Chapter 75: A Mother's Love

"Do you believe that green potion could still be affecting me," Regulus asked. Even as he spoke, an image came to his mind unbidden of that basin full of phosphorescent green liquid. Green surely for Voldemort's Slytherin pride, but it only served to sully the great name of Salazar. Though the concept of the potion actually harming him went against everything Regulus understood of vampirism, it did make a sort of horrifying sense. "Vampires are said to heal from any physical ailment or affliction, but the way that potion twisted and enhanced every fear and negative emotion...does rather seem to be the way I frequently feel, especially when reflecting on my past mistakes even a little," Regulus admitted. "My feelings are far more watered down, as it were, than the extremes engendered by the potion, though. That could be explained by the vampire blood at least diluting the effects, but if the preservation property which makes vampires what they are also locked this potion into me eternalizing its effects, it could explain a lot."

"Would Dora know," Kreacher asked, hope as well as worry in his expressive blue eyes as they regarded Regulus. "If so, perhaps she would also know of a way to fix this and rid Master Regulus of the effects of the potion."

"We shall certainly ask," Regulus said. "We need to return to Doge's anyway to inform him as well as Dora that we are now free to return home." Suddenly a thought struck him. "Do you think we should bring Doge something as a farewell and thank you for allowing us to stay at your home for nearly a year sort of gift," he asked Kreacher and the elf nodded slowly.

"If Master Regulus will wait for an hour to depart, Kreacher shall make cookies," he offered. "He was thinking of the ones Miss Bella so used to enjoy." A fond smile flickered over his face. "He may even make enough for her if he is feeling particularly generous."

Regulus chuckled, kissing Kreacher's cheek. "Very kind of you."

The elf nodded sagely. "Yes, Kreacher knows." As Regulus sat up and peered about for their clothes, Kreacher added,"If Master Regulus would like to give something to Elphias Doge that he can keep as well, there is that big old mirror in the attic with that heavy iron frame. Kreacher thinks it must be centuries old and he bets Elphias Doge would appreciate it far more than the Black family ever has."

Regulus's lips twitched. "You mean you don't like the mirror," he said and Kreacher ducked his head, grinning.

"Well Kreacher does find the frame to be hideous. Mistress must have agreed, or why else would it be stuffed away in the attic, Kreacher wonders."

Regulus's amused smile widened as he nodded. "You have a good point." He stood and reached for their clothes, passing Kreacher's tunic to him before tugging on his own green robe. "I'm sure Doge will find it to be an interesting old piece," he said of the mirror. The thing had a very interesting twisted old iron frame unlike anything Regulus had ever seen before. Surely it was one of those one of a kind artist creations, and it was most definitely old. He could take it or leave it, but if it did not please Kreacher, he didn't mind passing it on to Doge, for he certainly had no personal attachment to the thing. He recalled something about his grandmother loving it and his mum hating it so as soon as she and Orion were given the manor, Walburga took it down, banishing it to the attic. Anything you don't want in the house, we'll get rid of," he told Kreacher. "Perhaps we should even redecorate...if you'd like, that is."

Kreacher considered as he thoughtfully straightened his tunic. "Kreacher supposes we could a bit, but the family home holds fond memories for us just as it is for the most part, Kreacher thinks."

Regulus nodded. "So it does. Anything you'd like to add, though, would be a welcome addition I am sure."

"Kreacher shall consider that," he said as they left the bed chamber together and headed downstairs.

"It feels so surreal," Regulus commented quietly as they reached the bottom. "The family home is finally ours."

"If we do redecorate, Kreacher thinks we should replace the curtains covering Mistress's Portrait first," the elf said and Regulus froze. "What portrait?"

A hand flew to Kreacher's mouth as his eyes widened in horror. "Kreacher must be more forgetful than he believed, for he quite forgot."

"Forgot what," Regulus demanded.

"Kreacher forgot to show Master Regulus Mistress's portrait. In truth, he did not forget at first," Kreacher admitted. "Dear Master Regulus was so upset to hear of her death, understandably, of course, that Kreacher did not wish to make it worse so he planned to show Master Regulus at a later date and as there was so much going on, he quite forgot to even mention it."

Regulus's heart leapt. His mother had a portrait! He could see her and speak with her again, at least in some fashion. Though a portrait did not have all the memories of a living person, they had a few. Regulus felt a lump rising in his throat at the thought of seeing his Mum's face again. "Show me now, please," he said, reaching for Kreacher's hand. The elf nodded solemnly and led Regulus into the front hall where he pushed aside a moth eaten set of green velvet curtains. Regulus understood why he wanted to replace them and strongly agreed. At sight of his mother's haggard and yellowed face, Regulus drew in a horrified breath. She looked ancient! As had been the case with Kreacher, grief had aged her far beyond her sixty years. Unlike Muggles, wizards lived far longer and thus aged far slower, but Walburga's visage on the canvas before them looked near two-hundred years old! Her eyes were closed in sleep, but her face did not look peaceful. It looked a disturbing mix of haunted and angry. The sight tore at Regulus's heart. His beautiful proud mother reduced to an ill looking witch, old beyond her years, in black Mourning clothes, and it was all his fault.

Kreacher moved forward reverently to touch the portrait's frame. "Kreacher must wake her," the elf said softly. "She would get so upset when the stupid Order met here, so the last time he was here, a few weeks before Voldemort's death, Kreacher placed a sleeping charm on her curtains."

"That was kind of you," Regulus said. The elf nodded, reaching a hand out to either side to touch both of the moth eaten curtains at once. In a blink, Walburga's eyes sprang open as the charm lifted. Her mouth flew wide as if to scream in rage, then snapped shut again as her gaze took in Regulus and Kreacher. "My baby," she breathed. "My Regulus! Is it truly you? Can you truly live?"

Regulus didn't bother to staunch the tears that flowed from his eyes and down his cheeks as he stared at his Mum. "Mummy...I, oh Gods, I am so sorry for everything." As he spoke, the potential meaning of the yellowing of her skin finally clicked in Regulus's mind. "Mother, were you ill?" Perhaps no one had killed her at all.

"I know, I should've gotten the portrait painted years before when I still had my beauty, but I simply had no heart for it. With you and Orion gone, I...I was broken." And now Walburga was crying like her son. Regulus reached out to her, and only when his fingertips touched the canvas did he remember that he could not actually touch her. The portrait was so realistic that it was all too easy to forget.

""But you were ill," he pressed and she nodded.

"The healers said they could do nothing. My liver stopped functioning and the only one they could offer as a transplant belonged to a filthy Mudblood and there was no way I would take that. I would rather die!" Regulus shook his head, wanting to protest that a liver was a liver if it kept his mother alive, but as this wasn't really Walburga, there was no point. "I had the portrait done up to protect poor dear Kreacher now that I'm gone. There are wards to keep the killing curse from ever being cast in this house, and I can activate them if Kreacher ever feels threatened."

"Dear Beloved Mistress," Kreacher sobbed, falling at the portrait's feet. "Kreacher didn't know! Kreacher worships his good and kind Mistress."

"Kreacher is a good elf," Walburga intoned. "A good servant to the house of Black." Regulus opened his mouth to explain that soon Kreacher would be a co-owner, but knowing that the portrait likely would not understand, he kept silent.

"Kreacher was unaware that Mistress was ill," the elf sniffled.

"I did not wish to worry you with something that could not be cured," Walburga said. Her tone was that one of no nonsense that was so familiar that it twisted Regulus's heart in the best and worst of ways. Gods, but he missed her!

"We feared that you were murdered," Regulus found himself admitting. "I blamed myself for not being here, though I very much wanted to be, I swear it." Walburga nodded, seeming vague on that point, leading Regulus to assume this was one of those times where her understanding would be limited. "I love you Mummy, and I shall make you proud," he said.

This made Walburga smile from within her frame. "I am certain you shall, my dearest boy. You always did, you know."

"Bella and Rod are back as well," he shared, and Walburga smiled.

"Good. Perhaps those two shall have children some day."

"Well," Regulus said. "That would be...interesting, certainly."