Disclaimer: I don't own any of it.
Chapter Eleven
The Muggle and the Man
Ginny Weasley was not having a good year. It all started with that damnable Harry Potter, and all his stupid Gryffindor heroics. First he had to go and make her fall in love with him all over again - like it wasn't bad enough the first time, only to demand of her the fortitude to break it off while he goes off on some fool crusade against You-Know-Who, leaving the rest of them to wallow in uncertainty. Then there was all that hoopla with the stupid marriage, like a war wasn't going on right outside their doorstep, and worse yet, she had been conscripted to find out just how to be a good little housewife, which seemed to consist of alternating between randomly dusting glassware from Honest Ed's and suffering the presence of Bill and Fleur in all their googly-eyed glory. Blech.
And as if things couldn't get any worse, the Weasley ancestral home got obliterated by Death Eaters not a month later, no doubt having used the opportunity that the wedding presented to slip in a Trojan horse right under their noses. God only knew where the hell her family was. Were they alive? Dead? Captured? Amnesiacs? For her own part, she had wandered aimlessly after the attack, accidentally getting lost in muggle London, and, after a time of aimlessness, ended up getting hit by a car and falling comatose in a hospital. Somewhere thereafter, she found herself locked in a muggle mansion with a senile eccentric billionaire and an apparently mad housemaid with a penchant for holding the infirmed in captivity.
Hang it all, she thought bitterly. Here I am, with no clue how to get out, my wand stripped from me - not that it would have done me much good, except for getting expelled. Thing's about as useful as a dead bloody cat. At least until I'm 17. Not that it's looking like I'll live to see that day. Who would've thought the most pressing issue in my life would be trying to figure out what Prozac and sodium pentathol are. Casually, Ginny began hurling her padded pink mallet at the padded walls, idly wondering if it were possible to beat a person to death with a pillow. Only if it were loaded with steel ball bearings, she decided, sighing in an exaggerated fashion and throwing herself onto her bed. The best she could figure, it was mid-October. And that was seriously not a good thing. The whole of the wizarding world could have been taken over by now, and she would be none the wiser, being holed up in her plush prison for Gods only knew what nefarious purpose. Damn it all to hell.
A paper wrapped bag of food appeared through a cat flap on the door, thudding softly against the luxurious pale blue carpet as it was let go by the aged hand that presented it. Ginny could tell from the quality of the sound it made that she was getting a tuna sandwich and a bottle of Evian water. Not to mention a bag of BBQ flavoured crisps. Oh Joy. Resignedly, Ginny pulled herself over to the door, snatched up the food and returned to the bed to devour it and then take her post-lunch hour nap.
Angela Hernandez had been a nurse for over thirty years, and she had seen many things. She had grown up in a small Mexican community in southern California, and had been taught from an early age to have a healthy respect for the spirits of the dead. Her steadfast belief in the supernatural had, from time to time, allowed her to see glimpses into some of the peculiar phenomena that most muggles regard as tricks of the light or products of an overworked mind. As such, she had been one of the rare muggles in the world to have muddled her way into one of the magical communities in the heart of San Francisco. On that trip, which may or may not have been fated by the Gods, she had stumbled into a shop specializing in Divination, a subject which some people in the world loathed profoundly. There, she happened upon an I-Ching, which told her to go to London and "wait for the signs". Naturally, Angela left, leaving aside her budding naturopathic healing clinic and opting for the next best form of employment she could get her hands on - housecleaning. She fell in step with Richard Gorbikki, a neurosurgeon that mindfully invested his hard earned savings in a TV broadcasting station that swiftly paid him back in millions, after which he found himself on the fast track to becoming supremely rich. Unfortunately, his life as a neurosurgeon seemed to have taken its toll on his mind, because he became prone to extreme fits of absent-mindedness, necessitating the use of a personal assistant. This is how Angela came to be in his service, though not exclusively. She retained a graveyard shift at a hotel cleaning bedrooms, whereupon, one chilly wet day in late September in 1984, she discovered a peculiar thing. A naked young man lay asleep on the sheets, most of his possessions missing, it seemed, including any form of identification. The only thing of note that seemed at all worthwhile was a small ten inch wooden rod with a most peculiar ornament upon its tip. Angela couldn't say one way or the other what the stick meant or did, but she knew for certain that she had seen such a thing before - long ago back in California on that same day where the I-Ching in a magical Divination shop impelled her to switch continents. Understanding this to be the sign which she had been waiting five long years for, Angela did the only thing she could think of. she kidnapped the strange man, wrapping his unusually cold body in a bed sheet, and taking him to Richard's mansion. It was clear the stranger wasn't going to be waking up soon, so Angela slowly coaxed her senile employer into taking her on full-time and letting her stay with him in his home to tend to his needs around the clock. More importantly, she managed to ward him off from one particular room in the house, and also make certain alterations that would help keep her in control of things.
There, she waited, for nearly thirteen years for something to happen. Eventually, it did, though it wasn't quite the momentous occasion that she had been hoping for. No, it wasn't the word of God, or anything else so fantastic. It wasn't the answer to the mysteries of the universe, the meaning of life, the keys to another world. It wasn't even a winning lottery ticket. It was just the stupid ramblings of a crazy man. As it were, the comatose prisoner woke up, curiously enough, on the same day that Harry dived into another world. And what did he start doing when he came to? The answer to that question could be summed up in a single word: babbling. He babbled. Only a little bit at first, and then a little more and more as time went on. Soon, he was full on babbling away to himself, twitching every once in a while, crying, weeping, laughing throwing his arms about hysterically in wild gesticulations. For the first time in Angela's life, she was at a loss. What the hell had she been waiting and doing all this time? Why the hell did she throw away her chance at a life with a husband and kids and a dog and a minivan with a bungalow in the suburbs, possibly even Camarillo? And, why of all things, did she leave warm, sunny California to come to a dank, chronically wet, frigid little island full of people who talked like they had pickles up their asses? Why, indeed.
Being completely at a loss, Angela did the only thing she could think of - she did nothing at all. She simply kept the madman locked up for fear of what he might do or say if he escaped, and began feeding food to him through a cat flap that she installed on his door. It wasn't until a month later, where, through a confluence of random events, Angela had happened upon a girl with the most vibrant red hair lying comatose in a hospital bed not ten minutes from where she lived. More importantly, the girl had no identifying information on her, and she had in her possession a familiar looking stick of wood. Throwing caution to the wind, Angela pulled another Houdini-esque maneuver with the girl and brought her to the mansion. Batting aside the part of her that was running around screaming in panicked horror at the prospect of having to deal with now two hostages, Angela set her up in another room, carefully installing locks and a cat-flap for when she too awoke. From then on, Angela simply prayed each night that the girl would not be insane like the man, and that she could get some answers for all her troubles. Doing the work of God was no easy task.
It was the seventh day of Ginny's captivity, or at least the seventh day in which she had been awake for it, and she was angry. And not just run off and cry angry, or throw a fit and scream at people angry, or even Weasley angry, oh no. Ginny had gone far beyond that on the rage meter and was clear into nuclear war class kill everything that moves rampage angry. As such, on the morning of the seventh day, she had managed to rouse herself bright and early, and, upon hearing the distinctive click that meant the door was being unlocked, she sprang out of bed in a blur of motion grabbing the nearest thing to her that remotely seemed like a weapon - the padded mallet. Ginny skidded to a halt alongside the wall just next to the door's edge, her matted red hair strewn about her face, her dark eyes glowing with a perverse bloodlust waiting to be unleashed, her hands wrapped around the smooth wood of the mallet's handle in a white-knuckled grip. If she weren't crazed with cabin fever from her incarceration, she might have noticed that the mallet's head had started to smoke, the wood conducting her pent up magical reserves into the soft fabric head, but then again, if she were not so deranged with her own anger, she probably would have thrown the mallet away, too embarrassed at the thought of using something akin to a stuffed teddy bear to beat an unknown opponent into submission. At any rate, she waited, her body coiled with tension, her legs parted and the mallet raised as though she were a baseball player raring to hit a home run.
The door came open silently and a middle-aged, pudgy Mexican woman with greying hair and a slight stoop stepped cautiously into the room, her eyes scanning about for her quarry. Before she had a chance to react, Ginny pounced, delivering a golf-like swing that sent the mallet into the woman's mid-section at a steeply upturned angle. The woman's facial expression transformed momentarily into one of baffled surprise before being occluded by a flash of pale blue light and puffs of purple smoke and orange fluff. Ginny was sent staggering back, the light forcing her to throw one hand up to her face in defense, her head turned away to shield herself from the worst of the unexpected blast.
Damn, she thought, what the Hell was that? Once she was certain that she was no longer in danger, gently padding herself down to make sure her limbs were all in tact, her own breathing the only sound in the deep silence, Ginny peered about to assess the mayhem. The woman who had been her captor was lying flat on her back, her mouth half open and drool spilling out the corner. The slack look of her face made Ginny think that maybe she were dead, but, after some more scrutiny, she could make out the steady rise and fall of the woman's chest. Hanging idly in one hand, Ginny raised the padded mallet for closer inspection, wondering if the mallet head had held a wand core. It's that or some crazy ass accidental magic, she thought. The head had exploded, leaving only a charred wooden tip with splintered bits hanging off by bits of wood, all the while issuing wisps of smoke. Damn, she thought, awed and secretly smiling to herself. You're so wicked, girl.
without sparing another moment or even questioning why it was that the Mexican woman had deigned to come into her room, Ginny beat a quick exit and made a b-line down the hall in the first direction she saw. Having no clue where she was or how far she would have to travel to escape her captors, Ginny simply decided to cover as much ground as humanly possible until she found the way out. She was confident that she was in the hands of muggles and so didn't have to worry about tripping any wards. The use of muggle foods like bottled water and plastic wrapped BBQ chips had alerted her to that fact.
Before long, Ginny found two things. First, she found a large, open stairwell that led into a large main hall, where the entrance to the premises was clearly visible, along with the walkway to the front edge of the property. The afternoon light was shining down across the fall grass and red leaves that were falling from the maple trees, and the feeling that open freedom was so close made her yearn for the fresh air, the breeze, the scent of grass and earth, for the unique sensations of cold and warmth that you could only get when you're outdoors. At the same time, Ginny found herself drawn to an observation that made her suddenly cringe inwardly in that mansion of rooms. It was a cat flap, exactly like hers, and it was on a door with a lock that was set from the outside. Ginny had no doubt that it was another makeshift prison just like her own. She shuddered to think what horrors may have befallen the various prisoners of these mad people. As such, she felt honour bound to help whatever hapless victim had had the misfortune to cross paths with the muggle psychos. Resolving to remain in continued peril, if for no other reason than to help her fellow POWs, Ginny steeled herself, took a quick glance around and then unlocked the door, throwing it wide open and taking a step back, just in case the person inside decided to pull a Ginny and attack the next person who walked through the doorway.
"Hello?" Ginny called as softly as she could while still making sure whoever was inside could hear her. There was no answer, so she decided to continue talking before she stepped in. "Listen, I'm here to break you out. I just busted out myself. If you're there, show yourself, or I'm going to leave without you."
No response.
Suddenly, Ginny felt terribly unsure of herself. Was somebody even in there? Maybe it was truly a crazy person, or someone who really did deserve to be locked up? What if she was letting out some sort of mentally deranged Quasimodo who pranced around in his grandmother's panties rubbing peanut butter all over himself going, "Ooh, ahh!" and boiling people's fat in an ill-fated attempt to acquire the ability to fly? Get a grip on yourself, Weasley, she thought. What if the person's tied up or unconscious? But then again, what could you do to help an unconscious person, hmm? It would be better if you went and got a wand and returned here armed. Except that it could take days before you found yourself in the wizarding world, and even then you're broke and have no resources, and, in case you've forgotten, Olivander's disappeared, so there's hardly even a place to get a wand, except maybe Nocturne Alley, and you seriously don't want to go there, all young and pretty and unarmed, even if there wasn't a death sentence on your head. Besides, your captors will most likely relocate themselves and take with them all evidence of their evilness, and they'll do it all muggle style so you'll have no way to find them.
Deciding she'd better step inside, Ginny did so, peering about for a human body or signs of life and/or violence of any kind. The room, she noted, was about the same size as hers, with the same large windows overlooking an enormous garden from the same high vantage point, making it impossible to jump to the cement deck below. The flush of a toilet from the en suite drew her attention, causing her to whip her head about at the closed door, where she could now hear shuffling movement. "Hello?" she called again, hoping she could maybe get some sort of coherent response before she came face to face with the stranger.
Instead, her introduction was met with an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the use of the tap and the rustle of a towel as the mysterious person dried their hands. Finally, Ginny heard the click of the door unlocking and then swinging open, a faint breeze brushing her face. Standing in the doorway was none other than-
"Sirius," Ginny breathed in a whisper, the sight of him stripping her of all her strength. She felt her knees grow week, looking into the man's intense blue eyes, the hard edge of his jaw, his black hair that hung straight and neat and which was elegantly tucked behind his ears. Ginny took a step backward, the stranger eyeing her curiously like she were a new and exceptionally beautiful strain of butterfly. But it can't be, her mind argued desperately. It's not him. He's too young, and his hair hasn't taken on that constant thin and worn look compliments of Azkaban. And there aren't those constantly drawn lines and sallowed skin and - and - but her mind refused to listen to those arguments, because she had seen on more than one occasion, often in Harry's presence, but also sometimes when the two of them had come together to talk privately, that youthfulness, that energy and vibrance that had characterized Sirius's young adult life, often when he was truly happy, when he laughed and was able to forget briefly about those dark days in prison. "You're not Sirius," she said firmly, her eyes narrowing, that faint trace of her Slytherin side that had been passed on to her by Tom in her first year coming to the forefront of her mind and asserting itself. "Who are you?"
"Sirius," the man said, cocking his head and staring in the direction of the window, the light brushing away all the shadows from his face, bathing him in a diffuse glow that made him both beautiful and handsome. Ginny's heart stirred a little, and she felt that peculiar nervousness that she had always gotten in Sirius's presence. It had been her infatuation with the rugged Marauder that had freed her from her former crush on the Boy-Who-Lived, that knowledge that you could still be carefree and full of energy no matter what life threw at you, that relentless charisma that Sirius had had made Ginny feel like there was nothing in the world she couldn't do, or overcome. Without realizing it, he had inadvertently healed deep and internal scars that no one else could or bothered to see. He had saved her amidst those dark days in Grimmauld Place, watching Harry brood, and Ron and Hermione bicker, Ginny and Sirius had shared moments of collective grief and solace. "I remember that name," he said, his expression turning pensive. "Sirius Black."
Ginny's mouth went dry at the stranger's proclamation. He knew Sirius Black, and that meant that he was most likely a wizard. Don't be ridiculous, she admonished. Sirius Black's name and photo were plastered all over the muggle news for nearly a year, which means that just about everyone in London knows the name Sirius black. It doesn't mean anything.
Ginny would have been content enough with her assessment, but the stranger's next statement wiped away any doubt that he knew of the wizarding world. He turned to her and said, "Genevra?"
Ginny visibly paled at this. "H-How do you know me?" she practically squeaked. "Who are you?"
She had enough presence of mind to notice that he had a great deal of difficulty coming up with things to say, as though he were trying to spy something from a great distance. Finally, he spoke, "I was there on your first birthday," he finally said, turning away from the carpet and looking directly at her, the same expression of concentration still on his face. "I don't remember why I went there. I think maybe it was to see your brother. William, wasn't it?"
Ginny nodded.
"I remember your parents were very happy. Of course they would have been. The Dark Lord had fallen, and the wizarding world was still drunk with relief."
It took Ginny a few seconds to understand what was peculiar about his last statement, but eventually it came to her, and the realization filled her with an entirely new terror. Of all the beings she had expected to run into when crossing the threshold into this room, whether it be lunatics or crazy people or hunchbacks, the last thing she had thought she would encounter was a Death Eater. Only Death Eaters and those sympathetic to them call him the Dark Lord, she remembered Harry once saying. Alarm bells began going off in her head. Red alert, captain! We're under heavy fire! Don't panic, she thought, don't panic, whatever you do. Just stay calm and take a nice deep breath. Back away slowly, don't make eye contact, they smell fear.
"Er, well, it was nice meeting you," Ginny began uncertainly. And then, as if this would help her to escape, she added, "I'd maybe just best be on my way. You know, things to do, people to see, places to go and all that." That's it, she thought, the first thing I'm doing when I survive this is learning how to apparate, Ministry be damned.
"May I ask what it is you're doing here?" he inquired.
"Er, well, that's a bit of a funny story, really," Ginny said, letting out a nervous chuckle. "Would you believe me if I said I was just passing through?"
The stranger quirked an eyebrow. "You thought I was Sirius."
"Did I?" she asked, wincing inwardly at her lame attempt to feign ignorance. "Silly me, It must have been an accident."
"I wonder how you could know of him since he was sent to prison shortly after you were born."
"Right," she said, her mind racing through every possible scenario that could explain how she knew what he looked like, and happening upon a particularly good one she used it. "His picture was plastered all over Hogsmeade in my second year. Not to mention he broke into Gryffindor Tower. Kind of hard to forget, really."
The stranger looked surprised for a moment before saying, "Personally, I never believed that he did it,"
"Well, of course you wouldn't," she said icily, "You're a bleeding Death Eater. You would know who did, wouldn't you?"
He smiled a cold, mirthless smile, through which Ginny could see an unrestrained bitterness in his eyes. A bitterness which promptly morphed into sadness. "Yes, I am. It's not exactly a life one can escape, is it, Genevra?"
It was only then, with Ginny trying to understand who this stranger was that she realized there was something decidedly odd about him. he looked to be in his early twenties, yet he came by looking for Charlie in 1981, or so he claimed. If her estimate of his age were correct, he couldn't have been more than ten years old at the most, and he certainly would not have been marked as a Death Eater. Yet, if he had been marked in the last year, surely he would have known about Sirius's escape and his subsequent involvement in the Order of the Phoenix. Yet, when he spoke, he did so as if he thought that Sirius were still in prison. Having no answers and only questions, she asked finally, "Who are you? What's your name?"
He gave her that same sad smile before answering. "I am Regulus, of course. Regulus Black."
Ginny supposed that she should have been surprised or incredulous by the proclamation, but she found that her disbelief had been temporarily suspended by the confluence of circumstances that had managed to bring her to where she was. Still, she said in a half-hearted way, "That's not possible. You're too young. Not to mention that Regulus was killed. By You-Know-Who, no less."
"Regulus nodded. "Of course, of course." He walked over to the bed and took a seat, and Ginny, feeling the burnout from the receding adrenalin, neatly collapsed her body into the lotus position on the carpeted floor, looking up at his mesmerizing blue eyes that were so familiar, and waiting for him to tell his tale.
"As you may have known, I joined the Death Eaters immediately upon graduation from Hogwarts and began doing the Dark Lord's work. I took very easily to the dark arts, having been schooled in them from an early age by my family. I had a healthy respect for the subject and was able to exercise good control over it. Mind you, no one ever really controls magic. At least not completely. The more heavily you use dark magic, the more it infiltrates your mind, your body and your soul. The trick is to not use it so much that you become consumed. I doubt there's a person alive who has the mastery of it that the Dark Lord has. He has let it encroach upon his entire body, and yet he maintains his brilliance, his superior cognitive faculties. I do remember that he was prone to giving into his baser urges, no doubt a bi-product of all his transformations, but he had the good sense not to be capricious in his punishment of his servants. No, he had us bring in a supply of muggles and muggle-borns for that purpose, though I remember it only served him a limited degree of pleasure. That is why he often went to execute raids personally. The hunt satiated his desires more than the torture itself. It was like foreplay to him and a necessary ritual before the torture and the killing."
"Torture and killings which you participated in."
Regulus raised his hands in supplication. "I am not asking for forgiveness, Genevra. I would not waste your time. However, I am not a threat to you, and I certainly will never practice the dark arts, even though my knowledge of it is sound. No, I have renounced that life long ago. Before the Dark Lord's fall, in fact. I did not understand the full implications of the Dark Mark, you see, and so I had grown careless in my deception. I suppose he would have found out sooner or later, since my skill at occlumancy was mediocre at best."
"I assumed he would have checked everybody before permitting them into the fold."
Regulus shook his head. "There was no need. He maintains an intricate web of truths and deceptions amongst his followers. I doubt that any single person knows everything there is to know. I can say that it was only through fortune that I discovered his most prized ritual. One he created personally, and which I eventually discovered to be called the horcrux ritual. It is the primary vehicle through which he maintains his connection to the mortal world, and only through undoing it will we have a chance to truly stop him."
"What is it?" Ginny asked, now curious.
"It may be safer for you not to know. Certainly the Dark Lord doesn't appreciate people finding out about it. Bellatrix was the only one of his servants he trusted with the knowledge, and it was only by virtue of the fact that she mentioned it while drunk and under the effects of a mild truth serum at my nineteenth birthday party. By then, I knew I was getting out of the Death Eater business and was probing for information on how to remove the Dark Mark. I made the error of saying the Dark Lord's name, which turned out to have grievous consequences."
"What do you mean?"
"Have you ever wondered why people say You-Know-Who?"
"I always thought it was just an irrational fear. At least, that's what Harry and Hermione say, and Professor Dumbledore too, I think."
Regulus shook his head. "No, it was one of the Dark Lord's most skillful enchantments. You see, his name isn't his birth name. It is a name he created formally during adulthood. Names, Genevra, can have a great deal of power. A powerful, skilled witch or wizard with a great deal of knowledge and enough cunning and ambition can do great and terrible things. Have you ever heard of the Fidelius Charm?"
Ginny nodded.
"Impressive. It is an obscure charm to say the least. It is extremely powerful. You are probably already aware that it can be used to strip knowledge from the minds of people everywhere, to not just hide a building, but to make it disappear and collapse both space and time around it, so that, for all intents and purposes, it simply does not exist. It has the power to let you have knowledge, but you force you to not give it up, even through legilimancy or truth serums. What kind of magic can do that? How can an enchantment work on words? It is extremely complex magic to say the least. Whether the Dark Lord found an existing spell or modified one for his purposes, I do not know, nor does it matter much at this point. What does matter is that he has woven magic into his very name - something I'm not sure he could have done with his given name. To say his new title can do a number of things. It can alert him to who has said it, when and where they are, assuming that the magic is not being blocked by intervening enchantments, like an unplottability charm or the Fidelius. If memory serves me correctly, I believe that the Dark Lord did weave into the enchantment a counter-charm for the imperturbable charm, so that it would not be sufficient to block him. In any case, I made the mistake of defiling his name, which signed my death warrant, as it alerted him to my true intentions. especially since, through the mark, he could glean a great deal more information. Fortunately, I am a Black and that still means something. I used my knowledge of the dark arts to curse myself when I realized my peril. I died for two hours, my body thrown into the garbage and left to rot. Eventually, my soul came back and I was revived."
"Whoa, hold on a second," Ginny said, holding up her hands to stop his story. "Are you telling me you survived the killing curse?"
Regulus nodded. "In a manner of speaking, yes."
"But that's ridiculous. You can't block it."
"I didn't block it though. I did something else. I used the exorcism spell to banish my soul from my body, so that when the curse hit, it had no effect."
"But that's..." Ginny wasn't quite sure how to say what it was she wanted to say. Could it be that easy to deflect the killing curse? Or at least, survive it? Wouldn't everyone do that if they knew their life was imminent?
"I know what you're thinking, and let me explain. it's not so simple. First of all, I was fortunate not to have had my body transfigured into glass and shattered with a reductor curse. Secondly, most people are actually caught unawares or at least don't have the time to set themselves up. Moreover, the exorcism curse when used on a human requires the aid of a potion. Finally, the curse has one serious drawback when it is used. Just like the killing curse, the magic intrinsic to one's body escapes, so that when the soul finally returns, you become a person who is completely devoid of magic. In effect, I am even less than a squib. I am as muggle as they come."
Ginny closed her eyes and let her mind race through all the implications of what Regulus was telling her. Ex-Death Eater turned muggle, self-inflicted curse, enchanted names. When she looked up at him, she simply asked, "So now what? How did you end up here?"
"Ah, well, that's quite the story, isn't it?" he said, smiling. "You can imagine that I wasn't the happiest about having my magic stripped from me. So, not wanting to live as a muggle, which, to a pureblood-obsessed pureblood like myself is tantamount to a death sentence, I went off in search of reacquiring my magic. I, of course, had no clue how to do this, but that wasn't going to deter me. I had some knowledge of blood alchemy, and I figured it could probably be done, even if there were a few consequences to my well-being. Anything would have been better than living as a muggle. I also developed a particularly strong dislike for the Dark Lord, as you might imagine, and, as such, decided I would kill two birds with one stone. I searched for one of his horcruxes, and, using a great deal of ingenuity and my muggle status, as well as quite a bit of knowledge gained through an interview with your brother Bill, who was the only person I knew with any kind of curse-breaking experience, even if he were only a novice, I set about securing the only horcrux I know of."
"I still don't know what a horcrux is," Ginny said.
Regulus sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter, since the Dark Lord's gone anyway. or at least, gone enough for the time being, though I have no doubt he'll return. The Dark Lord cut his soul up like Sunday roast and bound the various pieces to key objects. he then hid them and protected them using numerous curses. He clearly didn't foresee any danger from a pure muggle with in-depth knowledge of the dark arts and magical theory. Some of his key protections were activated by the passage of a magical person - even a low level magical person like a squib. I was a unique case all around. As such, he never foresaw the need to guard against someone like me. All in all, I nabbed his precious little locket and took it away with me, leaving him a nasty note out of spite. I then began the tedious process of coaxing the soul out of the locket, hopefully to either subsume and acquire its magical abilities, or to revitalize, subdue and then experiment on. Unfortunately, it didn't quite work out that way. The stupid thing pretty much sapped my life force, possessed me for a little while, though I wasn't exactly clear on that point until I awoke, which was about a couple of months ago and then, as far as I can tell, corporealized and ran away with the locket and my things. Or so I understand."
Ginny felt an incredible chill run down her spine at Regulus's words, realizing that she too had been possessed by a horcrux, and only now understanding fully what her first year had been all about. She also came to realize that Harry must have known about these horcruxes and that it was this that he had gone in search of, and that he did so without ever bothering to tell her, not even considering the fact that the information might have helped her deal with her own demons. Don't think about that now, she decided, taking a deep breath and focusing on the ex-wizard in front of her. She had other tasks ahead of her that needed her attention. "So what's happened to this person that ran off with your life-force?"
Regulus shrugged. "I can only assume that, as of a couple of months ago, he was destroyed, and my energy returned to my body, just like it had when I performed the exorcism."
Ginny couldn't help but smile. In her heart, she knew that it had to have been Harry that did it. Who else was hunting them down? And given the timing, it made sense, since it came shortly after his disappearance. It also meant that Harry hadn't been captured by Death Eaters, and that, as of two months ago, he was running around succeeding in his task of taking down the Dark Lord. That knowledge alone filled Ginny with an incredible sense of warmth, the kind of warmth that she could have devoted to a decent patronus. "That's a good thing," she said finally. "Isn't it?"
Regulus nodded. "If all the pieces are destroyed before the Dark Lord regains his strength, then he will most likely not survive. He will be vulnerable to even the most basic creatures, like rats and wild dogs."
"Er, well, that's not exactly how things are, at the moment." Ginny took a deep breath, seeing that Regulus was waiting for her to continue. "You see, he came back a couple of years ago. He's back to full strength - apparently more powerful than before even, and he's got his Death Eaters with him, and the Dementors, and who knows what else. The giants too, I think."
Regulus frowned. "That's not a good thing."
"No, it isn't. But at the same time, we've gotten a few of his horcruxes. I know of one other that's been destroyed. It was a diary. Harry Potter put a basilisk fang through it in my first year."
"A "Harry Potter? A basilisk fang? First year?" Regulus seemed to ponder this information for several minutes before quirking an eyebrow. "Do tell me if my math is wrong. Wouldn't Harry have been only twelve years old?"
Ginny nodded. "Yep. He not only took a sword and impaled it through the Basilisk's head, while he was fighting it, but then ripped the fang out of his shoulder where he was bitten and drove it into the cover of the book, all the while, Tom was standing around with Harry's wand pointed directly at him."
"Interesting," Regulus said. "So he really is ludicrously powerful, then? I remember the wizarding world was stunned to learn that an infant had repelled the killing curse back onto what was thought to be an immortal being. I believe most Death Eaters tried to hide and were simply praying that the boy would grow up and take their master's place. That apparently is not the case."
"Well, Harry's actually pretty average, all things considered. I think he's probably more powerful than the average wizard, and he's got a few tricks up his sleeve. He pulled off a fully corporeal patronus at thirteen - to save Sirius from a bunch of dementors, actually, but it's nothing on the scale of repelling killing curses and Dark Lords. No, it turned out it was his mother's love that saved him. Some sort of counter-charm."
Regulus nodded. "Hmm, that's very interesting. Even more so. I wonder if you can harness that sort of energy for general use, or if it requires a human sacrifice to be effective."
"Apparently the blood charm protected Harry up until his age of majority. At least that's what Dumbledore said. In fact, when Harry confronted the Dark Lord in his first year, he found that he was pretty much immune to him. That all changed when his blood was used in a potion to bring the Dark Lord back, however."
"Blood of a foe, unwillingly given," Regulus mused. "I remember reading that in one of our darker tomes."
"Funny, I never saw a particularly dark potions text at Grimmauld Place."
"You've been there?' Regulus asked, surprised.
She nodded. 'Headquarter of the Order of the Phoenix. Or at least it used to be before Dumbledore was killed."
"What?" Regulus said, now even more surprised. "Don't tell me the Dark Lord actually beat him in a duel. He must have grown weary in his old age."
It was now Ginny's turn to frown. "No, it wasn't the Dark Lord. It was actually Snape. Turns out he was a triple agent and picked off Dumbledore with the killing curse at point blank range. Dumbledore and Harry went after the locket and he drank some sort of toxic potion that weakened him. When they got back to the castle, it had been infiltrated by Death Eaters."
"There's a lot I've missed. Being here, I've tried to glean as much as I can about the world, but the muggle news I get is sorely lacking in detail, unsurprisingly. At least I managed to find out the date, so that wasn't such a surprise."
"Believe me, there's a lot more to tell if you want to get up to speed on current events."
"Who's the minister?"
Ginny made a face. "Rufus Scrimgeour."
"Never heard of him."
"I'm not surprised. It's been Cornelius Fudge for about fifteen years. Scrimgeour just took over when everyone finally realized that the Dark Lord had returned."
"Not a surprise. Fudge was a peacetime Minister. Scrimgeour, I'm betting, used to be an auror."
"I believe so."
The pair lapsed into silence for a long time, before Ginny finally asked, "So now what?" However, she noticed that Regulus was now looking towards the doorway. Ginny immediately followed his gaze and saw the woman Ginny had attacked earlier standing in the doorway, absently rubbing at the back of her head.
"Hello," Regulus said genially.
"Mmm," she muttered, taking a step into the room.
"You!" Ginny exclaimed, jumping up and preparing to get into a fight. "You're the one who's holding us hostage!"
"Hostage?" Regulus asked curiously. Ginny simply turned to him as though he were an idiot and then pointed at the locks on the door. Regulus seemed to understand, because he nodded in comprehension. "Right, well, I was hardly in much of a state to go prancing around muggle London with no money, so I wasn't exactly looking to get kicked out of here. Besides, I've been held captive in worse places before. All in all, it's rather comfy."
"Well, yes," Ginny said, "But-"
"Besides, she tended to my well being, and also through my bouts of delerium when I first woke."
"So you're sane now?" Angela asked, coming a bit closer.
"That doesn't bloody well excuse you from holding me for seven days without so much as a word!" Ginny railed, turning to Angela.
"To tell you the truth," the woman said "I was just rather scared. You see, I knew you were both the same somehow, because of your wood sticks. I just didn't know what it all meant until now."
"What do you mean, now?"
"You're shamans, of course."
Ginny looked at Regulus in puzzlement. "Shamans?"
Yes, practitioners of witchcraft."
"Ah," Regulus said, now understanding. "We prefer to call ourselves witches and wizards."
"That's fine," she said agreeably enough. "Care for a bite to eat?"
"Starved," Regulus replied.
"Come on then." Angela gestured with one hand and Regulus followed her out the door, leaving Ginny rather flustered at the sudden turn of events. Having nothing to do, she stormed off after them in a huff.
