Hi everyone! I've been downloading my google docs as word documents and only just now realised that it doesn't keep in my breaks! Will edit all the recent ones right away, and sorry if some things seemed a bit jarring...
As usual, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed: someone (thanks for the concern), zikashigaku, regems (very punny!), .2019, Cae-Leigh Anne, NotSureHowToMingle and auri-australis for all of your kind reviews!
I'm so nervous, this is the second to last chapter! Though don't worry, the next one is about 7,000 words! EEP!
It was with great difficulty that Emma drew her will together enough to Apparate out of the Dark Lord's mansion, leaving Avery to find his own way out of the predicament, and even then, she splinched two fingernails off.
The pain sent her reeling, reigniting frayed nerves. For a moment the black door to N'12 Grimmauld Place swayed out of focus, and then she fainted.
'Master Regulus, sir,' Kreacher said nervously, tugging at Regulus's sleeve. 'Kreacher knows he shouldn't disturb Master Regulus but…'
'Hmm?' Regulus hummed questioningly, not really paying attention. He was too busy trying to think of how many Horcruxes the Dark Lord might have made. Three? It was a powerful number, one used in many faiths and religions for good reasons. Four was a solid, dependable number, steeped in tradition. His mind strayed further, remembering Barty and Emma's discussions by the Slytherin fireside about the most magical number of all.
Surely not seven… Regulus let that thought trail off, unable to imagine the horror of splitting one's soul seven times. After all, he had never even used an Unforgivable yet. One Horcrux is rare enough. It must be two, or perhaps three at most should he wish it to be more magical.
'Master Regulus, sir,' Kreacher said again, his tone servile and whiny, the way it became when he was worried about being beaten. With a sigh, Regulus tore his mind from his research - after all, Emma would be better suited to this type of magical theory than himself - and gave the house-elf his undivided attention. 'Kreacher is hearing a noise inside the wards, a big crash.'
Startled into action, Regulus ran to the window, grabbing his wand off the table. For the first time in several years, he audibly gasped.
'Kreacher, get the Essence of Murtlap from the Sirius stores and run a hot bath. I'll be up in a moment.'
Kreacher tore down the stairs, swiftly followed by his favourite master. They hadn't used the "Sirius stores" in a while now - the makeshift first aid kit from what Regulus had been able to scrounge off Madam Pomphrey, wheedle off Snape and brew with Kreacher in secret when Walburga and Sirius were having fights that quite literally shook the tiles off the roof - but most of the items should still be in date.
Regulus leapt down the final half of the last staircase, neatly landing on a shoulder and rolling to his feet in his haste. He wrenched the door nearly off its hinges and then stood stock still for a moment.
Emma's skin was pale and bloodless, dried blood and scabs on her lips from where she must have bitten them in pain. Worse still, other than a couple of missing fingernails, there wasn't a mark on her body. Regulus wasn't so naive as to think it could be anything other than the Cruciatus Curse.
With a faint pop, Kreacher appeared on the doorstep, a basket full of various potions and bandages in his arms, along with fresh linen towels.
'Mistress Emma!' Kreacher exclaimed, pushing past Regulus in an unprecedented act of rudeness as he snapped his long fingers. Her unconscious body rose into the air and floated around Regulus through the doorway.
Idiot, Regulus thought to himself. You're useless, worse than a Muggle. Why didn't you help her? Why do you always have to think?
Angrily, he turned on his heel to follow Kreacher back inside, gently shutting the door with a click before making his way into the downstairs living room. It hadn't been used since Walburga had left on her extended holiday - magnanimously allowing Regulus and Emma privacy to produce her much-awaited pureblood heirs - but there wasn't a speck of dust in sight. Kreacher certainly took his duties seriously.
The house elf gently levitated Emma to the sofa and summoned a bowl of steaming water from the kitchens. Regulus watched as Kreacher carefully squeezed water from a sponge over the wounded fingers, before unstoppering the Dittany to let a few drops fall onto the nails. Green smoke billowed out, obscuring Emma's hand as surely as if she had cast the Dark Mark, leaving partially grown nails and healed skin when it cleared.
That was when Kreacher hesitated.
'Master Regulus, forgive Kreacher. Kreacher does not know…' his reedy voice trailed off as he wrung his hands in distress.
Pull yourself together, Regulus, he admonished. No one has the patience for you standing there like a gormless buffoon.
'That will be all, thank you Kreacher,' he said calmly, reassured that his voice, at least, was dependable. 'You can return to your cooking. French onion soup, I believe it was?'
Kreacher's bat-like ears sagged in relief even as he gave a stiff-backed bow. 'Yes, master.'
Once the house-elf left the room, Regulus quickly knelt by his wife's side, grasping her uninjured hand between his two. Her skin was cold to the touch, and he willed his warmth to leave his body for hers. He desperately wanted to wake her, to ask what had happened, to make sure that she had no lasting damage. But he knew the Cruciatus Curse and its effects all too well, and knew that the best thing for her damaged nerves was rest, even if she did wake with a concussion.
Let her sleep away her troubles for a little longer. It would do her good, and him no harm should the Dark Lord summon him. She would not be alive had Voldemort found out the extent of their treachery, and the less Regulus knew when summoned, the better.
Decision made, Regulus padded upstairs to retrieve his paperwork, but the once fascinating mystery of the Dark Lord no longer held the attention it needed. Instead, he shuffled listlessly through the paperwork, his mind whirring with all of the variables in their balancing act. The Ministry had yet to send him a second owl informing him of when he started, but an anonymous "friend" had gifted him with robes of the deepest midnight blue. The Dark Lord's robes may be heavy, but these felt as though they would drag him to the depths of the ocean with the weight of their responsibility.
All too soon, Kreacher called for him to eat, and Emma had still not woken. He lit the fire and closed the curtains, conjuring another blanket for her to sleep under, before leaving. The soup was as good as ever, but there was a pit in Regulus's stomach that made it hard to swallow more than a few mouthfuls. He could sense the tension he was creating, as if it were a palpable object, but couldn't shake the feeling that something had just shifted in the universe.
When the Dark Lord came calling, Regulus received him with not a hint of surprise.
Emma awoke in a warm room, heady with the smell of woodsmoke. A large weight pinned her down, preventing her from reaching her wand should she wish to. Despite this, she felt… safe. Extracting a hand to rub at her eyes, she explored the object with her fingers.
Blankets.
Yawning, she kicked back the now-stifling cloth and tried to think back. She must have managed to reach Grimmauld Place before losing consciousness. Her wand was on a table beside her, along with a glass of water that she greedily gulped down.
'Aguamenti,' she cast, followed by 'Lumos.'
Light flared into being, revealing the Black family tapestry and black leather furniture. She swung around to sit up and her feet touched familiar soft mossy carpet. The faint flicker of embers smouldered in the fireplace, suggesting that whoever had stocked the fireplace was long gone.
Probably Kreacher, she thought. He was always helpful that way, ready with what you didn't even know you needed to soothe away the pain. She shied away from the thought of why that was.
Now that she was properly awake, she could feel her head pounding from dehydration. It made sense; she had lost a lot of fluids at the Riddle mansion. Covering her eyes in anticipation, she motioned her wand towards the curtains to draw them open.
She needn't have bothered.
Rain streaked across the window in rivulets, the natural light at best a low-lit grey. A reminder that, though the weather had fared well recently, they still lived in Britain, magical or otherwise.
Another wave of her wand tidied the room and she padded towards the kitchen in search of more water. The Aguamenti charm worked in a pinch, but magically conjured water always tasted staler than the real thing. Regulus would probably know why, and if he didn't, he would soon find out from the Department of Mysteries. Did they even bother with such inane philosophical questions?
A snuffling noise in the kitchen stopped her in her tracks. After so many months of war and bloodshed, the sound of muffled crying was unmistakable. But Regulus would never make Kreacher cry. He would sooner cut off his own hand.
Perhaps Walburga is back, Emma thought, and shuddered at the image of meeting the immaculately manicured Madam Black whilst recovering from the Cruciatus Curse. She didn't have to look in a mirror to know that her eyes were permanently shadowed, that her face was gaunter than her eighteen years had a right to. She had wanted to make a difference and the price was in her innocence.
If only she had known how much it was worth, perhaps she wouldn't have rushed to throw it away.
'Kreacher?' she called as gently as she could upon entering the kitchen. 'May I come in?'
The house elf was nowhere in sight, but the boiler room door was tightly shut.
She knocked on the door and - because she was a Slytherin and not above acting without honour - pressed her ear to the wood.
'Bad, bad Kreacher!' He hissed and made a shushing noise, followed by high pitched keening and then more words. 'Shut up shut up shut up, the mistress will hear you! She mustn't know, no, even if it hurts Kreacher. Master will never… will never…'
At that, Kreacher burst into large hiccoughing tears that tore at Emma's soul. Even Kreacher wouldn't make that sound over something so simple as a burned iron shirt.
She went to clutch at her parents' locket, trying to draw comfort from the cool golden chain. But it wasn't there. Had she lost it when the Dark Lord unleashed his fury hours ago?
'Kreacher, I promise, whatever it is, Regulus will forgive you,' Emma said, as encouragingly as she could. She missed her locket sorely and it felt like she was missing her confidence. Leaving her throat, her hand crept over to the door handle even as she spoke. 'I'm coming in, all right? Maybe you can tell me what the matter is and we can fix it.'
'No!' Kreacher yelled, and she caught a glimpse of his tear streaked face twisted in agony, his nose streaming even as saliva dropped from his still sobbing mouth.
Shocked beyond measure, Emma allowed the house elf to shut the door in her face, collapsing herself against the cool wood, not bothering to arrange her robes that crinkled with whatever paper she had left in her pockets.
It took a moment for her to gather enough coherent thought to speak again.
'Kreacher,' she croaked. She cleared her throat. 'Kreacher, do you want me to find Regulus?'
The sobs from within intensified, and Emma raised her gaze to the ceiling to keep the prickling tears in her eyes. You don't even know what has happened, she reminded herself.
'Kreacher,' she said again, her voice as unsteady as she felt. 'what happened? Tell me and maybe I can do something. Tell me and I'll make it go away.'
'Kreacher mustn't,' the house elf wailed amidst hiccoughs. 'Kreacher swore.'
Emma felt her heart and hopes sink. Walburga wouldn't make Kreacher swear to anything. He was beneath her contempt. She gulped and forced herself to calm down. What would Regulus do? He'd keep his cool. He always does.
'Kreacher, what did you swear?'
'Kreacher promised! Kreacher promised to say nothing. Kreacher does nothing and Master breaks poor Kreacher' s heart.'
There was a short pause, and then Emma heard several bangs, punctuated by a muffled cry of pain. Quick as a flash, she opened the door and launched herself under the boiler in one fluid motion, grabbing Kreacher by the shoulders.
'Tell me,' she growled and her voice was more venomous than it had any right to be. She forced herself to take a breath, steadying her voice and thoughts alike. 'And if you can't tell me, show me.'
At that, Kreacher froze. Hope and suspicion warred with despair on his features and Emma seized her chance.
'You won't break your vow. All you will do is Apparate to your master. And look,' she added, loosening her grip on his thin arms, 'you will have told no one. You will have brought no one. I command you to return to Master Regulus, as is my right as a Mistress of House Black.'
Kreacher's face screwed up and Emma knew that she had said the wrong thing. Thinking fast, she back pedalled.
'Hold on, I'm overriding that command. Take me to the last place you went before returning to Grimmauld Place. Ignore everything I asked about Regulus.'
Kreacher let out a sigh so wretched that Emma felt hot tears on her cheeks even as he burst into sobs once more.
'As you command, Mistress Emma,' he said, his voice shaking. With what, she couldn't tell, as she was squeezed into the familiar blackness that was Apparition.
The first thing she registered was the damp. The sort that crept into your bones, leaving you more chilled than you ever thought was possible. Moisture beaded on her skin, sliding through the cracks between her fingers and she shivered.
The second thing was the gloom. An eerie green glow swept through the area, making it hard for her eyes to adjust. Shapes and shadows danced in the corners of her eyes, distorted and distended by the water lit from within.
The third thing was her lover's pale face floating mere inches from the surface.
'Regulus!' Emma screamed, leaping forwards off of the rock she was stood upon.
The water rose in a wave as she landed knee-deep, creating rivulets that raced for the shore on the horizon. A hand grabbed her ankle, and at first, she thought it might be Regulus. But that wasn't possible; he was swarmed by creatures dragging him further, deeper into the cave.
'Don't you even dare,' she hissed vehemently, grasping hold of his Slytherin green jumper. The moment his head broke the surface he breathed, taking in a deep, juddering gasp.
And that was when the claws reached for her.
Some were skeletal, bones bound by the barest of flesh. Others seemed almost human, if not for their elongated fingernails. Pale faces appeared, deformed and bloated by the light and the water. White pupiless eyes turned to watch her, mouths opening to bare half-rotted teeth.
Inferi.
'You will not have him,' Emma said defiantly, more for her own benefit than theirs. She took a step backwards, pulling Regulus with bodily strength borne from a lifetime of Quidditch. 'Incendio!'
The flames set one of the corpses alight, but it simply dipped back into the pool before reemerging to join the others.
Of course, Emma thought. Of course this wouldn't be easy. Regulus, what have you done?
'Relashio.'
The hand on her ankle recoiled as if stung, and she braced her feet before throwing Regulus to Kreacher with all her might. Unfortunately, even Quidditch didn't allow for a fully grown man in waterlogged clothing. However, the movement seemed to wake something up in Regulus, and he started crawling to shore, muttering under his breath. It was all the hope Emma needed. She wished she knew the Firestorm spell, but she would have to settle with the road she took back in her fifth year.
'Exsecratus Ignis,' she incanted, forcing her will through her wand.
The wood grew hot beneath her fingers, and she could feel it shuddering under the strength of the Dark magic. She wouldn't be able to keep it up for long, lest she risk her wand snapping. But she had strength enough for this.
Two flaming snakes rose out of the tip of her wand, twisting and twining as they chased the Inferi back, racing each other across the breadth of the green lake.
Emma stumbled back, snapping her wand upwards and cutting off the spell. Any more than a few seconds, and she feared it would escape her control. She fell, cutting her arm on a sharp rock near the shore, and half waded, half crawled her way back. She didn't know whether the scrapes against her legs were imaginary claws or not, but didn't want to risk sticking around to find out.
By the time she made it to shore, Regulus's teeth were chattering and he was shaking as violently as she remembered her grandfather when he had died of pneumonia. He leant against Kreacher, who was desperately trying to talk to him, with little success.
Emma knew when a situation was beyond her capabilities. She needed a Healer, but couldn't risk bringing him to St Mungos. Whether this was an Order of the Phoenix attack, or the Dark Lord himself, there were spies everywhere.
Lucinda.
Maybe her closest friend could help. She was neutral in this war, after all, and knew something of Healing spells.
'Kreacher,' she said, grasping hold of both wizard and house-elf in bone-crushing hugs, 'Listen carefully. We need to go to my old flat in Diagon Alley. You must return home, as you did on Regulus's orders. Tell no one of what happened until I come to find you. It isn't safe, for any of us.'
'M-master Regulus,' Kreacher began.
'I'll make sure he gets the help he needs,' Emma promised. 'But you need to save us too, Kreacher. No one can know where we went. No one. I'll be back for you, I swear.'