Summary: When he didn't remember and then suddenly he did and wished to forget again. Or where Regulus survives, hits his head and becomes the Cloud Arcobaleno.

Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor Katekyo Hitman Reborn is mine.

Warnings: Language, Reborn, Black Family in general, others I'm not sure of, absolutely NO pairings, no Beta

Rating: T

Word Count: 3301

Author's Note: Nothing's happening. Boring stuff. Still don't know where this is going. Mistakes most likely everywhere. Point them out to me if you can. BTW, I failed my driving exam 7 times. I'm at this stage of grief and about desperate enough to hurl myself off a bridge. I spent so much money that I think I could have used it to bribe someone to get me the license at least three times. I feel horrible. I cried in the bathroom in there for at least ten minutes. Thanks for all the favs and follows and reviews. It's nice to see that you guys like this story. Helps me get through my days.

Chapter 6

The rest of his shopping out of Diagon Alley was as short as it was possible. A Notice-Me-Not charm was quickly thrown up, courtesy of his new wand, and the people around him didn't even look twice in his direction.

He really didn't want to spend more time in the Muggle London than he had to. He went to many stores buying clothes that his mother would have turned her nose at and burned to ashes with a sneer on her face. Trousers, shirts with short and long sleeves, sweaters, shoes, socks, underwear, everything. Trousers made of denim and some other named chinos or some such nonsense, some other ones made of soft material, slacks. He went to many stores trying not to attract attention and look anything but like he was buying an entire new wardrobe. (The charm was waning a little because he needed to be able to ask questions if he wanted to know about something but still be utterly forgettable, indistinguishable. The people will know they talked to someone but they wouldn't recall Regulus, the conversation they had or his purchases and wouldn't be alarmed by that but will just carry on with their lives. Hopefully.)

He promised himself that he was going to look for a tailor soon. Because the displays of some shops he passed showed some interestingly cut suits. The suits were... Tighter, trousers especially, but better looking, too. He didn't know if it was because it was quite some time since 1978 or if the Muggles had those back then and he didn't care. He was getting a whole closet full of them as soon as he settled a little in this life. For now, he just contended himself with looking at them.

As much as he wanted to get himself something more formal to wear, he knew that having a fitted suit would be better than just taking some off the racks and throwing it into his purchases. A shame but Regulus wanted his formal clothes to not only look acceptable but also be comfortable (with maybe additional place for the wand holster in the sleeve).

He also found himself admiring the ties (they were different too, all thin and short, everything seemed to be slimmer and more fitted, future looked to be a pleasant place all around, with no Dark Lords and better suits). The clerk was so unfocused that he half-unconsciously gave Regulus a card to a local tailor who was apparently the best one in London and, well, Regulus would just have to make sure that that's true. But that's later.

He was actually disappointed when he looked up to the sky and saw that it was getting dark, he wanted to spend some more time browsing through these amazing Muggle inventions called sports shoes. (There were all kinds of shoes too, for running, for sports (every sport needed different ones, apparently), for a normal walk, for climbing, everything.) He went home with black ones, named after a Greek goddess (Nike, Goddess of Victory, appropriate) which were the softest and most comfortable shoes he has ever had the pleasure of wearing, packed in a box. The rest of his purchases were carefully stored in his bag, which was charmed to be bigger on the inside so it easily contained all of his goods and was also extremely light.

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He walked with a renewed, full Notice-Me-Not charm hastily shielding him from every eye. He needed to be careful when going home, someone could be following him. It was unlikely but still a possibility and Grimmauld Place was without much protection, so he had to be careful. He needed to renew the wards and put it under the Fidelius as soon as possible.

He went in and was immediately greeted with the sight of Kreacher scrubbing at the old, dark floors. The musty smell mixed with plain soap assaulted his nose and he blinked a few times. Then, he smiled at his friend and greeted him with a nod while the elf bowed deeply, waved his bony hand, making a gesture in the direction of the dining room.

"Master Regulus, Kreacher did as ordered and went shopping for food. It has been prepared already, is it to be served, Master Regulus?" Regulus nodded, he wondered how much food Kreacher bought knowing that the elf was a little excited when he called him to Gringotts to give him a pouch of galleons.

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As he sipped his tea that evening he noticed that it was a little weird. It seemed that Kreacher added sugar to the pot. He stared down at the brown liquid, swirling it idly in its cup but after a few moments he ignored it and downed the rest of it.

Regulus usually took his tea without any sweeteners, with a drop of milk. Because while he enjoyed pastries and desserts like every other person, he preferred his tea this way. Especially as he drank his it with some sweets on the side.

He frowned but didn't think to mention it. It wasn't like it bothered him all that much. It was just tea, after all.

After eating, he settled in his room with the books and began the long way to finding himself in this bizarre new century.

.

Regulus didn't spend all his time catching up on everything that happened since he nearly died, he also began working on the wards surrounding his home. He remembered, after all, that he was vulnerable, an easy target for anyone who may try to break in. Only after finally casting a successful Fidelius, with himself as the Secret Keeper, did he start relaxing and really diving deeper into the intricacies of history.

A few days went by with Kreacher puttering about the house and Regulus with his nose in the books, making notes and ordering new ones via Kreacher (who was ecstatic at the chance at helping Regulus in any way so Regulus didn't feel bad about tearing him away from work).

Some of the books Kreacher came back with from the bookstore were questionable and Regulus really didn't know where exactly the elf acquired "Magick Moste Evile" but was certain it didn't come from Flourish and Blotts. The thick tome also didn't come from the Black Family Library, Regulus would have known all about it otherwise. For once, he really wasn't the most social child, he liked his books and a truly admirable amount of time cooped up in the library. And secondly, his mother certainly wouldn't have sat silent on such an interesting subject. She would have had Kreacher read the book to him and Sirius for a bedtime story, he thought amused. Or, better yet, she would have read it to them herself.

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The little octopus was growing on him, he spent his free moments in the living room, devouring texts and glancing at it from time to time. The thing was perfectly happy in its giant glass aquarium, magically enhanced on the inside and a little castle in the center of the tank (which Regulus was pretty smug about, he created it himself, with a bit of magic so that it was also bigger on the inside).

The little red thing was fascinating to look at and kind of sweet as long as it stayed on the other side of the glass from him.

.

Some nights he dreamt of strange, multicoloured fire that didn't burn and, oddly enough, colourful pacifiers.

The few books about Divination and Seers in general that somehow were lying about in the Black library were of no help whatsoever.

"Stupid Lackey," Regulus gasped, phantom pain pulsing through his head as he remembered the feeling of a heavy leg kicking him there. He sat up in bed, rubbing the back of his head, sweaty and rumpled.

.

"Go and bring us some drinks, Lackey. I want espresso."

"Sports drink for me!"

"Me as well."

"Muu, strawberry milk will do."

"Oolong tea, please."

He gritted his teeth as the memory resurfaced. Who did those kids think they were. What was worse was the fact that from his point of view, he could only watch helplessly and rage on the inside but not actually interact with the outside. Instead, his body nodded frantically and scrambled to do as ordered.

He moved around the stacks of books, eyes jumping between titles, hoping to see a specific one. He found what he was looking for after a few minutes and huffed a breath on its cover, blowing the dust off. With time he found quite a few others. "Art of the Mind", "How to Extract Thoughts of Your Enemies and Shield Your Own", "Do Not Lose Your Mind or Memories and How to Manage Them" and a few others.

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Occlumency. Legilimency. That was the branch of magic he knew would be helpful to focus on. It was all the books talked about.

It was unfortunate that Regulus once tried it already and discovered that he had zero natural talent for either of those two. He was a Death Eater and those were no slouches (at least, in his times), yes, and Voldemort wasn't able to stop him from going after the Horcrux but that was mostly due to the fact that Regulus didn't dare look the Dark Lord in the eye or act in any way rebellious in the man's presence.

He usually kept his head down and only finally decided to act when Kreacher came back to him half-dead. That was an impulsive thought, he put the plan into motion in just a few days, after all. The information he gathered through the years was in the end useless, as he didn't get to out Voldemort as a Half-Blood and went after a piece of his soul without telling anyone (besides Kreacher but he swore the elf to secrecy).

All in all, Regulus managed to hide his digging in the Dark Lord's past only by a great deal of luck and some not-bad-at-all acting. Because he could act if his life depended on it. And it did, back then. So he acted the way of a starstruck fanboy, Pureblood fanatic, perfect Black heir, ecstatic to be meeting his idol. He avoided eye contact, kept his head bowed and his voice reverent. He knew how to please others, had a while life to practice, what with his parents demanding it of him practically from the time he started to understand basic sentences. Maybe even before that.

The books he had at his disposal in the Black library were all good and useful but they weren't able to tell if he was doing something wrong and if so, what. They weren't able to think up a different approach to the problem if one way didn't work for him.

Books were, after all, just that, books. That's why they always insisted in the beginning on getting a teacher, a mentor, someone to guide. But Regulus didn't have anyone who he could trust with his secrets, not mentioning his mere existence. He didn't have anyone, period. It was unfortunate that Kreacher didn't know the art.

So it was that he resigned himself to getting memories at the rate they kept coming, which was slow going. He didn't have time for meditation anyway, he had too much to do right now.

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Most of these memories were flashes, quite jumbled and difficult to make sense of. For example, one was of a group of seven adults and the next a group of seven, eerily similar (even their clothes were a replica of the ones they wore a memory before) toddlers surrounding him.

From that alone, he assumed that the memories trickling through weren't shown to him chronologically because, well, it was rather illogical to assume that adults were reduced to toddlers. There were spells that could make somebody look younger and there was, of course, the Polyjuice Potion but judging from these people's clothes and other... accessories (three of them had Muggle guns, and two of those three were dressed in some type of Muggle military garb, one had some type of device in his hands, probably electronic (Regulus wasn't a complete moron, even if his parents forbid him from attending the Muggle Studies, he knew enough to get by, most likely) and others were just strange).

One of them, maybe two, had the appearances of magic users, though. One was dressed in robes covering their features and could somehow levitate. Flying without a broom was impossible in the Magical World, only the Dark Lord ever managed unaided flight before. The other one was a woman (although she came in different forms, once she was pregnant, once a child, once a younger woman and once a little girl, he had the strangest feeling that it wasn't even the same person but the hair, the eyes, the mark on their cheek and the giant white hat was the same. Also, the sense about them was the same, too, warm, welcoming, knowing).

Also, these people's hair was interesting enough. There was one with blue, two with green and one with strange, spiky black hair with curly sideburns that made him nearly mistake the man as one of the Potter Family bastards (because he knew at least about Harry Potter being the last of the Potters and James Potter didn't have any siblings or cousins (aside from the Blacks, from his mother's side)).

So it was that Regulus wasn't even certain that none of them were wizards. They were complete unknowns. That made them doubly dangerous. The feats he remembered them performing were nigh impossible and Regulus chalked most of them either to his imagination or a potion (or something that alters the reality or one's perception of reality) because a toddler being able to defeat adults was something highly improbable.

(But improbable didn't mean impossible, he thought bleakly. That meant he had next to zero clues and ideas about what went on around his body while he was away.)

Instead of dwelling on the impossible feats performed by children, he focused on the history and what exactly transpired while he was out of commission.

.

He caught up on modern magical history, seeing that Kreacher's tale checked out (not that he doubted the elf, he was just aware that sometimes Kreacher could get a little overexcited and may have gotten some facts mixed up) with what was written in the book. There were also some pictures and at that Regulus pulled up short.

Because there was a picture of a young boy, about Regulus' age (not the middle forties, the teenage years) staring up at him with a frown on his face from the page about Harry Potter and his victory over Voldemort. A boy with short, messy black hair and light eyes (he was unable to tell the colour, the picture was black and white) with a scar on his forehead. The same boy, man rather, who Regulus met in the Alley some time ago.

He frowned, so that was Harry Potter. The man didn't look that much older than the one in the photo. He hummed distractedly and closed the book.

.

Regulus remembered the small child with blue hair pointing out that he was a Metamorphomagus and promptly began researching it. He finally read something other than "Modern History of the Wizarding Britain" and "Wards and How to Avoid Being Blown Up by Ones".

He delved into the Black Library, vaguely remembering that there were once wizards with this particular ability in the Family. Some two hundred years ago. His mother boasted about it enough for him to remember.

It's turned out that yes, there were Blacks with this ability and, to his immense relief, they left some journals behind when they passed on.
He picked up the thick handwritten journal belonging to one of the Blacks who possessed the ability to change his appearance. A Metamorphomagus.

So it was that while Kreacher went around the house and kept Regulus fed, Regulus himself worked on changing himself. In the most superficial way.

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Regulus was careful with his newfound ability to change his appearance and still slipped when he felt emotional enough but he practiced every day and was pretty sure that his appearance would hold if he went out.

He finally looked into a tailor and had an assortment of suits ready for him in his wardrobe. He didn't even need to use a strong Notice-Me-Not charm, his purple look was gone, replaced by the typical Black hair and eyes. It was distinguishable but still more forgettable than purple colouring.

He couldn't bring himself to abandon his heritage by morphing his face into someone else's features. He knew it probably wasn't smart but he couldn't find it in himself to stop. It was his face and after such a long time, he ("Be proud of who you are, Regulus!") wanted to be himself.

His mother's portrait didn't get to complain when he explained that the different style of the suit was just fashion. She grumbled but relented, Blacks needed to maintain their image, after all. Appearing in something less than last trend would be unacceptable. He didn't mention that it was Muggle fashion, thank Merlin she didn't have the means to check it. She was, after all, a painting. (And yet he still sought her approval and feared her rage.)

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Time passed and before he knew it, nearly two months flew by and Yuletide was upon them.

In that time, Kreacher has become somewhat, Regulus hesitated, not knowing how to describe his friend's recent behavior. Strange, is the word he settled on but it still didn't wholly encompass the way Kreacher sometimes forgot to add milk to the afternoon tea (the horror, it was a probably good thing that of the Blacks only Regulus lived, his mother would have had the old elf's head hung on the wall by the time he finished croaking apologies). Or how he jumped from one activity to another, one moment doing the dishes and the next on his knees, scrubbing the floors. The elf also, sometimes, forgot when he was and who he was with, dissolving into hysterics and sobbing, or muttering and scowling. He sometimes wailed about his "poor Mistress, having to endure the presence of filthy Blood Traitors and Mudbloods in her Ancestral House".

Regulus found that ignoring it was the best method of dealing with it. He would soon find out that it may not be so.

.

Yuletide was coming. He decided to make his move before the holiday and come back to the apartment where he found himself in, nearly two months ago. He forced his hair and eyes to change into Black hair and eyes, and was soon looking like Regulus Black, only slightly older, taller, with more scars and more darkness hiding behind his calm facade.

He dressed to the T. He picked a black suit, white shirt and a slim black tie along with some truly comfortable boots. (All Muggle, he still wasn't sure about going into the Dragon Alley, even if he could change his appearance at will now.)

He waved off Kreacher's concern and the elf still looked doubtful but dutifully held out his wrinkled, trembling (old, he was really old, Regulus shunned that thought aside) hand for Regulus to hold onto so he could Apparate them to the flat. Even though Regulus knew how to Apparate and had his license, he doubted a criminal listed as dead teleporting himself to Italy would be welcomed. Besides, it was a long way and house-elf magic was insanely strong, Kreacher could make it to a place a whole country and some away while Regulus was rather sure he would end up splinching himself.

He needed clues, though, and he had enough sitting around. He got all the information he could sitting, time to strike out on his own.

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