Chapter Fifty-One: Regulus
Regulus
August 1979, Grimmauld Place
Regulus left his bedroom that night for the last time, locking the door with a jab of his wand. He made his way down the stairs, past his mother and father's room, the guest rooms, the bathrooms. He stopped on the first floor, paused, and then pushed open the door to the drawing room. It was delay, but perhaps it was necessary.
He had stood to be pledged to Adeline here, and here he had celebrated birthdays and Christmases. He had watched his brother be tortured by their parents for his opinions, and he had watched his mother blast Sirius from the family tapestry for daring to come to different conclusions than they had. Regulus had firmly sided with his parents, at that time. Sirius had been wrong.
Or so Regulus had thought.
He crossed the room and ran his hands across the material of the tapestry, lingering on the burn hole that had been Sirius. He had never wanted that for his brother. Regulus had always supposed that Sirius would see the light. He would realise that what he was doing was utterly and completely without point. He would submit to the views of their parents.
Now, Regulus was not so sure that Sirius had made the wrong decisions.
Sirius had been gifted with the bravery that he had not. No, Regulus had never been brave. When their parents had threatened them, Regulus had backed down. He had said his apologies, and then stood beside them as they attempted to break his brother.
It had been barbaric, that is what it had been. They had been boys, when it had started. Sirius had not even been at Hogwarts when they had used an Unforgivable Curse against him for the first time. His brother had pushed and pushed against their parents, yes, but they should not have retaliated as they did. Regulus could hardly remember a moment when his brother had not been sporting an injury or a bruise from his mother's or his father's wands. They were cruel. All for the crime of believing something different.
Regulus had never believed in what Sirius had.
Purebloods were supposed to be revered. They had hurt Sirius, they had tried to kill him. Regulus had tried to kill him. Francis. Francis was a pureblood. He had not been a blood traitor, except for having joined the Order. Their blood had been as pure Regulus' own.
Regulus found Andromeda's burn mark with his other hand. She had married a Mudblood. To his shame, Regulus could not remember the man's name. But Andromeda was happy, by all accounts, and he and Bella and Narcissa were not. They had done what had been asked and had been expected, and they were suffering as Andromeda and Sirius were not.
Why?
The burn marks were as familiar as Regulus' hand. After Sirius, his mother had made Regulus stand over the tapestry and recite the names of those who had been burned off and their transgressions. He had sworn never to be a disgrace, never to fail the family.
If he did as he intended to, tonight, he would be the disgrace. He would fall further than Sirius and Andromeda ever had. Further than Alphard, Cedrella, Iola, Marius and the rest. They had always been intended to fall from grace. Regulus was the heir, the shining star, the one who would fix the broken fortunes of the Black family.
Three disownments in one generation. It was unheard of. It was the end of the Black family, save for the baby growing within his wife, if Regulus did what he was intending.
Well, he thought it unlikely he would survive, and so perhaps he would not be disowned. They might not realise what it was he had done, and he may be seen to the public and his family to die a hero's death at the hands of the Order of the Phoenix, perhaps. If that was the way of it, Regulus would be pleased for the baby. The baby did not deserve to be given a disgrace for a father. He would have liked his contribution to be known, but it would be the better for the baby.
It would likely kill his father. It would enrage his mother, he would let down Pollux and Arcturus. Bellatrix would curse his name. Narcissa would cry.
Adeline would be alone, alone with the baby and his mother. Perhaps Lyra would help with the baby, and Narcissa would. If she was able. She had her own growing within her, and no Lucius.
He would be the failure, the disgrace, the death of the Black family, more so than Sirius had ever been.
And he was still determined.
The baby. He would be sad to miss the baby.
But the baby had a life ahead of it. The war had to end.
Regulus thought of the baby, and he thought of the others who he hoped to save. Francis, the way he had lain there broken and bloody, and the way he had looked at Regulus afterwards. Lyra, likely to be betrothed to some lackey of the Dark Lord. Adeline, hiding from him when she knew of what he had done in the name of the war. Those children. Sirius.
Kreacher. Of all the things Regulus thought he would make a stand for, Kreacher.
He took his hands from the tapestry, and placed his left hand into the pocket of his robes. His fingers tightened around the chain of the stand-in locket in his pocket, the one that had triggered the idea when he had found it in Sirius' old bedroom.
He could no longer stand for this.
Regulus Black was not a brave man, but he did what he thought was right. The Dark Lord was not the man for him, not now. Voldemort. He was no Lord of Regulus'. He would never again bow to a Lord that promised him the things that he wanted. Regulus was not to survive this, no, but if he did, then he made himself that promise. He would truly make his own choices.
He was not proud of what he had done, of what had led him here. But, perhaps, he could be proud of what he would do tonight, even though it was almost certain to lead to his own demise.
His fingers shook on the locket's chain at that thought. He was not prepared for death. There was so much yet that he wished to see and wished to do. He would never meet his child, see the face of his beloved wife as she presented him with the son that would carry the name of Black into a further generation.
He hoped for better for the child. He hoped for a boy, as they all did, but he hoped for one all the more now that he knew there would not be a second. Regulus had wanted three or four.
But this one would be the last Black, and may he make the choices his father was not brave enough to.
No, Regulus Black was not a brave man, but he was a hopeful one. Even after everything.
He steeled himself. The decision was made.
He must go.
He must be the man that Sirius would be proud of, not the man his parents and the Dark Lord and Bellatrix wanted him to become. Lucius had wanted that; Lucius was dead.
Regulus closed the drawing room door as he exited, leaving the tapestry behind.
"Kreacher," he called, as he passed the kitchen. "It is time."
"If Master says so," said Kreacher. "Kreacher does not want to go back there, no Kreacher does not, but if young master says so Kreacher will. Kreacher lives to serve Master Regulus."
"Kreacher," said Regulus, crouching down beside the house elf. "I may not come back with you, tonight. If I order you to leave, you will leave. You will destroy any item that I give you, and you will not tell the Dark Lord or any family of its existence. Do you understand?"
"Kreacher would not want to obey, Master Regulus, but Kreacher will,"
"You are a good elf," said Regulus. "And Kreacher? Look after Mother. She is unlikely to be pleased by my actions, so do not tell her or anyone else what I have done. I know I cannot ask you to go against her, but if you can do this one thing for me, Kreacher, please do so."
"Kreacher lives to serve young master, Kreacher does."
"Thank you."
This was his last time in number 12, Grimmauld Place. He thought of Adeline, above. He wished he could have left her a note, but only Kreacher could know. It was safest, that way. He would protect his family from reprisals, because they would come if it was known what he would do. It was a year since he had taken the Dark Mark, and he knew his fellow Death Eaters now.
"Regulus! Regulus!" A woman's scream, from above. This had not been in the plan. He shrunk into the shadows as he heard footsteps on the stairs, pulling Kreacher in beside him.
"Regulus fucking Black, oh Merlin, where are you, what have you done?"
He was certain the voice was Lyra's, now, but what was she doing here at almost midnight? And the language was unlike anything he had ever heard from his cousin. Quite unbecoming of a well brought up lady.
He should go, before he was discovered out of bed. A clatter of shoes on the stairs above him made that thought rather unnecessary. He looked up, and there she was, staring him down as if she was entirely on to what he was about to do.
"Lyra, my dear cousin," he said, acting for all the world as if he was just getting himself a night-cap. "What brings you here at this hour?"
"I could ask the same of you," she said. There was something off about his cousin. Her usual expensive robes had been replaced with a thrown-on set of plum robes that were ripped at one sleeve, and her hair was tied haphazardly on top of her head.
"I could not sleep," he said smoothly, "and I was asking Kreacher to perhaps pour me a small nightcap. Could I persuade you to join me?"
"Yes," said Lyra. "Certainly, I mean."
"There is something the matter," said Regulus. "Please, do tell me. I will be sure to help you in whatever way I can. You are my dear cousin, after all."
"Don't go alone, tonight," she said.
"Lyra," he said. "You will tell me what you know."
"That will take rather a long time," she said, with the smallest of smiles. She had a look of sadness. But she could not know what he intended. How could she? It had been the closest-kept of secrets.
He lead her into the kitchen, and Kreacher set them both up with a drink before Regulus ordered the elf away and not to listen in. His left hand remained in his pocket on the chain of the locket as his right hand curled around the glass of the Firewhisky Kreacher had served to them. If Lyra thought that unusual behaviour, she did not say so. He could calm Lyra, it would not be about this, and hopefully would still have a chance to get away before the dawn.
"Speak, cousin," he said. "I would hear why you are here."
"Well," she said. "I want your oath, Regulus, before I talk."
"Why?" he asked.
"You'll see," she said. "Your oath, Regulus. Would I ask if it was not important?"
"You have never asked anything of me that I was not willing to grant. I am wary to swear an oath unless I know more."
"I can't," she said. "Please, Regulus. I might be able to save your life. You will die if you do what you are planning to do."
"How do you know? What do you know?"
"Regulus. Trust me."
He took in her disheveled look, her pleading eyes, and the desperation that came from her, and he nodded. "Okay."
"Take my hand," she said. He did. "Say the words, you know the oath."
"On my magic," he intoned, "I promise to hold your secret for the time I am bound by this oath."
"One more thing," said Lyra. "I don't want to discuss this here."
"That is acceptable." She held all of the cards, and he supposed that he should trust her. He had trusted her previously. "If I am to be assured it is safe."
She held out her hand, for an oath in response.
"On my magic," she said, her hand clasped in his, her voice steady. "I promise to keep you safe. I promise to tell you the truth, for the time that I am bound by this oath."
He nodded, and drank down the last of his drink.
"Follow me," she said. Lyra stood up from the table, taking the last of her Firewhisky down in a single gulp. Regulus mirrored her action, then followed as she stepped out of the kitchen door, quietly out into the hallway, and out of the front door. Once they were in the square outside the house, she took his arm, and they Apparated away.
Regulus had never seen their current location before, he was certain of it, a dark alleyway sandwiched in between two terraces of small houses. She lead him in through a gate in the fence, and down a short garden, then into one of the houses through the back door. They stood in a kitchen, a very much Muggle kitchen, and she lead him onwards into a small Muggle sitting room with a television set and a full complement of crochet blankets thrown over the back of the sofa and the armchair. She indicated that he should sit, and he took the armchair as she claimed the sofa for her own.
"Where are we?" he asked.
"No," she said. "Where would you like me to start?"
"With what you thought I should be prevented from doing."
"Destroying the Horcrux?"
"Lyra," he said, leaning forwards with urgency. "How is it you know of the Horcrux?"
She was his cousin, and she could not be messing with these things. Did she not know the dangers of the Dark Lord? Had she not heeded his warnings of Severus Snape and the other Death Eaters he had unwittingly introduced her to? She should not know.
"How do you know about it?" she countered. "I've always wanted to know that."
"I think," he said, "that I would prefer to be the one asking the questions at the present time."
"I'd better start at the beginning," she said, nodding. "Well, there's no easy way to say this. I'm not actually your cousin. I'm just a very convincing fake. My name is Hermione Granger, and I will be born in, well, a few weeks. September 1979. I'm a time-traveller. I've come… that's not the right way to express that. In my time, my best friend travelled to the place you were going to tonight to destroy a Horcrux. He found it had already gone, and in its place was a perfectly normal locket bearing a note from RAB. Which is Regulus Arcturus Black, of course. You. You know your own name, that was pointless."
She paused, fiddling frantically with a locket she wore around her neck.
"It said you would be dead by the time the replacement was found, and that you hoped to destroy the Horcrux first. That you wanted to be a part of taking down Voldemort."
Regulus felt the chain in his pocket. He'd written the note in his study, that very evening. It was indeed signed with his initials. It indeed predicted that he would be dead by the time his act was discovered.
A time traveller. It was possible, certainly. The Department of Mysteries at the Ministry was capable of it. But here, now, to talk to him? Unlikely. He had no illusion he was important enough for that. But he would hear her out.
She continued. "We found the Horcrux, in the end, and destroyed it. Kreacher, for all his best efforts, didn't manage it. He did you proud, though, Regulus. A lot of other things happened, and Voldemort was finally destroyed in May of 1998."
"Almost twenty years from now," said Regulus.
"That was your aim, wasn't it?" she asked.
"Yes. It is a hope, more than it is an aim. One man alone could not achieve it, could not hope to. I hope to do my part."
"That's all anyone can hope for," said Lyra, who wasn't really Lyra. "But why?"
"I no longer believe that a man who spills so much pure blood could ever be what I wished for him to be. He has ordered the death of my brother. He ordered the death of Francis."
"Why Francis?"
"Why have you decided to impersonate my cousin?" He did not wish to answer that, and she was the imposter and the time traveller. The answers were rather on her to provide.
"We created your cousin, rather than impersonated her. As far as I know, there is no Lyra Black. She's a fakery."
"A good fakery, as you say. You have some impressive knowledge of the Black family tree, for a non-family member. Are you a member of our family in the future?"
"I'm a Muggleborn," she said. "So no."
"So how?" he asked. This was almost like to be a joke, the way she sat here and imparted this information as if it was the reality when it could not be. He had heard the far-fetched stories before, of time travellers and of impersonations. And a Mudblood? She could not be.
"No," he said. "Confirm to me who you are, before you answer me. Who did I tell you to refuse any proposal from, the second evening we met?"
"Severus Snape," she replied, as quickly as she ever did. "He has a Muggle father."
"He does. Kindly continue."
"You stole the Horcrux, and we found it, we destroyed Voldemort. Life was peaceful. But a lot of good witches and wizards, and many innocent Muggles, lost their lives." She sighed, he was certain that he saw her wipe a tear away from her face. "But nobody wanted to come back here. I don't think. There was too much risk of it going wrong. Time turners didn't exist."
"And yet here you supposedly are."
"It was an accident. We ended up in 1978, and so did, well, that's for later. And we almost didn't get involved, Regulus. I don't know how I could have thought that, back then, that it was better to leave things as they were. But my mind was changed, and we want to make things better. We've been working on that since December. We've saved several people, we've almost made things worse, but we need you to end Voldemort."
"Why?" He was hardly important. He had, apparently, failed to ensure the destruction of the Horcrux. Or would fail. It was becoming complex.
"I didn't go with… my friend to the cave the night he found your fake Horcrux," she said. "None of us did. We don't know where to find it. You're the only one who knows, besides Voldemort himself. Without you, we cannot kill him, Regulus."
"And you wish for my help."
"I do."
"Why did you not speak this truth of yours when you met me, in February?"
"I didn't trust you. In February, could you honestly say you would have agreed to destroy a segment of Voldemort's soul?"
Examining his motivations, Regulus knew that he would not have. He was in the thrall of the Dark Lord then. He had desired only to please the man he had sworn service to, and had been preparing to kill for him. He had tortured for him, he would do so again. He had been a Death Eater, through and through.
"I would not."
"That's why," she said.
"Lyra," he said. "Why now?"
"Hermione," she said firmly. "You might as well, here, at least. We, I wanted to save you. We could have let you die, and waited until Kreacher brought back the locket. But we thought your life was worth more than dying for a Horcrux."
"Perhaps it is not," he said. "You do not know what I have done. I need to atone for what I have caused to have happened."
"And it's far better to do that alive than dead."
"My family do not need a murderer."
"No," she said. "They need a father, and a husband, and, fucking hell, perhaps even your parents deserve a son. Though I'm not going to be held to that, with what I know of them."
"What do you know?"
"What your brother has told me. And your cousin Andromeda."
"You know I have no brother, Lyra." It was not true. He had referred to Sirius as his brother within this very conversation, somehow, and yet he still felt as though he ought to deny it.
"Hermione."
"Hermione, then. I have no brother, and I would question why you have been contacting Sirius."
"It's complicated," she said. "Look. I think we need a drink."
"I would agree with that statement," said Regulus. Hermione, or Lyra, or whoever she was in reality, disappeared off into the kitchen and Regulus was left sitting in the front room by himself. He had never been in a house that was this small before for a social visit, and found himself wondering how a family fitted themselves in.
It was not the time for that.
He was, if he was honest, tempted to leave. He knew where he was intending to go tonight, and time was running short. He was no brave, courageous Sirius, and if he did not do it now there was a significant chance he would lose his nerve. And who was this woman, if she was not his cousin? Could he trust a word of what she had to say?
"Drink," she said. "It's gin. Fucked if I know why, S- someone else who lives here likes it. Drinks it in memory of a lost friend, that and fucking port. Nobody who lives here has any taste in alcohol. I didn't even drink, you know, before I came here. Or swear. Now I consume and I swear like a fucking sailor."
"Thank you," said Regulus, unclear of what to make of that statement. "Who else lives here? I would not want such a sensitive conversation to be interrupted or compromised."
"The house has excellent security measures," said Hermione. "He's put everything on it, turns out he's rather good at these sorts of things. The others that live here are in a similar situation to me. They're from the future. Luna, Ginny, and… well, Regulus, you're going to have to promise me something now."
"What is that? I would do anything for my cousin, Lyra, but you are not her it seems." He ignored her references to the he. Who she was living with seemed both vital and highly unimportant, all at once.
Regulus was loathe to make promises to some girl he did not know, especially if they were willing to lie to him for months. He did not like this. She was potentially of use to him still, and he clearly was of use to her, but that was not how he needed this to work. He was working alone, for the safety of everyone around him.
"Just, promise me that you won't leave when I say what I'm going to."
"I will hear you out. I cannot make promises for my actions after that point."
"The fourth person who travelled back with us was Sirius."
"My brother?"
"Yes."
There were no words.
"And he knows what you have been doing?" Regulus pressed.
"It was mostly his idea, if I'm honest." She had finished her glass of gin, and was pouring further measures for both of them. "Sirius loves you, Regulus. I don't think he'll ever come out and say it, but he does. Since we landed here… well, I didn't want to meddle with anything to begin with, but he always wanted to save you."
"Our parents did not promote displays of affection." Regulus did not know if he could say aloud that he loved his brother. "He knows what I did?"
"That's the thing," said Hermione. "He didn't. Not the first time he tried to save you. We were there, outside the Lestrange place the night you took the Dark Mark, and Sirius was trying to get you away from there. I didn't tell him about your actions with the Horcrux until much later. All that your family knew after was that you tried to get out. They didn't know your bravery, your sacrifice."
"Sirius has always been the brave one."
"There's room for two brave siblings," said Hermione. "You should see Ginny's family."
"I do not want anyone to misunderstand my motives," said Regulus. "This is as much to save my own skin as anything else."
"Sirius acts selfishly more than half the time," said Hermione. "Up to seventy percent, at least."
"Sirius is my brother," said Regulus.
Hermione smiled at him, as if she understood exactly the cost of that statement. It had been years, long years, since he had allowed himself to say that phrase out loud. Why now? He did not know.
"And you're his brother," said Hermione. "I think I've missed bits of my explanation, though. There's things I need to say."
"Please do go on," said Regulus. "And after that, if I may ask a favour?"
"Of course."
"I would like to meet with my brother. And you will swear me an oath, the Unbreakable Vow, that this is in fact the truth and not a lie concocted to ensure my untimely death or captivity."
"Yes," said Hermione. "Both of them, of course. I'm not lying. Sometimes I wish I was." She drained her glass again. "You should know, though, this Sirius has come from 1996. He's older. He's been through an awful lot. He's… well, things aren't exactly going as we had planned. He's struggling, Regulus."
"We all have our struggles."
Her eyes misted over, as if she was trying not to cry. Regulus could understand that.
"You said the war was ended in May of 1998."
"I did. It's complicated, Regulus. Sirius fell through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries in June 1996. He didn't die, it turns out, though we all though he did. It's coincidence, a technicality, a whole bunch of messiness and tangled strings that mean we've ended up here at the same time he did. Me, Ginny, and Luna, we last lived in 2002."
"That is a complicated set of affairs," said Regulus, "although the state my life has become is so far from what I had intended that I can believe that others could find themselves suffering the same fate."
"Indeed," said Hermione. And she talked Regulus through the rest of their recent lives, a story which six months before Regulus would have struggled to believe to be true. They had been manipulating the past as they knew it, at personal cost, and fighting to preserve Regulus as well as they could.
"Why me?" he asked, when she had finished.
"Because," she said. "You're Sirius' brother, in the main. And, the Horcrux? You are the only person that knows where it is."
"That cannot be true."
"It is. We need you, because we can't kill Voldemort early without your knowledge of this Horcrux."
"And you intend for me to die?"
"No. I think we can save you. We're prepared, see. You don't know what's ahead of you, other than what Kreacher has told you. We know exactly how to help you."
"How?" Regulus did not believe her, not on this. He would suspend disbelief
"We know what you'd be facing. My friend went to the cave, in my future, and we know what's in there and we know what to do. We just don't know how to get there."
"And Kreacher does."
"Yes."
"I will require your assurance that my house elf will be safe. He has suffered enough in the pursuit of this."
"Okay. We can do that. I, well, I have a thing about house elves."
Whatever she meant by that was a tale for later times, of that Regulus was more than certain.
"Not tonight," he said. "I wish to sleep on what you have said. I am sure that I can keep my pretence of loyalty to the Dark Lord for at least a further day, if not two or three. Before we travel, I will meet my brother, and I will meet your other companions. And I will be satisfied that you are indeed not going to harm my elf, my wife or my unborn child."
It was the strangest state of affairs that Regulus had ever seen, and he was sat here, and he was unable to understand why he thought that even a section of this could have been the truth. Perhaps it was a dream. He may wake, having found all of this to have been a terrible nightmare, and the world was the way he had always assumed it to be.
"That's fine," she said. "I expected that you would not believe this. I don't think I would have."
"I do not know if I do, entirely."
"Do you want to meet someone, now? Luna will come. If you still want me to swear a vow, Luna will be our bonder."
Regulus did not think the absurdity of this could be increased by adding a further person, even if they were said to have travelled in time by twenty-five years.
"That would be acceptable."
She, the cousin that was not, cast some spell out of the window, and within seconds there was the twist of a key in a lock, and a blonde girl stepped into the opening doorway. Her long, blonde hair fell down her back in a cascade, dressed plainly except for the fact that the necklace she wore was almost certainly made of flowers. The petals opened and closed as she came into the room, closing the door behind her and taking a seat with Regulus and the Hermione girl.
"Hello, Regulus, I did wonder when I would be meeting you. I have heard rather a lot of you."
"I have never heard of you, if I am honest, and I do not know what the social etiquette is in a situation such as this. But, for what weight my name still carries, I am Regulus Black."
"Luna Lovegood. It is so nice to be meeting you at last. I expect the etiquette can be whatever you want it to be. It is not like this is normal, is it?"
Regulus supposed that was correct.
"You have come from the same place as Hermione?"
"In broad terms, yes. I too come from a future that you did not originally live to see. You are more handsome than I expected you to be."
"I am married."
"And I am interested in women, which is much more of a problem than a simple marriage, I am sure. Nevertheless, we are here to discuss a conundrum, are we not?"
Regulus did not understand this girl. But, then, he did not understand much at the present time. It would likely be a dream. He would wake tomorrow still condemned to a death of his own making.
"We are."
"Well, I am pleased to see that you are here. I've never met you, see. And you're sort of famous around here. Sirius loves you more than anyone else in this world, with the possible exception of Hermione."
"You are married?"
"I can see that you did not mention this part, Hermione." Luna had a smile that seemed much more than just a smile. "They are not married, Regulus."
"But you live here, in this house, as a couple?"
"Where we come from, that's acceptable," Lyra said. "I don't think Sirius would care, anyway, even if it wasn't."
Mother would be disapproving. Not of the cousin connection, even though she was not entirely that to either of them, but of the situation. The fact that her darling girl, the one that would do the Black women proud after Bella and Andromeda had so failed her, and Cissy's husband was dead, was living with her blood-traitor son and was unmarried. Mother was close enough to evoking the blood connection to ensure that she did accept a betrothal and live properly.
The blood. She had passed the test, when they had first met. She was a Black, somehow.
But the Luna girl was correct that Sirius would not have cared, even if it was not supposedly acceptable where it was they were from. Or perhaps it was when. Even though it was not exactly the point right now.
"If you are a Mudblood, how did you pass my grandfather's blood test?"
"Your brother. He and Luna here performed a ritual. Also, I prefer Muggleborn."
"Oh."
There was much to take in this evening. He thought that he would have to ask for some kind of proof. It would be remiss, he thought, to take everything that Hermione or Lyra said at face value. He was a Black, despite everything that he would do or would plan to do, and a Black was certain before they acted. He had been certain, and now he was not, and he would do well to act.
"I will wish to see memories that confirm this," he said, in his best Black voice. "My grandfather, Arcturus Black, owns a Pensive. It can easily be arranged for that to be fetched."
"Ask Kreacher," said Hermione. "I'd rather you didn't leave here, not until we've got all of this straight. And you're happy." She gave him a look, one of sadness and everything that came with that. "You're what's important, tonight."
"Yes," he said. "So as I do not disappear and walk myself to an untimely death in a trap laid by my own Dark Lord." He paused. "Not that he is my Dark Lord any longer."
He supposed he had not said that out loud before.
"Well done, Regulus," said Hermione, quietly. "Sirius is going to be so proud."
"This is not for him," Regulus said, but it was, if he was entirely honest with himself. It was becoming an act for so many people that he was becoming close to losing track. "Kreacher," he called, and the house elf appeared.
"Kreacher is ready, Master Regulus, if it is time."
"It is not," said Regulus, and felt a swell of relief. "Fetch Grandfather Arcturus' Pensive, and do not allow him to know what it is you are doing."
"Yes, Master Regulus," said Kreacher, bowing low and disappearing with a crack. The elf had a look of relief on his face, too, even though he was well trained enough not to allow it to show to anyone who did not know him well. He would have followed Regulus back to that cave if ordered. He would have done it, even though he did not want to.
Kreacher came back, and Hermione decanted a collecting of silvery memories into it, and Regulus found that, before he was quite ready, it was his turn.
"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked.
He ought to do this alone, but perhaps that was not his right choice.
"Please," he said. They joined hands, and tipped themselves into the Pensive.
He saw a bushy-haired girl with prominent front teeth, and features of Hermione sit on the stool in the Great Hall, and have the Sorting Hat placed on her head. It shouted for Gryffindor, but Regulus watched the surroundings. Dumbledore was older, more worn, as was Professor McGonagall. A man who looked much of Severus Snape stood at the teacher's table, older, lined, wary.
The scene changed, to fragments of the bushy-haired girl as she grew. Her teeth retracted, she attended lessons, but this was not important. A snippet that his brother had escaped Azkaban, a terrifying photograph of a Sirius abandoned to Dementors. Her and his brother on a Hippogriff, of all things. And then she stood on a Quidditch pitch filled with hedgerows, and heard a dark haired boy shout that the Dark Lord had returned, holding a corpse.
"Who is that?" he asked. The boy must be significant, to be the one sent as a warning.
"Harry," she said. "My best friend."
The girl that was Hermione, or Lyra, formed an army, fought in a battle against Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix and others he knew. Others he had fought with and killed with.
"Lucius is dead," he said.
"Not where we come from." She looked once again as if she would cry. "This is the part where your brother dies, as far as we can tell, but I wasn't there to see it."
"I am sorry to hear that he died."
She showed a memorial service for Sirius, a small group of them crowded around in the garden at Grimmauld Place, planting a tree.
"A muggle thing," she said, "to plant a tree for someone that died."
"He would have liked that. My brother liked to rebel."
And Regulus was certain that he would.
He watched as she went back to school, and the flashes of news of death and the ascension of the Dark Lord once more. Dumbledore's death, or the aftermath of it.
"I was fighting your cousin," she said. "I wasn't there when he died."
The memories became harder to view. They were more fragmented, tinged with emotion, as if they were difficult to recall. She broke into the Ministry of Magic to steal back the locket he had tried so hard to retrieve. A ginger-haired boy ran away, a boy she loved, perhaps. He came back, with the dark-haired Harry and a shattered locket free of corrupting soul.
They broke into Gringotts. Flew out on a dragon with a cup, Regulus and Hermione somehow sailing through the air behind them to follow the dragon. He followed her from there into the Chamber of Secrets, smashing the cup with a basilisk fang, who would have known, and then into a pitched battle in the grounds of Hogwarts itself. Regulus felt himself duck curses as they flew past him, despite it being a memory he was within.
"And you survived this?"
"Many didn't."
Severus died. Bellatrix, too, killed. And then the Dark Lord and the boy, fighting, shouting at one another, until the Dark Lord lay on the floor, mortal and so firmly dead.
It was as if he was human, Regulus thought.
"Do you see?" she asked.
There were more memories, a tale of reconstruction of the wizarding world from this point on. They watched memorial services, the construction of a statue on the grounds of Hogwarts, and her walking into a job at the Ministry of Magic. A wedding. An engagement. The birth of a baby girl, and watching a toddler learn to fly a broomstick.
"Does that help?" she asked.
"Memories can be falsified," he said. "My mother taught me how."
"And I imagine she taught you how to tell if they had been. Do you think they are?"
Truthfully, he did not.
"No."
There were some ways in which he wished that they were. He had sacrificed his life, and little had seemed to change. There had been war after, as there was war before. None of the things he had decided that he should fight for had been protected, just as none of them were at the present moment.
But they were not falsified. They were, at least as far as her perception of the events went, entirely truthful.
"Let's go back."
"Yes."
Back, he thought. Back to a time where this was not something he was required to deal with.
It was his choices that had led him to this. But then one was entitled to regret one's own choices, were they not?
Luna sat waiting for them, carefully peeling the skin from a small orange.
"Clementine?" she asked, as if it were an ordinary day.
"No," said Hermione. "Gin?"
"Certainly."
The liquid was horrific, he thought. It had nothing on a sensible, wizarding drink. Firewhisky burned, but this seemed to strip the feeling from his throat and his stomach. He rather enjoyed the sensation.
"Do you want to meet him?"
Regulus did not need to ask who.
"I think so."
"Take your time."
"We do not, necessarily, have the luxury of time. The Dark Lord may call me at a moment's notice. He believes that I am loyal. The longer I deceive him, the higher the likelihood of me meeting an end that is not of my choosing, and an end that does not remove a Horcrux from him."
"He does have a point, there," said Luna. She had finished her orange, and was lining up the peel along the arm of the sofa she sat on.
"I wish to meet him."
Regulus did not want to believe all of this, and yet, somehow, he did. Perhaps tomorrow he would realise that there was no conceivable reason any of this could be the truth. That it was the fever dream of a desperate man. He was honest enough about himself to understand that he was, indeed, desperate. He wished for the impossible, to remove the Horcrux from the Dark Lord and to survive to tell the tale.
"In your memories," he said, a realisation coming to him, "there were multiple items you destroyed. There was a cup, too."
"A cup, a diadem, a locket, a ring, a diary, a snake." She looked down at the floor. "We repeated those words enough times."
"I would not have made him mortal once more."
"No. It doesn't diminish what you did, but no."
"What I tried to do." He paced. It was becoming a frequent habit, one he must make effort to stop. "I wish to meet with my brother from the future. Perhaps then this will be of more sense than it is at the present time."
Luna finished with her orange peel. "If it makes sense, it is probably rather boring. Shall I fetch him?"
"The Vow, first." It was important. A Black protected themselves and their family, at all times.
"Of course."
Luna drew her wand, and he and Hermione knelt down onto the Muggle carpet, surrounded by the Muggle things, and this, Regulus thought, of all of it, was the part that he would not have been able to dream up.
"Do you," he asked, "promise to tell me the entire truth of the matter, and not to withhold information unless it would put my family in the line of danger?"
Her eyebrows furrowed, but she nodded.
"Yes."
"Do you promise to protect my family, including my unborn child, and my house-elf in all endeavours, even if I perish?"
"Of course, yes."
He waited for her. Three elements to seal the Vow, and she should make one.
"Do you," she asked, "promise to renounce the Dark Lord, and to work with us to ensure his demise?"
He knew it would be something of the sort, he supposed.
"I do."
Luna tapped their hands twice with her wand, and the swirling tendrils of the magic wrapped them, and it was done.
"That is what you intend, then?" he asked.
Hermione nodded.
"Kill Voldemort," she said.
"It is as well that I share your aim."
Indeed it was. This was almost so fortuitous, so unlikely, that it was like to be a dream.He was desperate enough to believe it. To hope above all else that this rescue was to save him.
