Chapter 9:
Flowers in the Darkness
Regulus took Agripa's book "Views on the Beginning of the Magical World" to the annual pure- blood families ball. Events like that were rarely interesting to him, since he didn't enjoy being surrounded by too many people, and the excessively polite mannerisms intended to conceal enmity and jealousy usually made him feel like prey being stalked by a predator. He knew that one day he would have to take an integral part in such events, since he was the heir of his house, but today he could afford to slip out and sink peacefully into a world of wisdom.
He found his way to a dim gallery above the ballroom, at level with the enormous crystal chandelier that illuminated it. From there he could watch the guests while they were unaware of him. The dances had already begun, and couples moved gracefully across the floor. Regulus looked for his parents and saw them conferring with a few other wizards their age in a corner. He feared they would soon start looking for him.
He sat with his back to the wall and opened the book in the light of his wand. The music playing around him faded in his head as he sank completely into the ancient text. From time to time, when he marveled at the wisdom of the words flooding him, he suddenly remembered the peculiar stranger he had met at Bellatrix's wedding. One must read in order to question reality – these were his words. But as a result of his rigid education, Regulus had never learned how to doubt what he was taught.
He read a few short chapters before he remembered where he was. He didn't know how long it had been, so he switched off the light, shrunk the book so it would fit in his pocket, and sadly turned back, convinced that his mother was already impatiently searching for him.
He spotted her from afar across the dance floor. She stood alone by a group of wizards who were talking to her husband, her gaze set aside, lost in thought. Regulus was surprised how young she looked when she was daydreaming, and how much that look reminded him of himself. He didn't want to approach, for fear he would never see that look on her face again, but he did anyway.
"They should be ashamed to show their faces here," said one of his father's friends. "If I were him I would have left the country all together..."
The source of the gossip was revealed to Regulus after a moment.
"We wouldn't want to see you leave the country, Augustus," said Mr. Potter, emerging with his wife behind the speaker. The group fell silent immediately. "Good evening to you, friends."
"Walburga," said Mrs. Potter, who used to be Mrs. Black's good friend before she had married. "You look wonderful."
"You as well, Euphemia, as always," Mrs. Black replied with the expected courtesy and hypocrisy. Everyone knew that Mrs. Black would never forgive Mrs. Potter for taking her rebellious son in.
Mr. Potter scanned the group with dark, intelligent eyes that lay behind glasses. His gaze fell on Regulus, who was probably the most welcoming face he had seen since he entered the room. He smiled, nodded at him, and led his wife away.
Once they were out of earshot, the gossip resumed.
"I heard that their only son is going to marry a mudblood, and with their blessing!"
"Mr. Potter is giving a speech tonight," Mr. Black said gravely. "His words are not likely to be pleasant to our ears."
"Not at all... The Potters have gone bad, everyone knows that. What a pity – they had been a noble line..."
Regulus' mother sighed. He realized that she wasn't listening to the discussion at all, but looking at the dance floor with sad longing.
Regulus held out his arm. She took it and let it lead him away from her husband, and to the dance floor.
"You're a good dancer," she told him after they had found their place and right pace for the dance. "I've never seen you dance before."
"I don't like it very much," he lied. He never had the courage to ask a girl to dance.
"I used to dance a lot," she told him as he led the dance, her gaze glazed. "I used to come to the balls just for that."
"What happened?"
"I got married. Orion doesn't enjoy dancing, a bit like you..."
The dance was over, and another one was about to begin. Regulus felt a hand on his shoulder.
A witch in a black mask signaled that she wished to have that dance. Regulus recognized her immediately from the pictures in the Daily Prophet. He glanced at his mother, who was already moving away, and he knew he had no escape. It was considered rude to refuse to dance with a woman, even if she was a mass murderer that no one had seen her face. So he danced with her.
She was tall – taller then him – and as she swayed her skirt moved like and ominous dark cloud, making him feel even smaller. Her black mask was studded with small diamonds, like stars; Regulus focused his eyes on them, fearing to gaze into the dark eyes that looked at him from behind the mask. Her perfume was strong, sweet and dark, like fine bitter wine; It was very deterring, and he attributed that without hesitation to some short of magic. The use of such products to create a harmless or threatening impressions, or to prevent other wizards from interpreting ones feelings and thoughts, was very acceptable in these circles. She used it so she wouldn't be recognized, but nothing in the world could make a trained prey such as Regulus to be taken by surprise by his oldest predator. No mask could hide the black fire in her eyes.
He felt that everyone were looking at them as they moved across the floor. He knew no one would call Aurors to such an event, especially in light of the rumors that the Dark Lord was honoring them with their presence, but that didn't assuage their fear of the criminal, nor reassured their curiosity. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed his parents watching him intently.
The dance seemed to last forever. The Masked Witch wasn't the ideal dancing partner; She expressed very little willingness to be led, and seemed to demand to lead herself. Soon the dance was more of a power struggle than an enjoyable way to pass the time.
When it was finally over, Regulus planned to thank her and get away, but Rabastan ruined his plan when he suddenly appeared there.
"The Dark Lord wants to see you," he said, looking at Regulus and then at the Masked Witch. "Both of you."
He led them to one of the gallerias above the ballroom, like the one Regulus hid in at the beginning of the ball. The Masked Witch walked ahead of him, still not opening her mouth. Regulus wondered if like him, she felt afraid inside. He had a certain idea of why the Dark Lord wanted to see him, but as he climbed, he told himself it was a ridiculous thought. The man probably just wanted to see the face of the heir to the House of Black, nothing more. If so, he was likely to be disappointed.
They were led into a booth overlooking the hall where half a dozen people sat in armchairs and couches, sipping wine and smoking pipes. Regulus recognized Rodolphus Lestrange, Theos Avery, who used to be friends with Mr. Black, Lucius Malfoy, and Antonion Dolohov, known for his public support for the Dark Lord. They spoke to each other in quiet voices, as they were afraid to wake someone up. They all fell silent and looked up as the three entered. The attention immediately focused on the Masked Witch, who adopted it gracefully, as if it where a jewel. If anyone but Regulus knew her true identity, they didn't said a word.
In an armchair overlooking the ballroom, with his back to the room, sat the Dark Lord.
Rabastan approached him and knelt. Regulus paused for a moment, looking at the familiar faces that didn't recognize his presence, before he too knelt. He was surprised by the turn of events, but not so shocked.
"Rise," said the Dark Lord, looking away from the bright hall. Regulus straightened up beside the Masked Witch, who didn't kneel at all. "You are dismissed, Rabastan. Sit, my guests."
Regulus sat rigidly in the armchair to the left of the Dark Lord, and the woman to his right.
"I have been thinking much about our discussion," he told Regulus. "About history and literature. I would like us to continue it."
His face was the face of the stranger he had met in the bathroom more than a month ago, but now that he knew who he was, something about it seemed different. Strangely enough, he seemed less impressive and mysterious as the Dark Lord than as the scholarly stranger who had reminded him so much of himself.
"What about the House of Black?" Asked Regulus, who had also thought about the discussion a lot during the past month.
"I would like to continue that discussion too, but unfortunately my plans have changed," said the Dark Lord. "You see, I planned to talk to you in private, like last time, when you are unaware of my status. However, lately my job requires all my time, and I do no have time to walk among people like a faceless stranger... I cannot reveal my thought to you when you know who I am. We must wait."
"Until when?"
"Until I trust you more."
An ominous sense came over Regulus.
The Dark Lord turned to the Masked Witch. "I'm surprised that a powerful witch such as you honors us in her presence," he said.
She nodded in a grateful gesture, but said nothing.
"There are rumors that you are trying to compete with me," he continued. "Tell me, are they true?"
"And if they are?" Her voice was very quiet and pleasant, like the ringing of silver bells in the distance. Regulus had no doubt that the Dark Lord had noticed that it wasn't her real voice, but a mirage created by a spell. "Does the Dark Lord feel threatened?"
"Does the oak feel threatened by a flower that grows amidst it?"
"It may, if the flower drinks its water."
"The water needed for a flower to blossom are nothing compared to water the oak consumes. The answer is no, my dear. It does not feel threatened at all. The flower is the one who should feel threatened when it grows so close to the trunk of the oak. The flower needs sunlight, and the oak casts a heavy shadow."
"There are flowers that grow in the dark," was the witch's answer.
Then the Dark Lord did something odd – he laughed. His followers, who were speaking in quiet voices behind them, fell silent and looked at him in astonishment. Regulus imagined that the Dark Lord didn't laugh often, and he was glad for that; It was a cold, mocking, almost diabolical noise.
"Certainly, there are plants that grow in the dark," he said, "Although, It seems to me you had never encountered true darkness."
He turned to Regulus. "Well, did the great book lover already find time to read Angus Normandin's new book about the power struggles in Europe between wizards and muggles?"
"I finished it a few weeks ago," Regulus replied, "Mr. Normandin is a close friend of my Father and has done much of the research for his book in our library. He gave me the first copy of his book."
"I'm looking at it right now, and I must say it disappoints me. The findings are familiar, the conclusions are clear and lacking innovation... "
"I actually found his view refreshing. His description of the transition of wizards from rulers to subjects at the end of King Arthur's was very enlightening."
"Perhaps it's because you haven't studied the subject before?"
" No, I haven't."
"Well, my personal advice to you is to start looking into it," said the Dark Lord. "You are to be head of your family, am I right? The head of an ancient, pure family like the Blacks mustn't rest easy at times like these, where wizards compromise the dignity and status of the pure- bloods, and the iron fist of the muggle society only grows stronger around our necks. Do you not agree that we must break this hold and regain our rightful place as the rulers of the world?"
The answer was clear to Regulus was as the light of the sun. He was raised by that answer, sucked it from his mother's breasts and absorbed it every moment of his life as an adult. There was no other answer. Not for him.
"Of course," he said.
"Good," said the Dark Lord at the answer he wanted to hear. "I am sure it would not be too much for me to ask you to learn about the subject until the next time we meet. It is for your own good, after all. Although I must admit that it's also a personal whim on my part. You would not expect a person like myself, who is surrounded by his supporters day and night, to struggle with finding someone to talk to, but the truth is that I've always had a hard time finding intellectual partners. You are returning to school next week, I suppose? I will let you know when our next meeting will take place, and I will arrange a safe passage for you outside the castle. The teachers would not know a thing."
Regulus nodded nervously. Not many things escaped the sharp gaze of the Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, or the Headmaster himself, yet the Dark Lord wasn't just a troublesome student. He knew he shouldn't be hoping he would get caught, but he was.
"My Lord." Lucius Malfoy leaned to the Dark Lord's ear. He was whispering, but Regulus heard every word. "Potter is about to make his speech. I ask again if I may – "
"It is not necessary at the moment," the Dark Lord interrupted. "We will hear what he has to say."
"But, my Lord, your followers won't tolerate hearing him denounce you, and in such publicity – "
"We will let him speak," repeated the Dark Lord. "We would not want them to think we silence our oppressors. I'll take care of him myself, if he is too blunt."
"My Lord, I – "
"It's final, Malfoy. Get out. I'm getting impatient."
Malfoy left with extraordinary obedience.
Regulus rose to his feet. "I beg your pardon, sir. My parents must be looking for me."
He was sure that the attempt to slip away would fail, that the Dark Lord would ignore him or send someone to take care of it, but he just nodded, lost in thought.
"Fine. Do not forget out agreement, Regulus."
Regulus nodded, then bowed and left.
The dancing stopped until after the speeches, and the instruments were removed from the stage to make way for the speakers. Regulus noticed Mr. Potter standing at the foot of the stage, going over his speech for the last time. An urge to turn his back and walk away came over Regulus, and for a moment he almost gave in to it. But he forced himself to walk forward and face the man. He had to talk to him, that was all – to say a few words to him, and he would be free of responsibility and remorse.
"Mr. Potter," he addressed him, the words coming out of his mouth if he had no control over him.
Mr. Potter looked up from the speech. He looked very much like his only son, even though age had already taken its toll on his face and body, which still displayed grace and nobility against the frailty of old age.
"Mr. Black," he replied pleasantly. "I don't think we were ever properly acquainted. It's not surprising, considering the tension between our families."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but there's no time for that now," Regulus said, suddenly feeling a strong urge to make sure no one was listening to him. Maybe it was a mistake talking to him at all... "You mustn't speak against the Dark Lord tonight."
He expected Mr. Potter to ignore his words, even to laugh at him, but he only gave him a serious, rather sad look. "I'm sorry, son, but that's something I have to do."
"Your words will fall on deaf ears," Regulus continued. "Every person in this room who doesn't support the Dark Lord won't dare to make in public. You're wasting your time."
"It's the only thing I can do. Years ago, when Lord Voldemort's name came up for the first time among the people here, we didn't believe that he would reach such a status. We have to put an end to this cruelty and evil."
"You don't understand," Regulus insisted, grinding his teeth. An old wizard at the refreshment table was looking at them. He had to get away. "The Dark Lord will silence you himself if you cross the line. He will kill you, Mr. Potter."
He hoped to shock him by saying that. But instead of being afraid, Mr. Potter only shook his head sadly.
"You are very much like your brother, Mr. Black, even if both of you refuse to acknowledge that fact," he said. "I'll tell you something I told him and my son: We mustn't live in fear. The wizard whom you call the Dark Lord and his men are nothing more than thugs who try to achieve their goals through violence and intimidation. If I will not speak tonight, I will allow him another victory in his path to rule. I can not allow that to happen."
"Even for your life?"
"My boy," said Mr. Potter, placing a hand on Regulus' lean shoulder, making him flinch back in surprise. Mr. Potter's hand dropped, and Regulus felt a curious regret for having moved away. "Trust me when I tell you that anyone who decides to support the Dark Lord instead of resisting him, and even the Dark Lord himself, are people who are extremely afraid of death, who can't stand the thought of an end. This kind of fear makes people do terrible things. If standing in the way of the darkest wizard our society has seen in a thousand years will cost me my life, I will gladly give them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to prepare for my speech... Goodbye, Mr. Black. I was glad to meet you at last."
Regulus wished he would put his hand on his shoulder again, but he didn't. So he stepped away, blending into the crowd. The conversation with Mr. Potter didn't make him feel better about himself, and he certainly wasn't free of remorse.