Regulus Black, aged eighteen, paced in front of the tapestry in Grimmauld Place. His ancestors watched disinterestedly. They knew what Regulus ought to do, and they knew that he would, eventually. They didn't care how hard it would be.
"Regulus Black, I want you to kill a man."
"Yes, Master. Who?" Regulus was surprised, though he wouldn't let it show. He hadn't been sent on one of these tasks since he first joined. The Dark Lord had other uses for an intelligent and observant son of the Blacks.
"Sirius Black."
Regulus choked, but managed to bow. What would Bella say? What would Bella do? It was his mantra, always, when in the presence of his master, and usually it was enough. "May I leave at once, Master? It will take time."
It would take time, thank God. That meant he had time. Time to do the unthinkable. Regulus shied away from the thought, but it persisted. He could not kill Sirius. Murder he could, and had, committed. Libel, torture, any evil demanded him, he could carry out in the interests of purity of blood and of his family. But kinslaying was the one utterly unforgivable evil. He could not kill his brother, even his disinherited brother.
So he was going to die. That, he supposed, was overdue by eighteen years; no one would particularly miss him when he was gone. Still, he thought glancing at the tapestry, they would remember. His name, the R cut in half by a trail of soot, still remained.
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Regulus knew who was in his flat even before he opened the door. And he knew, of course, why she was there. He hadn't expected it to be her, but…