Hi all! Forgot to mention that I went on holiday with no access to my computer :)
Important news, this is now being translated into Russian by Quadratic function! For anyone who's interested, here is the link to the first chapter: ficbook readfic / 8998610
Thank you to all those who followed/favourited, and most especially to zikashigaku, Penny Mitchell (good to know you're having fun changing your name), Writer of Wonder, KirikaAndo , Thissogoodbabe, Dancing-Souls, Catlover (will go through the inconsistencies about fluffy as soon as this is finished!), ProudSlytherin04, NotSureHowToMingle, auri-australis and Mattia18 for your comments :) I will get back to you ASAP.
Court trial for Morfin Corvinus Gaunt, 17th August 1943
Crime: Use of Avada Kedavra on a Muggle
Defendant: Morfin Corvinus Gaunt
Accuser: Robert Ogden, ex-Western Magical Law Enforcement Squad, acting on behalf of Thomas John Riddle (deceased)
Verdict: Guilty (see Pensieve confession #1663)
Regulus started, rubbing his eyes. Something in this particular case had caught his eye, and it wasn't the reference to yet another Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood. He had spent the last hour and a half checking through the available records on any court hearings for Sacred Twenty-Eight members, jotting down addresses where he could, ruling out families like the Weasleys that couldn't possibly be related to the Dark Lord.
No, something else must have broken him from his trance-like state. He scanned the full hearing and trial again. There it was, right there in the title. A hidden memory surfaced to the top of his mind, forgotten in his haste to find references to Slytherin. The memory of a conversation with one of the only people to know the Dark Lord's true name.
'The last time I enjoyed a student's company was nearly forty years ago.'
'This student, he was interested in Parselmouths too? What was his name?'
'Tom Riddle.'
Tom Riddle, the Grey Lady had replied. Regulus hurriedly checked the clerk's record again. Thomas John Riddle. A Muggle, killed by a pureblood, nearly forty years ago. Surely it couldn't be a coincidence.
Quickly, Regulus reordered the stack of paper, levitating it back into its rightful box. He checked his watch - half an hour to go before he was expected on the ninth floor, and he needed to review his responses. It was time to change tactics.
'Excuse me,' he asked the man manning the archives desk, straightening his tie and hair. 'I'm doing a paper as part of a follow up to my History of Magic N.E.W.T project on the rise and fall of the fortunes of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and seem to be missing some information. Could you point me towards records on the late Gaunt and Shafiq families? As I understand, both family homes should now belong to the Ministry, since Morfin Gaunt was imprisoned for life.'
As expected, the clerk's eyes had glazed over as soon as Regulus mentioned a History of Magic project. He had been one of three N.E.W.T students in his year, and that had been considered a large class. Hopefully, the clerk wouldn't bother checking the records, but if he did, he would find Regulus's name listed.
Regulus coughed politely when no response was forthcoming.
'Ah yes, sorry, Gaunt and Shafiq, you said?' the clerk asked, his eyes flickering over Regulus's visitor badge. 'Mr Black,' he added, nearly knocking over his tea in his haste to rise.
Regulus simply stared. He found that silence provoked the best answers more often than not.
'Ahem,' the clerk coughed. 'Right away. That'll be… let's see…'
Ten minutes later, Regulus was on his way to the Department of Mysteries, armed with the knowledge of how the Dark Lord had inherited a manor house in the village of Little Hangleton.
By the time he returned from his interview, Emma still wasn't back.
He paced back and forth until Kreacher began to fret that the carpet would wear out, despite the hours the house elf spent on cleaning and repairing it each week. Only then did he step out onto his balcony, out where his telescope lay long forgotten. He smiled half-heartedly at the thought of the time they had spent on Astronomy projects. Little did they know that knowledge would be useless in the years to come.
Still, Regulus wouldn't trade those moments for a minute of more useful time spent. Instead, he sat down next to it and stared at the stars. His constellation was there, seen even with the light of the setting sun, even though the rest of Leo was fading into the dark sky. How ironic that his was the brightest, when down on Earth he could only blend in with the scenery. And even then, he couldn't help but feel that he had failed, especially when he recalled his interview.
He had arrived armed, he thought, with knowledge enough to fill a few new pages in their books. He had memorised everything there was to know about the Department, about the Ministry, about Time itself.
He had expected to be grilled on secrecy, tested for Occlumency and put under the influence of Veritaserum.
Instead, they had asked him one question. And it hadn't even been phrased as such.
Tell us five things we do not already know, and the job is yours.
At first, he had been arrogant. He told them of a wizard's ability to learn Parseltongue. The woman sitting in the middle had raised an eyebrow and crossed something off her list, before looking at him expectantly.
After that, he had floundered.
It's possible to track a location rather than a person.
Altering the magical signature of a potion doesn't alter its properties.
And then he had desperately flung out a fairytale that he had heard from the Bloody Baron.
Dementors can be killed.
The scratching of quills on parchment had stopped then. He knew he had struck gold, but it had been his last reserve. He hadn't been able to think of a fifth fact that the Department of Mysteries, realm of time-turners and Portkeys and every other artifact that warped the reality of the world, wouldn't know about.
After the silence had stretched for an unbearably long time - he wouldn't dare insult their intelligence by trying another - the same witch in the middle had told him he could leave, waving a too-thin hand to the door.
Numbly, Regulus had stood, bowed and walked out. The crushing weight of disappointment, after all, was something he was highly accustomed to.
Standing alone on the balcony of his childhood home, that sensation was hard to avoid.
'I won't fail this time,' he vowed in a whisper, staring at his too-bright star.
He'd make himself worthy of his namesake. And he knew just where to start.
'...And don't worry about the Ministry showing up. We'll take care of them,' Emma said, waving a hand expansively. It was true that the Dark Lord hoped to catch some Ministry officials in the open, find out what they knew. There were no plans to sacrifice them to the werewolves, but maybe it wouldn't hurt to butter up Fenrir and Akela, the woman who seemed to have the largest amount of influence with this wolfpack. 'If you like, we could leave the offenders with you, have them find out what the life of a werewolf really looks like.' Here Remus made a small squeak. 'I leave it to your discretion as to how in depth their education should be.'
Fenrir yawned, losing interest, but Akela's eyes glittered. 'Leave them to us. I like the idea of a real fight on our hands. Give me a proper chase. Guess you won't be volunteering, whelp.'
'Err… no,' Emma replied. 'I'd like to keep my limbs intact. But if this goes well… Well, the Dark Lord has always found werewolves useful.'
'Useful,' Akela scoffed. 'Like a dog on a leash.' Suddenly she whirled around to glare at Remus Lupin, dreadlocks flying. 'Can your side offer any better?'
'Yes,' Remus replied, visibly drawing himself together. Emma's head reeled. Akela knew Remus was with Dumbledore? 'We can help you feel human again. You don't have to give in to the monster; there's a potion that can-'
'Not interested.' Fenrir cut him off with a growl.
'Oh, pup.' Akela shook her head, and when she looked towards Remus her eyes were world weary. 'When are you going to learn? It's them versus us. It's always been them versus us. And speaking of them,' she turned to Emma, 'you've delivered your message like a good girl. Now fuck out of here. You don't belong.'
Swallowing her pride, Emma knew when she had overstayed her welcome. It was true, she probably reeked of civilisation, something these people had been rejected from time and time again. In truth, most of the werewolves here probably only stayed because Fenrir promised them some form of revenge without retaliation.
Not the ones like Remus, she thought as she slipped through the larger cave towards the exit. Not if we had stuck to our promises of equality for all magical beings.
As soon as she left the area, her shoulders sagged. I've lost it, she thought wearily. I don't understand the Dark Lord anymore, so I don't understand his supporters. All I can do is keep my head above the water.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a brief moment of rest before getting to work. Tired as she may be of all of the deceit and manipulation, there was still much more to be done. Resetting her wards, she walked further into the forest until she came to a small stream running through the trees. Growing along the banks were tall purple flowers drooping along their stems like bells. At least, she had always thought they looked like bells. Her mother had thought they looked like little hats, and so had someone else, giving them their name.
Monkshood. Also known as wolfsbane.
Transfiguring a spider's web into a pair of gossamer gloves, Emma started gathering as many as she could.
Visiting the Riddle House alone was a risk. Doubly so, because not only did the Order of the Phoenix now know about it, knowing that it could be the location of a Horcrux set Regulus's teeth on edge. The Dark Lord wouldn't leave such a precious object lying about where anyone could find it and the thought of the protections the Dark Lord had created made him wary
For the fifth time that hour, Regulus wondered if he shouldn't go back, wait for Emma and her watch that could suss out the wards. He hesitated, one hand hovering above the gate handle, then shook his head and firmly grasped hold of it. Emma was on a mission for the Dark Lord, and no one knew how long those took. As for Barty, who was also skilled in breaking wards, Regulus had a hard time coming up with a plausible excuse.
No, he would do this alone, and wait for Emma if there was something useful to be found. No point in chasing down rabbit holes if they were empty.
The gate swung open and closed smoothly, effectively locking the sheep in their field. One gave a mournful baa when it caught Regulus staring for too long and he realised that he was once again holding back.
Get a grip, Regulus, he told himself. The Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Gryffindor at one point, maybe it's time you found some courage.
He loosened his wand from its holster, but refrained from casting a Disillusionment Charm. Magic would give him away. So long as he kept up the charade of a Muggle on a stroll, he shouldn't trigger anything harmful.
From the Order, at least, he thought. The Dark Lord would have no qualms in reducing the Muggle population for a while. Still, the Dark Lord was clever. He wouldn't leave any traces, and certainly not any trails, if the Horcrux - or Horcruxes - were here.
The grass crunched under his feet, desperate for rainfall, as the crickets' song seemed to get louder and louder. He skirted around a circle of faint light emanating from the gardener's hut, pressing himself back against the wall when the door opened and a man whistled.
'Bessie!' the gardener called, letting out another sharp whistle. 'Get in girl, or your food will grow dry!'
Regulus stood as still as a statue and waited as a border collie bounded straight for the hut. If she started barking…
But he had nothing to fear, as Bessie made a beeline for the door, yelping happily as she dug into her food. The door closed, and Regulus allowed himself to breathe again. He drew his wand, but stopped himself from casting anything. It wouldn't do to lose his cool when he was already so close.
Eventually he reached the Manor house,in all of its glory. The windows arched up in grand semi-circles, hiding the interior with a reflection of the night sky. Ivy had begun to creep up the stonework, easing in and out of crumbling mortar and brick, and bats swooped through a broken cornerstone in the eastern wing. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a derelict house fallen into disrepair after the loss of its family. It also bore a haunting resemblance to Rabastan's family home, and Regulus shuddered to think that his friend's childhood home could crumble just as easily.
That's why I'm doing this. We can't force Rab to change sides, not when he has so much on the line, but we can make sure he's well-treated when the right side does win, Regulus thought to himself. He couldn't help but think that his friend's clock - all of their clocks - were ticking, and it was just a matter of time before one of them went the way of Evan Rosier. The Order had lost so much, so had the Aurors. The Dark Lord was brilliant, far more brilliant than anyone had any right to be, but he had been slipping into madness of late. The Horcruxes. It's got to be. Nothing else would explain the deterioration of his mind and his humanity.
For a moment, the idealist in Regulus mourned the loss of a world that could have been. Then a voice in his mind sharply rebuked him for spending too much time over-analysing situations. I bet neither Emma nor Rab get lost in thought on the job, he thought angrily.
'Homenum Revelio,' he whispered, unsurprised when nothing showed up. He then proceeded to scan for traces of magic, feeling that if he didn't at least run diagnostics, then he would deserve whatever simple trap was laid.
Not a trace. The manor had been abandoned for some time now, and it was possible that Dumbledore didn't think that the Dark Lord would blatantly reference his Muggle heritage so openly, if he knew of the Riddle name. Then again, did Dumbledore know how far the Dark Lord's madness ran? If Regulus's calculations were correct, Dumbledore would have been the Transfiguration professor when young Tom Riddle was at school. That was, according to the Grey Lady, the height of the Dark Lord's power of persuasion, and the height of his magic's innocence. To all, he would seem untouchable, untainted by Horcruxes yet.
These thoughts ran through Regulus's mind as he made his way painstakingly from room to room, taking care to summon dust onto his footsteps to conceal his passage. The magical residue from such mundane household spells hopefully wouldn't show up on any general scans if the Order were to come back. If a Death Eater returned, well, he could just say something about…
What would he say? It would have to be believable, and sound. And given his oratory skills, he would need to plan it out minutely beforehand.
The rest of the night passed thus, alternately inventing a background for his excuse, and searching for dark magic. By the time Regulus reached the cellar, he concluded what seemed to be the obvious: There was no Horcrux.
Sneaking back out past the now dark hut, Regulus struggled to hide his disappointment. He had been so sure of himself, so certain that the Dark Lord would have hidden a Horcrux within his ancestral home, somewhere that would have blood wards responding to descendants and owners alone.
The Riddles weren't magical though, Regulus reasoned. Maybe blood wards only work after generations, even if they're put into place by someone so powerful as the Dark Lord. Maybe they need several owners to pour their magic into it, until the wards take on a life of their own, gain sentient power.
He inwardly scowled in frustration. The answer was on the tip of his tongue; if only he could just remember… Then it hit him. In cases of grave crimes such as the triple murder of the Riddles, sometimes all the wizarding courts could do for the victims' family was to grant them the offending wizard's belongings as reparation. "An inheritance from a long-lost relative,'' was the reasoning.
Nearly tripping over a rock in excitement, he hastily dug around in his pockets for the Ministry, thanking Merlin that he had the foresight to keep the incriminating documents on his person as he left the House.
'Lumos,' he muttered, smoothing out the creases as he read.
In view of the serious nature of this breach of the International Statute of Secrecy, reparations are to be made for the living descendants of Thomas and Mary Riddle, as well as the progeny of Thomas Riddle Junior. This includes the contents of the Gaunt family vault, as well as all known properties belonging to Morfin Gaunt. A full list can be found in subsection X, category B.
Allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction at the additional sketched map of the grounds, Regulus started off down the hill, towards the shack on the edge of Riddle property.