I, Too, Shall Follow—Chapter Fifty-Four
"Yes, my love? Is there something I can do for you?" Lucius looked up from his comfortable leather chair at his desk in his study where he'd been endeavoring to get some work done, but a visit by his alluring wife had put everything on hold. This pregnancy, while making her periodically ill, had the effect of brightening her already beautiful self in a way he could only describe as a…glow. Rather pedestrian choice of words, albeit true. "You look radiant, Narcissa."
"Oh, you're just being nice." Nevertheless, she moseyed in, captivating him with the sway of her hips, and proceeded to pay him an obscene amount of innuendo-laden attention. "My, do you always look so handsome when you work? I hope the women know enough to keep their eyes to themselves." She licked her lips as she stroked one hand lightly up one side of his body, around the back of his neck, and down his chest, halting at the belt level. "There is something you can do for me, and I dare say you'll enjoy it as much as I will."
Lucius swallowed, feeling a pleasant sensation growing in his nether regions. "I'd do anything for you, dear. Name it."
"Do I need to say it?" she teased, her lips brushing his ear. With a snap of her fingers the band holding his hair burst open and his mane spilled over his shoulders.
He was only human, what could he do? He plunked her down onto his lap to assail her with kisses from the tip of her nose to her neck, ever so slowly, tantalizingly working his way south. Narcissa groaned her pleasure.
"Is this what you want?" he whispered. His teeth bit lightly into her neck, leaving a pink mark on her pale skin. "Do you like it, wench? Shall I pleasure you more?" His lips headed lower while his hands grappled with whatever he could touch. This was rapidly turning from a smooch-fest into an R-rated venture.
"Perhaps I should come back later?" Severus stood in the open doorway, the corner of his mouth struggling against his desire to smirk, while feeling somewhat awkward.
The two Malfoys jerked their heads in his direction, their faces flushing in unison. Narcissa yanked her husband's hand out of her blouse, sprang up, and swept down her robes, which thankfully hadn't yet begun to abandon her body as Lucius built up steam. Wisely, Lucius remained seated, turning his chair to slide his legs under the desk, thereby hiding any telltale signs of his wanton activity.
"Severus, I didn't expect you," he said smoothly. "Won't you come in?"
"Hi, Severus," Narcissa greeted, raking her fingers through her hair.
"Hello to you both. The elf told me I'd find you here, I'm sorry to disturb your…chat," Snape answered, walking in to sit opposite Lucius, assiduously avoiding eye contact with either of them. On the desk he noticed a plate of cookies and his smirk could no longer contain itself. "Oreos? I had no idea, Lucius."
"Oh, those are mine," Narcissa grinned, dragging the plate over to pick one up. "They're Muggle. Isn't it positively sinful?" She took a bite and offered the plate to Severus.
"No, thank you. Where on Earth did you ever get them?"
Lucius raced to make up a line, but he wasn't quick enough. His wife leaned over him, hugging his neck, and said, "Lucius got them for me in a Muggle grocery. He's such a wonderful husband!" She kissed the top of his head, leaving black Oreo crumbs in his hair, which she then tried to brush off with repeated wipes and flicks of her fingers.
The wizard reached up to gently snatch her hand, his face flushing again. "Thank you, dear."
"But you have crumbs in your hair, my love." Flick, flick.
"I'm fine, Narcissa," he said, once more guiding her hand away. "You can pick them out later, I think Severus wants to talk to me."
"Oh, alright, I can take a hint." She bent over to give him one more lingering kiss on the mouth. "Bye, Severus."
Severus gave a little wave, then to Lucius he teased, "So, Mr. Pureblood frequents Muggle stores. Who would've thought? Maybe sometime I'll bump into you." He was snickering by now.
Lucius delivered an imperious glare. "If anyone else 'happens' to find out, I'll hex you so badly even you won't be able to cure you."
"Oooh, someone's a little touchy. If it bothers you that much, I'll buy Narcissa's cookies for you."
Brightening, Lucius sat up a bit straighter. "Will you? That would be magnificent! I've only one more bag hidden here in my drawer, but she's eating them like they're going out of style." He stood up, reached into his pocket, drew out a hefty handful of galleons, and dumped them on the desk in front of Snape. "There you go, that should be enough to get me—her—through the pregnancy."
Snape shook his head, smiling wryly at his friend's pitiful attitude. There'd never been any doubt Malfoy and the other Death Eaters believed themselves superior to Muggles—and everyone else, but to note the mortification at the prospect of having to enter a Muggle establishment was truly amusing. Then he remembered the reason for coming and his gaiety waned. He took a copy of the Daily Prophet out of his robe and dropped it on the desk.
Lucius glanced at it, then back at Severus. "Yes?"
"I'm aware you read the paper every day, you must have seen it. There's an article on the front page; Benton is dead, presumed murdered by werewolves."
"Hmm," Lucius answered, fingering the paper. "I saw it, but I already heard from Rookwood, who heard it from Yaxley, who got it from Dolohov that he was killed on a raid involving our dear friends the werewolves. Dolohov witnessed the whole thing, he had to bring the body back."
"Gossip does indeed spread fast," Severus observed, thinking how much it reminded him of school days when rumors and gossip flew. "I saw in a Muggle newspaper that five women were mauled to death; the authorities are baffled. Can I assume this was the same raid?"
Malfoy nodded. "The dark lord made a mistake in enlisting those beasts," he said in a near whisper. "They're savages, they've already killed one of ours, how many more will there be?"
"That's why I'm here," Severus replied. He pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to Lucius. "It's a new potion called Wolfsbane. It allows a werewolf to retain his senses during a full moon."
Lucius scanned the formula and instructions briefly. "You invented this?" he asked incredulously, though in truth he wouldn't be too surprised, as Snape was a miracle worker.
"No, I didn't. I wanted to ask your opinion on whether I should give it to the dark lord. Would he use it, and if so, won't I be encouraging more innocent deaths as he sicks werewolves on people?"
Lucius snorted involuntarily. "Do you think Lord Voldemort will stop using the werewolves because of Benton? Dream on. The raids will continue, he's going for a terror effect, and this does it beautifully. I'm not sure if he cares how many of us die in that pursuit, and unless he teaches everyone to repel the filth, none of us will be safe."
"You fought werewolves after your father-in-law was murdered," Severus recalled aloud. "The dark lord taught you how, didn't he?"
"Yes. They're charmed, they won't die from the avada like normal people," he responded bitterly. "He didn't give us permission or instruction to show anyone else, but he didn't forbid it, either. I'll teach you, just don't tell him."
"As if I would," Severus rejoined. "So you think I ought to give him this formula?"
"I do. It won't cause any deaths that weren't already planned, and it may insure that innocent bystanders are left alone. Not to mention that if I were to be ordered on a raid with those brutes, I'd feel better knowing they had their wits about them."
Lucius made a good point, one Severus shared. Any one of them could be ordered on a mission at any time. He'd feel safer, too, not only if the werewolves drank the potion, but if he knew a spell to protect himself from them. Magical creatures that they were, he'd suspected ordinary magic wouldn't be effective against them. Speaking of magical creatures….
"Lucius, some time back Regulus told me he was at the castle when you arrived there with two vampires. Please tell me he was hallucinating."
The other chuckled softly. "While Regulus may be soft headed, he was right. No one is supposed to know why they were there. You're fairly intelligent, I imagine you can guess why they were there."
"Lord Voldemort tried to enlist them as allies," Severus proposed with a certainty in his voice. It explained perfectly the dark lord's brooding mood, his fit of pique when he announced he'd joined forces with the werewolves. "The werewolves were a poor second choice after the vampires declined his offer!"
Lucius applauded lightly. "Quite correct. To make matters more complicated, recently one of those vampires made an appearance here to visit me."
Severus' eyebrows shot up. "So now you're hanging around with vampires? You surprise me, Lucius."
"I'd hardly call it 'hanging around' with him," Lucius answered dryly. "Besides, he's a relative vampire."
"As in 'relatively vampire-like'?" asked Snape.
"As in 'we're related'. So he claims."
"Wow," said Severus, not knowing how to answer that. What does one say to the declaration that one's friend is kin to a vampire? Congratulations? My condolences? Good luck?
Lucius went on, seemingly oblivious to Severus' silence. "This is another thing I highly doubt would please the master—finding out I'm ostensibly related to one of the vampires who refused to join his cause. He'd feel compelled to take out his displeasure on me, so I trust you to keep it in confidence."
"Of course," Snape agreed. "Do you believe him, do you think he's telling the truth?"
"I don't know." Lucius paused for a moment, then said, "No. I don't know what his angle is, but if he's spreading this story it could get back to the dark lord."
"Why would he lie to make the master angry with you? You didn't do anything to him, did you?" asked Severus, seriously hoping the answer was no. Malfoy did have a tendency to say things to piss people off….
"I have no idea, I did nothing to him. I haven't even mentioned it to my father or Narcissa. I don't want to worry them."
"Maybe you ought to warn them. What if he returns? Shouldn't they be prepared?"
As much as Lucius wished he could say it wasn't necessary, that he found it unlikely Mateo would come back after his frosty reception the first time, in Narcissa's condition he couldn't take chances. "I guess you're right. The master taught me a spell to kill vampires, too. I'll teach all of you, just in case he returns."
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"So are you going back?"
Mateo shrugged, staring down at the ground from his perch in the crook of a large tree, Tonia beside him resting her feet on his lap as she leaned against the trunk. "Why bother? I should've known Darius was an anomaly. The other times I tried to make contact I was rebuffed."
"You didn't say Lucius rejected you," she stated.
"I left before he had the opportunity."
"Then how do you know he would have?" she insisted.
"Because he's a Malfoy!" Mateo barked, lifting his eyes to hers, both pairs glowing in the moonlight. "That's the way they are, with their superior, condescending attitude."
Tonia smiled and sat up, drawing back her legs and bending forward to run her hand over his short blond hair, stroking him affectionately. "Like you?"
"I'm not like that!"
"You're a Malfoy, aren't you?"
He sniffed. "Rest assured you won't find me in the family record. Can we change the subject?"
Tonia's hand lowered, sliding over his cheek, to drop down and grasp his hand, squeezing almost painfully. "Mateo, it's not my decision, but I think you should go back, at least give Lucius a chance. Yadiro told me he seemed like a reasonable man."
Mateo pried her fingers loose from his hand, then took it gently between both of his own. He wanted to go back, yet he didn't want to. There was so much he would like to know and share… Humans didn't understand sangristas, they feared and hated them without cause. Only a tiny percentage of sangristas he was aware of had ever killed a human, and fewer still had done so by draining their blood. They generally fed only once a week, unless the blood consumed was a small amount, and they needed far less to sustain them than a whole body carried. He was tired of prejudice, he was tired of trying to gain acceptance. And what for anyway?
"Mateo?"
"I often wonder why Darius befriended me," Mateo said softly, almost as if speaking to himself. "He was an only child, lonely I suppose. We spent many happy hours together walking the grounds and talking while his wife and children slept. Yet he never once permitted me into his house."
"Perhaps the old superstition that if you invite a vampire into your home, he'll kill you," Tonia offered. "I believed it myself until I was turned."
"Most likely," Mateo agreed. "I grieved for him when he died. I was naïve enough to think others might welcome my friendship, but I was wrong. Three times I made contact after Darius passed, not counting Lucius, and every time was a disaster. I shouldn't have expected anything different from Lucius, should I?"
Tonia shuffled closer to him so she could wrap her arms around his waist and rest her head on his chest. "I didn't mean to upset you. Why don't we head into the city, to a club? That always perks you up."
Poised to say 'no', Mateo paused to consider it. He loved to dance in these modern ways, it was much more fun than the stuffy waltzes he'd grown up with. It always tickled him how easy it was to cast a hypnotic glance on the doorman and be admitted immediately, despite the fact that he'd paid no cover charge or that the club was full or that he hadn't bothered to dress appropriately. And he enjoyed the way men looked at Tonia with longing when she had eyes only for him; it made him feel special in a way he wasn't used to after losing his wife so very long ago. Sometimes he wondered if Tonia even noticed the attention paid her.
He lifted her chin and kissed her tenderly, then with growing passion, stopping himself before he got lost in her essence. "Sure, let's go. I could use a night out."
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Regulus lifted the small piece of parchment from his desk and read it over silently to himself by the light of his wand; his jaw set determinedly, he folded it and placed it inside a locket which he slipped into his pocket. His gaze drifted around his room, decked out in silver and green, settling on the family crest painted over his bed, then back to the lone picture of his family, taken when Sirius still lived at home, before he'd gone bad. For a moment his resolve faltered; tears sprang to his eyes and his lips twitched. For them. He'd do it for them. Nodding to himself, he swallowed hard as he wiped at his eyes.
"I'm sorry mum and dad," he whispered. "Somebody has to take a stand, somebody has to stop the maniac."
He drew in a full, deep breath, took one more look at the room, and walked out, carefully treading down the stairs to avoid waking his parents.
"Kreacher," came Regulus' hushed voice in the darkened kitchen.
The elf stirred on his blankets in his cupboard, his groggy mind mulling over whether he'd heard a voice, then his huge eyes flicked open. "Master?" He rolled over, tumbled onto the floor, and got up to bow to Regulus.
"Kreacher, I've made a decision." He paced nervously back and forth, his whole countenance heavy with worry. "You Apparated here from the island you told me about, right?"
"Yes, Master Regulus." Kreacher's ears twitched as he picked up on the boy's anxiety.
"So you can Apparate back there." It wasn't a question.
"No, Master Regulus!" screamed the elf, prompting Regulus to physically shut him up by tackling him and laying a hand over his mouth.
"Be quiet, my family mustn't hear us!" he hissed. To the whimpering elf he added in an unconvincing tone, "It'll be alright."
"No, evil, it's evil," Kreacher moaned.
"Lord Voldemort is evil, someone has to stop him…. I have to do this."
"Why my beloved Master Regulus? Why not a lesser wizard?" pleaded the old elf. "No, mustn't go to the horrid evil place, master mustn't."
Regulus wasn't listening, he couldn't afford to be swayed. "Take me to the island with the basin of poison, Kreacher. Now."
Sniffling, Kreacher took hold of his pantleg and they Disapparated. The place where they arrived looked like nothing more than a big, flat rock with a stone basin on a pedestal. Surrounding them was a sea of calm water that gave him chills to even look at. Regulus stepped over to the basin and peered inside at the green glowing liquid, shuddering as he recalled what Kreacher had said about it.
Pulling a quill from his robe, he poked it down at the potion, only to have it stop before reaching the surface as if prevented by an invisible barrier. He pressed his hand toward the surface with the same result. Great. He'd supposed the dark lord would charm the hell out of the thing, yet in the back of his mind he still held a glimmer of hope that this might be easy. After all, Kreacher had told him of the twisted, convoluted hexes and guards set up to insure no one made it this far, and if no one but the dark lord could find this place and get here safely, why jinx the stupid potion, too? It was poison, it didn't need extra hexes!
Okay, he couldn't simply reach in and get the locket. He waved his wand over the top, mumbling a vanishing spell. No luck. He tried to transfigure it into water, again without success. When he'd tried everything he could possibly think of, some repeated times, he grunted in exasperation. Apparently Lord Voldemort made Kreacher drink the liquid because there was no other way. Even so, he charmed the quill into a teacup and scooped up the glowing poison, held it at arm's length, and poured it out. The liquid fell from the cup, swooped upward, and sloshed right back into the basin.
"You son of a bitch," Regulus growled. "I hope you rot in hell, but not before you discover who helped put you there!"
One more thing, he could try one more, though by now he already anticipated failure. He took a coin from his pocket and transfigured it into another cup. First he scooped full the teacup, then he dipped the other cup into the basin; it stopped dead before striking the surface. So this is how he wants to play! griped Regulus.
"Master Regulus, we should go now. Can't make poison go away." Kreacher stood looking up at him, tugging at Regulus' robes, his golf ball sized eyes watering.
This was it. There was no alternative if he wanted to make the dark lord mortal. He set both cups on the edge of the basin and knelt down in front of Kreacher, sitting back on his heels so they were nearly the same height, and he placed his hands on the elf's shoulders. Remembering something, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the locket with his note inside; he handed it to the elf, then placed his hand back on the shoulder again.
"Kreacher, I know you don't want me to do this, and I don't want to die, either, but—"
"Master Regulus!" Kreacher bawled, his wretched features appearing positively tortured. "No, Master Regulus, you can't die! Let Kreacher drink the nasty poison! Kreacher can—"
"No," he said quietly. "I would never do that to you. Now listen very carefully." He had to speak louder over Kreacher's mournful howling. He felt surprisingly calm now that his choice was firmly made, and he even felt sorry for Kreacher, who'd been a good house elf, who loved him, who shouldn't have to watch his master meet such a heinous fate. "When the basin is empty, switch the lockets and replenish the potion. You must take the locket home and destroy it, do you understand?"
"Yes," Kreacher sobbed. "Kreacher m-must g-go home and destroy the evil l-locket."
"That's right. And you can't tell Mistress Black or any of my family where I am or what's become of me."
Kreacher's red rimmed eyes grew to the size of tennis balls, all the while dripping tears down his cheeks. "But Mistress loves Master Regulus! How can she go on not knowing?"
"You love her, don't you? If she knew, if any of them knew, Lord Voldemort would kill them. It's for their safety, Kreacher. You have to protect Mistress."
The elf straightened his spine as he gulped back his sobs. "Kreacher must protect Mistress."
"Good job, Kreacher." He stood up, patted the elf's head, and looked over at the basin. There was no point in putting it off any longer. Before he could begin, Kreacher implored him once more.
"Master Regulus won't let Kreacher drink filthy poison, but why can't Master Regulus come home with Kreacher after…after master drinks it? Please!"
"Because brinnan durstig kills humans, there is no cure," Regulus explained matter-of-factly, sending the elf into hysterics once more. Lord Voldemort had obviously thought it would kill elves, too, but he didn't do his research, and that would come back to haunt him. It was small consolation for what was to come, but it was all he had. "I don't want my mother and father to watch me die—" His voice caught in his throat. The very thought of their anguish broke his heart.
With Kreacher wailing in the background, he approached the basin, said a short prayer, and picked up the teacup still full of the potion. In two swallows he downed the liquid, feeling it sear his insides all the way. There was no going back now, he'd succumb whether he retrieved the horcrux or not, but he'd be damned if he'd let himself perish here for Voldemort to find and gloat over.
Cupful after cupful he chugged in rapid succession, scarcely giving himself time to breathe in between. Desperate cries of despair escaped his lips. Clinging to the edge of the basin with all his strength, he forced himself to drink. Nothing existed anymore except his need to finish consuming this potion, nothing else mattered. Between the screams he couldn't contain and the terrible visions floating through his mind, his frenzied determination kept the cup, seemingly of its own accord, continuing to dip into the liquid to be gulped down as fast as he could move.
At last the teacup scraped the bottom of the basin. It was finished. Unable to let go of the cup clutched in his hand, sobbing and moaning as much from the painful hallucinations as from the gut wrenching agony, Regulus collapsed on the stone.
"Water," he rasped.
"Master Regulus!" Kreacher squalled. He lifted the cup and magically filled it with water that disappeared before the could get it to his master' lips. "Master!"
"Go home, Kreacher." Regulus ordered in a bare whisper, crawling slowly toward the edge of the slab. "Take the locket…"
In an attempt to alleviate the horrendous blistering of his insides, he plunged his face into the eerie, cold water and drank frantically. Instantly ghastly white hands stretched upward, snagging in his hair, entwining in his robes, dragging him to the brink. Kreacher's screams of desperation went unheard, mingling with his own. With a gurgling murmur Regulus disappeared into the lake.
