldened him. It should not. Francis had been attacked on the orders of the man Regulus had sworn to serve. He ought not be here. He should have been celebrating the taking out of one more blood traitor. A useless blood traitor.
Sirius. Francis. Who else would defy the Dark Lord?
Potter was set to be killed, MacNair had said as much. He was a pureblood too. A blood traitor. But why was his pure blood worth any less than Regulus' own?
The Weasleys were blood traitors. He had not approved of the attack on their children. Too young to have decided to become traitors.
Traitors, like he was for this act.
It was not the time for that. St Mungo's. Francis needed to go to St Mungo's, as soon as he could, and if Regulus was discovered to have been the one to take him there he would suffer a fate not too far removed from that of Francis. But he needed a Healer.
There was something that was preventing him from making decisions. A wave of panic that Regulus had felt only once before. The day that Francis had ended what they had shared. He had felt this then.
He had to do something, else they would return. MacNair was thorough. Nott was loyal. Crabbe or Goyle would do as they were told.
"Francis?" he said. "I will return. I am going to fetch help."
From somewhere.
Francis did not reply.
Regulus did not have time for the formalities of leaving from a visit, and Apparated from the spot he stood on to the dining room of his house at Grimmauld Place. From there he ran. He ran, up the stairs and along and burst through the door of the dining room where he gasped for breath.
There did not seem to be enough air in the world for him to breathe.
"Regulus!" came Adeline's cry. "Whatever is the matter? Why are you so drenched in blood?"
"Regulus?" said Lyra, softly, when he did not reply.
"My friend," he said. "My friend has been attacked by Death Eaters."
Adeline dropped a teapot from which she had been pouring with a crash. Lyra's hands flew to her face. Regulus realised that his own Dark Mark was clearly visible, standing out like the badge of a traitor against his pale skin.
"He requires St Mungo's. Now." It did not sound like his own voice that was speaking, did not feel like his own body that was standing in place in the room.
"Who? Where? I can call for a Healer." said Adeline, standing up, as if prepared to take charge.
"Francis. Francis." Regulus did not, somehow, much mind that he appeared to be repeating himself, something that he certainly had not been brought up to do.
Lyra stood up. He face was set, her posture tall, as if she had been preparing for something like this. It was funny, Regulus thought. She could never have known.
He was not entirely thinking as he ought to. The room was turning on some unseen axis, he was certain of it. He felt as if he would vomit. Not on the carpet in here. His mother would likely curse him.
"Should I take him? He is, after all, a cousin of mine. It would not look suspicious."
"Yes, yes, do so!" Regulus thought of throwing his arms around her as he had seen grateful friends do at Hogwarts, although never his own. But he was covered in blood, and he was a Black, and he was simply grateful that she had worked out what it was he was asking of her. "Please," he added. "Please."
"Adeline," said Lyra. "I am so sorry to have interrupted our tea. I may not be able to get back here today, but I will endeavour to report to you." And she was gone, a sweep of her robes and the click of the door closing behind her as the marks of her departure.
"Regulus," said Adeline, again. "You will need a bath."
She herded him to the bathroom, and she drew the bath around him as he stood, unmoving, in the centre of the bathroom. When he did not remove his own robes, she removed them for him, and for the first time he realised the way he had been clutching them to himself like a small child's comfort rag.
"No," he said. "No." He tugged the sleeve of his robe down over his Dark Mark. "No."
"Regulus, come along, they have to come off. You cannot remain covered in another man's blood."
"I can, I can. I cannot, I cannot," he said, as he could not show her that Mark.
"I have seen it before, as you are well aware."
"No, no, you cannot see it."
"Regulus," she said, firmly, and with a flick of her wand the robe was Vanished. "I know who you are, and I have never yet judged you for it."
"It is my fault. Francis might die. Because of me."
"You know that is not the truth, Regulus." Her small, smooth hands directed him towards the bathtub, encouraging him in with the lightest of pressure. "If he has been attacked by Death Eaters, it is down to his own actions. Or inactions. Or simple bad luck." She spoke in a voice that would soothe a baby.
"I loved him, Adeline."
"I know."
She left, leaving him naked, somehow, and in the centre of the room with the bath drawn. Seeing no other logical option, he settled himself into the bath, hoping that the water would wash away some of the confusion that had settled firmly into his head.
Mania, he would have gone so far as to call it. He had been having a perfectly ordinary dinner with some of his colleagues. They had been discussing the Cold War problem that the Muggles had dug themselves into. His Mark had burned, and he had excused himself. It was entirely normal, completely within the bounds of what he had expected from his life. He had declined a further drink, and he had gone to attend the Dark Lord.
Regulus' life had not been approaching anything that he recognised, lately.
It had hinged on that night in the old priory, the night that the Dark Lord had killed the half-blood Order member, the night that Adeline had announced her pregnancy, the night of the Horcrux and the realisation that he could not, would not, kill his brother. He had not made further progress on this. He did not understand how this would happen, this resolution of his, and not end in the certain death of both himself and his brother.
And now he was certain that he had gone quite frankly mad.
It was MacNair's fault. MacNair and Nott, and Crabbe, possibly, or Goyle. Regulus had never possessed the skill of telling the two apart; they both had the same lack of intelligence and the same strong bodies ruined by indulgence in food and alcohol. They had been bragging of what they had done before coming to the Dark Lord's presence. A simple scare job, it sounded, a possible killing of an unworthy.
Regulus had nodded along.
It was perhaps hypocritical that he had done that until he had heard the name.
And what he was supposed to do with all of this information, with the feelings he was experiencing, he did not know.
One did not lie to the Dark Lord. And he had done so that very night, that he was almost prepared to act to kill his brother, and then he had taken himself to the aid of a man who was under Death Eater attack.
It was treason enough to have told the lie, but the second would perhaps even mean his death.
Regulus Black had no desire to die.
He wanted to see his child born into the world. A son, if he was fortunate. And the further children. He would like a girl, too, very much.
One did not simply leave the Dark Lord's employ. It was a fact that had been made abundantly clear. Had he not personally killed a man that the Dark Lord had been displeased with? Regulus knew the penalty. He knew the price that was to be paid, and he knew what would happen next.
That was if he wanted to leave. He did not know if he did. He wished to improve society. To strengthen his family. To live.
He pulled himself from the bath, dressing carefully in robes summoned from upstairs. They folded pleasingly over his left arm, hiding the Mark that marred the skin beneath them.
He felt as if he could face the world again, for a short time. He did not have much clarity, not yet, on what his next actions would be, but whatever it was that had possessed him thankfully seemed to have gone. He looked as his mother had when Sirius had angered her. It was a look that he did not feel appropriate for his station. It was not seemly. And in front of not only Adeline, but Lyra too.
Regulus shook his head. He could not afford to lose control. Not if he was going to manage whatever it was that he eventually set out to do.
He did not want to kill his brother. He would not. If he repeated it, he felt as if he may one day develop the courage to follow his conviction.
He did not want to condone the death of Francis, if that was what his fate was to be. But what could he do?
He did not much care about James Potter, but he did not want to spill further pure blood.
It was supposed to be about rebuilding this society. Not killing. Not killing those who should be a part of it. He had killed someone for that. He had been complicit.
Was this about wizarding society, or was this about immortality? He had a Horcrux.
It was, he supposed, entirely possible that the entirety of this was about one man's desire for power and followers, rather than about the good of society.
Regulus leant against the wall. He breathed, or he tried to, slow and deep and waiting for the tension that was growing within to abate once again. He had wanted this to be perfect. It was not supposed to go like this.
Nobody had warned him of any of this.
He had been making his own choices, and of that he had always been certain. But was it that his choices could not be trusted?
He steadied himself. He must talk to his wife. He had a recollection of having admitted that he had loved Francis to her, and that was something that he could fix. If not the rest of it, he could fix that.
She appeared, and he was spared the need to find her.
"Regulus, there you are! I was beginning to worry! Come, I have asked the house elves for a light supper."
He allowed Adeline to steer him into the drawing room, where Kreacher was setting a supper of eggs, cheese and bread onto a low table. He scraped and bowed, and Regulus barely took any notice of the elf. Adeline knew far too much of what had transpired that evening, and so did Lyra, and this was not to be borne by the witches of the family.
This was a mess he had managed to get himself into, and it was a mess that he would extract them from.
"Adeline, my dear," he said, feeling for his wand. "Could you check for me something in the newspaper?"
"Of course," she said, and turned her back to him to retrieve the Daily Prophet from where it rested on an end-table across the room.
"Obliviate."
It was seen as acceptable in some circumstances to use Memory Charms on one's own wife. Regulus did not know if this fell within it. And in no circumstance was it strictly legal. But he knew that if he was to fail to kill his brother, if his actions were to be caught, then Adeline would be in danger. She was safer without the knowledge.
"The Prophet," she said, turning back to him ad passing it over. She had a look on her face as if she did not understand why, exactly, it was that she was handing him the paper. "You have a mark under your eye."
"They have some terribly badly-trained owls in the office." Strangely enough, that was the truth of it.
"Perhaps you should speak to the manager. It won't do you any good if you are hurt at work by a bird." She carefully arranged cheese onto a slice of bread for herself, and Regulus watched her hands at work. Slower and less deft than they usually would have been. A side effect.
"I shall tomorrow."
"Have you had any thoughts on names for the babe?" she asked. A hand crept across her stomach as she spoke, even though there was nothing to be discerned from her shape. "I know it is early days. I do like Andromeda for a girl, but the connotations for your family are perhaps not ideal."
"Andromeda was a blood traitor."
"Yes. Your family have disowned her. But our Andromeda could walk a different path."
"Do you believe that blood traitors are irredeemable?"
"I do not believe that anyone is above some kind of redemption, I suppose. I do not like everything that my brother is doing, but he's still my brother." Her brother was a Death Eater. "I like Alphard, for a boy, but I suppose that is not ideal in the way that Andromeda is not."
"Alphard gave his fortune to Sirius."
"He did. Perhaps we should honour your father."
"No." Regulus was certain that it should not be that. "We have not had a Cepheus in some years." And the one that had come before had done nothing of note, neither a blood traitor not a supporter of the dangers of the present.
"Vega," said Adeline. "Or Delphini."
Neutral names.
She sipped at her tea, her face still bearing the look of someone who did not entirely think that everything made sense. He had erased just the memories that related to their conversation, his arrival to the house and their interaction in the bathroom. It was not as if she had lost hours. He would do the same for Lyra, when she returned, That would be more complex. Replace it with having paid a social call to Francis and discovered him, perhaps. Or to his sister. Yes, that would be more appropriate. A social call on Georgina Macmillan that had lead to her discovery of Francis.
"There is an awful lot of politics in naming a child," she said. Her bread and cheese was untouched, as was his own. "An awful lot of politics in the world."
"It is not for you to worry of," he said.
"It is for everyone to worry, when our husbands, brothers, sons or fathers may be killed for a cause."
"Is it?" He was discussing baby names, and this, and Francis was close to death. He may have died already, and Regulus would not know. He began to feel the urge to stand up and pace the room, which was not something he did. "It is our job to protect you."
"You cannot protect us if you are dead."
Regulus could not deny the truth in that statement.
"You do not need to worry." He was certain she did not. She would be protected. His mother would make sure of it, as she had protected his cousin Narcissa. As she had brought Lyra into the family.
He would ignore what she had done to Sirius.
"That's what my brother said to his wife. That's what my father said. I assume it was what Lucius Malfoy said to Narcissa, and look at the state she has been left in. I do not want to be as Narcissa is, left alone with his family, carrying his heir, and without him."
"My family would look after you." For they would. They were looking after Narcissa, and it was not as if his mother did not like Adeline. She thought that she was a fine match.
"I don't want that, can you not see?"
He did not have anything to say, not to that. It was as if his brain would not move as fast as he wanted it to. Somewhere, somewhere deep in the recesses of it, he had an answer that would be tolerable to Adeline. Some explanation, some reassurance, some charm, even, that would smooth it over and make everything alright. He could not find it.
"I don't want you to exclude me from whatever this is that is going on. I know you're in with the Dark Lord. I don't think you should be."
"To leave the employ of the Dark Lord is to invite your own death."
"And this is exactly why I do need to worry! You have put yourself into a situation you do not understand, Regulus Black, and you have endangered me and you have endangered our child."
He wondered if the Oblivation had worked. She was perfectly calm, now, as if they were still discussing baby names. She seemed to know something.
"Women gossip, you know. I know a fair amount. It is very easy to find out things, if you know who to listen to. I'm an intelligent woman. I can work these things out, and I know enough to know how much danger we are all in. You have been asked to kill your brother, and you are obliged to do that, else he will kill you. Tell me I am wrong, I beg you. Or I must assume that I am right."
She did not know the worst of it, the charm had worked. Else she would be berating him for that in this strange, icy tone, rather than his attempted murders.
"I cannot." Honesty was a poor policy, but he did not know what lie to give.
"I thought as much."
If anything, she looked disappointed. As if she had hoped for more from him. The silence stretched between them, too thick to be cut by the butter knife in front of him. A carving knife from the kitchen may have done it.
"Do you know why I married you?" she asked, finally. "I had offers from several others. I married you because you did not seem like a man capable of cruel acts. Rodolphus (rodolphus is married to bella. Maybe rabastan?) Lestrange offered for me. He would kill his brother to increase his standing with the Dark Lord. That was not the sort of man I wanted to marry."
"I do not wish to kill him." It would do her no good to remember this conversation, either.
"Please don't. I can't make you do anything, I know I cannot. Think on it." She abandoned her drink and her meal, giving them a last look as if she was disgusted with their very existence. "I think I will go to bed, now," she said, standing. A hand went to her stomach, protectively.
"Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight, Regulus."
She left the room, and Kreacher began to busy around him, clearing up the supper that neither of them had eaten. Regulus was not sure how long he had remained in the chair, because when he next heard a sound within the house Kreacher had left, and Regulus managed to carry a normal conversation about potions theory with Grandfather Arcturus as if nothing abnormal had occurred in his life that day.
"Ah, Regulus, may I have a word?" asked Lyra, appearing at the door when Arcturus was only halfway through what was certain to be a lengthy monologue.
"Certainly," said Regulus, standing. "Please excuse us, Grandfather."
"You young things must have many important matters to discuss. You will sleep in your room here tonight, Lyra. It is unseemly for a well-bred girl to be moving around so late, even if it now appears to be acceptable for her to live independently. It certainly would not have happened in my day, and change is not always for the better."
"I will, Grandfather," she said.
"Good." He left. Lyra glanced nervously at the door, waiting as Regulus was for the sound of his footsteps to recede.
"I took him," she said. "The Healers say he has a good chance to survive."
Regulus felt something lift from his stomach, but certainly not all of the dread he had carried there. There was risk to Francis surviving, as much as Regulus so wanted them to be his fate.
"Thank you."
He ought to Obliviate her, as he had done to Adeline. For their own safety, for their own good, in the event that he was to fall.
"How did you find him?"
"I cannot answer that."
"I suppose you cannot answer how he came to be in that position? I could tell the Healers nothing. I told them I was attempting to return a borrowed bracelet to Georgina." She fiddled with the bracelet she wore, but that was not a Macmillan heirloom. It was one of their own, the Black family motto engraved into the underside. His mother had presented it to her some months ago.
She was intelligent, though, having somehow come up with almost the same lie that he had prepared for her.
"I cannot tell you that, either."
"I suspected as much. Everyone is entitled to their secrets."
She did not look much as though she believed it.
"How many do you have?" he asked her.
"Enough."
"As do I."
It was dangerous, this, talking as if he could trust her with what was going on. With any of this. He ought to simply use a Memory Charm and go to his bed. He would need sleep for what was to come. A rebellion that he was planning, even in its small way. How to save his brother from the Dark Lord.
"Voldemort?"
"Why do you say his name?" She had never before.
She looked up, quickly, and down at her feet, and back at him.
"I have not lived here most my life. I don't know the fear of him as you do."
"I am not afraid of the Dark Lord." He said it with the conviction that he could manage. Lucius had advised him to fear what the man was capable of, and to emulate it. Lucius had died.
"You would do well to be, I imagine. I don't know this Dark Lord as you do. I don't know the truth of exactly what he's doing, nobody does. Perhaps that's the point. I don't know why Francis means so much to you, either, but he does, doesn't he?"
"He is a friend."
"A friend you would endanger your life for. They're rare." She sat down, looking as if there was somewhere she would much rather be. Perhaps even someone she would rather be with.
"We do not choose who we become close to."
"No," she said. "Your mother wishes for me to marry. She has presented me with a shortlist, just this afternoon. Is that how your marriage was dealt with?"
"I asked for my mother to assist me in finding a wife. I chose Adeline for myself, but my mother ensured that I did not waste my time with unsuitable witches. She can help you."
"I don't want her help."
He wondered whether this was something he ought to say. He wondered how much he understood about what would benefit the family, as he had apparently found himself promising his life to a man who wished for only power but talked of other things,
"Has anyone ever explained the Genus Cognatio to you? Look for it in the library here, if they have not. My family, our family, can force us into certain forms of action. They will do so, if you do not comply in a way that pleases them or somehow evade their actions. Bellatrix fell foul of it. Andromeda escaped, and she was disowned. It is up to you which fate you choose, after all."
"Fate seems rather melodramatic."
"All of us have a day that we will die."
He stood, walking to the window. It was not as if it would offer any comfort. He did not feel the mounting panic any longer; it had been replaced with a dull ache of dread. He still did not feel as if his body was his own.
"Again, melodramatic," she said. "And morbid." She sighed. "But the truth, I suppose. Some sooner than others."
"Yes."
If he was to attempt to do anything, even prevent the death of Sirius, he would die. Would it not be better to go out having done something more significant? If the Blacks must end somehow, ought it not to be with a moment of glory, however small?
He had always wished to save wizarding society, not condemn it to rip itself to shreds in service of a tyrant.
He had to save Sirius. If Francis could be attacked, if he could be killed or near killed, Sirius could be next.
It was not logical. He did not know if he liked his brother, even.
Would Sirius repay the favour, if the odds had been balanced in the opposing direction?
"I did ask," said Lyra, "if everything was okay. I'm going to assume that it isn't."
"I am fine," he said. "I am worried for a friend."
"I'll visit him tomorrow," she said. "I'll tell you what I find out."
She may have said something else, there, but Regulus did not hear it. He was left alone in an empty room, with the nagging feeling that he ought to have Obliviated her. It was not seemly to invade her privacy by doing so now. It would have to be the morning.
He did not sleep much that night.
Regulus awoke from what little sleep he had managed to have with the dull ache of the impending disaster remaining in his stomach. He dressed slowly, as if he had no control over his own limbs. Adeline was nowhere to be found, and Lyra, neither. Just his mother, who had complaints she wished to make.
"Lyra is being awfully stubborn about finding herself a wizard," she complained. "The pickings are becoming slimmer with every month she leaves it, and she is how old? Twenty-four, now, if she is a day. I'd had my son by twenty-four, you were seven months old on my birthday. What she's thinking, I do not know. You will talk some sense into her, won't you?"
"Yes, mother," he said. "I will speak with her."
"My son," she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "My only son. You have always been the success of our family, well, you and Narcissa until the terrible thing that happened to her. You will return us our honour. You will bring the Black family name back to where it ought to be."
It was a terrible burden, and besides, she had two sons. It was just that one had made the wrong choices.
Regulus had always been so certain he was on the right side of history.
He spent the morning pacing the library, pausing intermittently to check his books on Horcruxes and to stare out of the window. As if he was expecting some kind of answer to fall from one or from the other.
It was the prospect of having lunch with his parents and his grandfathers and being forced to pretend that there was nothing unusual occurring that encouraged him to leave. He gathered his cloak and left the house, turning on the spot as soon as his feet hit the steps, landing outside St Mungo's.
"I am here to see Mr Francis Macmillan," he said to the welcome witch, in his most forceful voice. The witch looked up.
"Certainly, Mr Black. He's on floor three. I loved your wedding, I read all the coverage in Witch Weekly and the Prophet!"
"Thank you," he said. "My wife planned it, she is a talent with such things."
He left for the stairs. He did not know what he was to find, but Francis was alive. He would not be sent to a ward if he had not been. He would have been sent to a side room, and a Healer would have come to impart the news, as had happened when his grandmother had died.
He spoke to the Healer on duty and was directed to the correct bed. Lyra sat by it, talking in a low voice, her face full of concern. And Francis was propped onto some pillows, talking back, of a sort. Weak, clearly, but talking.
"Regulus," he said. In a tone of surprise.
"You came here," said Lyra, as if she knew what that might cost him.
"I wished to see that you were well," he said. "Lyra was awfully concerned as to your welfare."
"I was," she said.
"Of course," said Francis. "I don't know if you are the best person to visit, though." His eyes travelled to where the Mark sat under Regulus' robes.
"It is a private room."
"That isn't my only point, is it?"
Regulus took a seat.
"I will go," said Lyra, standing as he did so. "I'll request someone send those things you asked for, Francis."
He thanked her, and said nothing as she left and the two men were left alone.
"Why did you come?" he asked, finally.
"I wanted to see how you were," said Regulus.
"No," said Francis. "Last night."
"I wanted to save you."
"Do you know what they could cost you?"
"I am not unintelligent. Or unobservant. I know the potential cost of my actions."
"Finally, you do, anyway. Fucking hell, Regulus." Regulus had never approved of the foul language. He had found it attractive, yes, but he had not approved. "You don't do things by halves. First you're joining them, then you're off on your own saving people from them. Have you left the cause, then?"
"No. I remain a loyal follower." He had to say that.
"Loyal by no definition I know, and I'd know, being the Hufflepuff."
"I am sorry," said Regulus, but it did not seem anywhere near enough.
"I don't know if it's your fault or it isn't."
"It is. I am certain of it. If I had not joined…"
"If you hadn't joined, you'd have stayed with your family, trying not to make a fuss, looking after your own. Because wasn't that why you joined?"
"It was. I wished to secure my family's future."
"And you still think he'll help you do that. You-Know-Who."
Regulus did not, but he could hardly say that here. He had verified that Francis was alive. He now had to save Sirius.
"I do what benefits my family. My wife and my child."
"Oh, so you do like women as well, then, if you've managed that. Congratulations, I suppose."
"Thank you."
"Are you happy?"
It was not the question he had been expecting. He did not know the answer.
"I am learning to love her, as my parents promised I would. The war is a difficult situation."
"You're emotionally repressed, Regulus, that's what you are. Do you even know why you are without them telling you what to be? Who to like? What you're going to do with the rest of your life?" Francis spoke as if he had to speak his mind before his body failed him. "What do you want, Regulus Black?"
"The wizarding world to remain the way it should be. My wife and family to be safe from harm. My brother, too, for what that is worth. You know all of this, Francis, because I have told you before." The twist in his stomach had returned. "I do not know what else. My own survival." A pause, his own heartbeat so loud he wondered if Francis could hear it. "I wanted you."
"I've been seeing someone in the Order," said Francis. "I'm not telling you who, I know who you know."
It felt as if it was a stab of a knife.
"I wanted you, too, though," he said. "You made your choices, I made mine. In a different world, we might not have ended up this way. I suppose you've got a chance to rectify it all. I don't know if you dare. I don't know whether it's everything you wanted it to be. Is it?"
Regulus had a retort ready, almost, when the Healer bustled in, a tray full of smoking potions.
"Visiting hours are over," she said, in a tone that anticipated argument. "They resume at two, if you would like to come back."
"My parents will come this afternoon," said Francis. Dismissal. Regulus turned to go. "I never did thank you," he said. "So thank you. Make some decent choices, Regulus. Think for yourself, yeah?"
Regulus thought. He walked from St Mungo's down some unspecified Muggle street, a place he had never before thought to go. Because why would he? He knew where his place was and it was not, and would never be, here. He knew what to expect from his life. He knew what he had expected to expect, at any rate, and it was not this.
Francis was safe, but that in itself had caused its own problems, had it not?
His Dark Mark burned.
Regulus emptied his mind as best he knew how.
He Apparated to where the Dark Lord called him, and managed to retain his composure when he saw where it was that he was standing. He was in the centre of the room he had stood in last night, crouched in over the body of a friend that he had thought fated to die. He could not think of that. He remained quiet, impassive, as the room became thick with dark cloaks, rich robes, the crush of Death Eaters anxious to please their master.
"We have been betrayed," said the Dark Lord. "Or we have been failed. MacNair does so claim that there is a betrayal in our ranks. That somebody, someone amongst my most faithful, came here last night and removed our captive. Perhaps for themselves. Perhaps to save them. We do not know."
Regulus must not betray emotion. Betray anything.
"MacNair, our dear friend, may, of course, be attempting to cover for his own incompetence. After all, the Dark Lord always knows when somebody is lying. I do not detect disloyalty."
"The Order," said Nott. "The Order must have found him. I know you will be correct, my Lord, and that if you do not find disloyalty then there will be none."
"I do so hope you are right, because we all know the punishment for such a crime, do we not? Death, and perhaps not a fast one."
Regulus knew.
"MacNair, Nott, Crabbe. You will be punished. No matter what occurred here, you have failed me. The rest of you will resolve my problem. You will kill each and every member of the Order of the Phoenix that you come across. You will not leave the job for later. Francis Macmillan will die when we are able to get to him, and so will Sirius Black. James Potter. Dorcas Meadows. Philomena Prewett. Peter Pettigrew. The rest of them, and last, but not least, Albus Dumbledore."
Regulus had to warn Sirius. Now.
a/n: We have two more chapters left of part two, which is pretty exciting, given that I wrote some of the bits in this chapter and the next two back in February or March.
