Chapter 9
To the Dark Lord
The office could only be accessed through a lengthy corridor, past two gargoyle statues and up a long circular staircase. Its entrance was guarded by a magnificent oak door lined with magical script and ancient runes. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. Towards the back was an enormous, claw-footed desk and, sitting on a shelf behind it, was a shabby, tainted wizard's hat – the famous Sorting Hat.
To the right of the desk was a large vertical glass cabinet, which held rows and rows of clear vials – each filled to brim with whirling, silvery mist. A large metal basin sat on the bottom shelf, ancient runes tracing its sides. To the left of the desk stood a glass case which housed a long broadsword. The sword was made of pure silver, its hilt inlaid with shining red rubies. A famous wizarding name was engraved in silver along a stretched golden handle. The sword was goblin made and constructed from the rarest of metals on Earth – a truly one of a kind blade.
Along the top of the room's walls were self-portraits of famous witches and wizards – most appeared to be dozing, but every so often one of them would open their eyes and take a quick peek around. Crammed along the base of the walls were small bookshelves stuffed full of worn tomes and volumes, threatening to topple at any moment. The shelves contained such a vast amount of muggle and magical text that one would need to live several lives in order to read through it all, and live several more lives to truly comprehend everything contained within.
The room served as the office for the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the current headmaster was sitting behind the large desk, facing backwards – directly into a great, yawning fireplace. He was serenely staring at the empty hearth, as if an engrossing movie was playing within the empty space. Suddenly green fire sparked up and, impossibly, a floating head appeared. The face was pale and draped with long black greasy hair. As usual Severus Snape looked anxious, furtively glancing around every few seconds as if a specter were haunting his steps, whereas Dumbledore looked supremely calm, not a care in the world.
"I'm here Dumbledore. What's so urgent?"
"Are you predisposed at the moment?
"I'm here, aren't I?
"Have you suddenly run out of floo powder?"
"It's much too risky Dumbledore, His spies are everywhere! The Ministry can't be trusted!"
Dumbledore continued to calmly stare at Snape, his face inscrutable. With an annoyed grimace, Snape's head wavered and then vanished – suddenly shimmering green flames enveloped the fireplace and Snape spun out of fire, brushing his robes and spilling ash on the floor.
"I shouldn't have to appear here every time you beckon, like a common servant. If I'm caught in your presence, I would die a slow and painful death."
"Severus, please dispense with the usual theatrics – you don't seriously believe I would allow anyone to monitor my office, do you?"
Snape answered by silently stalking over to one of the big comfy armchairs lining the room and melting into it. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes with a tired sigh.
"You must move Lily again; I've heard chatter about the apartment in Lexington. They shouldn't stay in one place longer than a week, a fortnight at the absolute most. Something just doesn't feel right, there's a rat in your midst Dumbledore, I think you've got a mole within the Order." Snape opened his eyes and looked at Dumbledore, expecting him to argue or casually dismiss his warning.
Dumbledore thought for a few moments before responding. "I do believe you're right."
"You must root him out now. The Dark Lord tells us your plans before you tell me. It's as if he's listening at your very doorstep." Snape shot an involuntary glance to the office door, as if He were outside that very moment.
"Yes, I've had suspicions for a while now, but I'm not yet sure…tell me Severus, are you the only Death Eater that's had second thoughts about the ultimate…goal of Voldemort?"
"Do not speak his name!"
"Are there any other of your comrades you may be able to…turn to the light?"
"No, none. I'm sure some have reservations, but they'd never confide their doubts to me…I'm not the best at building close relationships. And besides, fear of retribution is too great for people to risk voicing their doubts. He has recently made some…examples of non-believers."
"Yes, the Prophet had mentioned only finding bits and pieces of some of your brothers. I'm asking only because I received a very interesting visit from an old house-elf the other day. His message contained some disturbing information and I wish to meet the creature's master to corroborate what I was told."
"A feeble ploy to tempt you out from cover, many of these tricks will come your way now – be on guard. The Dark Lord has put a bounty on your head, almost as large a reward as the one for Lily's child."
"Well, I'm honored Voldemort thinks so highly of me."
As Snape began hissing at him to not use the Dark Lord's name, Dumbledore's thoughts drifted to the odd visitor he had received the night before…
…It was late into the evening and Dumbledore was finishing the last of a series of letters to various members of the Wizengamot – Britain's wizarding high court of law. His duties as Headmaster of Hogwarts, responsibilities as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, obligations as special advisor to the Minister of Magic and the stress of the secret war the Order had been fighting – it all lead to late nights and a dangerous lack of sleep. Tired wizards make mistakes and the cleverer the wizard, the greater the mistake. The burden of obligation had been weighing on him lo' these many nights, but Dumbledore strived to maintain a carefree and airy demeanor in public towards his detractors – kill them with kindness and all that.
But here, all alone in his office late at night, he allowed his nonchalant façade to fall away. He wearily rubbed his eyes, leaned back in his leather chair, and let out a tired sigh. He glanced up at the sleeping portraits, thankful for the school founders' cunning imagination and skill to create the magic that allowed previous headmasters to "live on" and give counsel. He had sought their guidance countless times and could confide in them his doubt and fears without any risk of ridicule or betrayal. The portraits were magically bound to assist the current and rightful headmaster of the school, to serve as faithful consiglieres. Although they weren't obliged to be polite thought Dumbledore as he spied the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black. He chuckled to himself as he was about to awaken the former Slytherin headmaster to instigate some good-natured ribbing when – Crack!
All the portraits awoke at once and began shouting in alarm.
"What was that? How was that creature able to get in here!?"
"Dumbledore look out!"
"We're under attack!"
An old house-elf now stood in the middle of Dumbledore's office. Except for the black towel wrapped like a loincloth around its middle, it was completely naked. Its wrinkly skin seemed to be a few times too big for it and though it was bald like all house-elves, there was a small amount white hair growing out of its large, bat like ears. Its eyes were watery gray, and its fleshy nose was large and rather snout like. It was shivering, even though a fire was blazing hot in Dumbledore's fireplace.
House-elf magic was a deep and ancient branch of magic, and the Hogwarts anti-apparition enchantments appeared to havw failed in preventing this intrusion. Dumbledore stared hard at the small, stooped house-elf – he knew he had seen this creature before.
"Professor Dumbledore," squeaked the house-elf as he bowed low. "I'm to deliver a message to you, only for your ears!"
"And with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
"I am Kreacher," croaked the elf. "Loyal servant of the Bl-, umm, oh no! My master's family name must be kept secret!"
A stricken look came over the house-elf and he took off head-first for the sharp corner of Dumbledore's desk. Right before the pathetic creature lunged into the jagged wooden edge, Dumbledore flicked his hand and Kreacher bounced harmlessly away. The elf then tried to punish himself by slamming his forehead into the floor, but found he couldn't quite reach it – as if there were an invisible barrier guarding the floor.
"Kreacher, that quite enough. You've not revealed your Master's namesake so there's no need to punish yourself, now please continue with your message."
Kreacher looked up at Dumbledore, back to the ground, and then swept his eyes across the room, searching out anything dangerous to use in his next act of penance. He finally came to the conclusion that the tall wizard was not going to allow any further acts of violent contrition and sat down on the floor looking quite defeated.
"I've been tasked with speaking to the famous Headmaster of Hogwarts to deliver a message of great importance. It must only be heard by the famous teacher, the revered leader of the Wizengamot, the renowned Supreme…"
"I'm well versed with all my pretentious titles, Kreacher – by the way, I'm not sure if you knew, but I was also voted best dressed at last year's Ministry of Magic Christmas gala. Now please dispense with the preamble and tell me the message you've been tasked to relay."
"Yes sir! My master is proud and loyal to your kind, securing the safety of the wizarding world is of the utmost importance. He wants me to tell you what his master asked of me, he wants me to pass on this information…in case…in case something befalls him!" Kreacher whispered between watery tears.
"Please go on," implored Dumbledore. He slowly stowed his wand back in his robes – he was beginning to believe this was not a ruse.
"My master volunteered me for an important mission, to help the honorable Dark Lord. Kreacher was to play a vital role in helping the pure bloods! The Dark Lord took Kreacher to a large mountain, a cliff by the sea. He went into a dark cave with Him and hid something very important. He was laughing and laughing the whole time. The Dark Lord then left Kreacher in the dark cave, left Kreacher in terrible pain. But Kreacher came back, came back to his brave master Reg– oh no!"
Dumbledore's arm shot out like a laser and swiftly caught the house-elf in mid sprint for the fire behind his desk.
"What did the Dark Lord hide in the cave Kreacher? You must tell me!"
"Kreacher knows not what was hidden, I swears it!"
"Is there any more to your master's message?"
"My master wants Dumbledore to know that…the Dark Lord is becoming all powerful, soon he will be impossible to…to…to defeat. He will be invincible! Dumbledore must be told! The Headmaster must be warned! He must be aware of what's happening! There's no one more important to tell!"
"Kreacher, please stop your shaking and listen to me. You must tell me who your master is, I must meet him! It is imperative!"
The house-elf began to squirm in Dumbledore's grasp, wrenching himself to get free.
"No! I cannot! I'm sworn to secrecy! My family's welfare and reputation must be guarded!"
"Kreacher I can help your master. I can help your family. I can keep all of you safe!"
Kreacher stopped his struggling and looked up into deep piercing, blue eyes.
"Kreacher trust me. I can protect your family. Tell me where this cave is. Tell me who your master is."
Crack! Dumbledore was left holding air. Frustrated, he turned to one of the portraits behind him.
"Well Armando, I think your theory about the Dark Lord may be correct after all…
…Snape had dozed off in the comfy armchair once he'd realized that Dumbledore had drifted off into one his annoying silent reveries. He always slept soundly in Dumbledore's office, a much deeper sleep than he had in his own bed for some reason. Of course, his home held terrible memories and there was probably nowhere in the wizarding world as safe as the Albus Dumbledore's office.
Dumbledore's thoughts left Kreacher and he came back to the present. He looked down at his former pupil with renewed interest, but decided to let the poor boy rest. It was doubtful Kreacher's master would have confided anything of consequence to a fellow Death Eater, but perhaps Snape would have an idea of who this master was…Dumbledore could not shake the nagging feeling that he had seen that house-elf once before…
…The Dark Lord's appearance was growing more and more distorted thought Regulus – it must be related to His secret, the precious secret that only I've discovered, the terrible secret that was pushing them all down this mad path. The arrogant Dark Lord dropped hints about it all the time, for He'd never dream anyone was intelligent enough to realize his ultimate goal.
Looking around at the assembled Death Eaters celebrating in the Forest of Dean, Regulus doubted if any of these fanatics had put the clues together. The Dark Lord was selfish and guarded, there was no way he would've confided his obsession to even his most loyal followers. He would never share his secret to achieving immortality…would he? What about his most devoted servants? He might have confided in the Lestranges…or maybe Lucius Malfoy…what about Snape?
Regulus looked away from the revelers and to the outskirts of the party. Standing off to the side, solemn and alone, was the enigma that was Severus Snape. His black robes clung to a rail thin frame, greasy black hair hiding his dark eyes. He had been in another year at Hogwarts, but they had always been civil to each other during their time at Hogwarts. Then something had happened and Snape became aloof, distant with everyone.
Even now, Snape appeared to be barely present during the party. Always glum and moody, it seemed as if Snape was content to be forever a misanthrope. Sometimes he behaved as if he were being forced to be a Death Eater and yearned to be anywhere else in the world than with his dark brethren. Maybe he felt the same as me, had developed the same misgivings? Maybe he saw the Dark Lord for what He truly was – a psychotic megalomaniac concerned only with Himself and conquering death, and not with the welfare of the wizarding class. Maybe Snape was a fellow non-believer, maybe he too was disgusted with the path the Dark Lord was leading them down. If I could just get him alone and try to read…
Snape snapped out of his brooding and whipped his head up, catching Regulus staring at him – he shot Regulus a scathing look. Shit! Why was I staring for so long? Of course, he can't be trusted! He was quickly rising up the Death Eater ranks, so young yet so full of magical knowledgeable. He hated muggles and mudbloods, anyone outside of the dark cause. He was rumored to be so brilliant that he had invented new potions and spells that the Dark Lord Himself used. Another Death Eater had whispered to Regulus that it had been Snape who had discovered and alerted the Dark Lord to the dangers the Potter boy presented to the cause. Anyone who would willingly put a small child in mortal danger had no heart, no moral compass, could never be trusted.
A loud roar went through the crowd, drawing Regulus' attention to a terrified muggle floating towards the party – another initiate sacrifice. My God, I can't stay around for another of these sadistic ceremonies. Bile rushed to his throat as Regulus reflected back on his sacrifice. That night had haunted his thoughts ever since, giving him no respite or peace in his waking moments. I rushed into this, I've made a grave mistake – I'm going to die following these lunatics around. But I refuse to have my mark in this world, my legacy, be one of murder, terror and violence. I want redemption, to redeem myself and my family name. I'm not evil, I don't hurt the innocent. Empty regret was not enough, I must show my true remorse. I must be brave, for I know the Dark Lord's secret. And God willing, I'm going to do something about it.
Regulus quietly walked off, deeper into the Forest of Dean and away from the tortured screams now ringing through the night. The young man walked through a small copse of trees and into an empty meadow – it was time. Spinning on the spot, he apparated into the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. It was so late at night that he hoped his parents wouldn't be awake. If he ran into them now and saw their faces, he didn't think his resolve to visit the hidden cave would hold.
Luckily, (was it luck?), the kitchen was empty and Regulus quietly headed towards a cupboard at the back of the room. He gently pulled the cabinet door open and roused his family house-elf.
"Kreacher wake up," Regulus whispered as he shook the sleep house-elf.
"Master Regulus! Where have you been?! Mistress has been so worried!"
"Quiet Kreacher! Lower your voice, do not wake anyone!" hissed Regulus.
"Sorry Master Regulus," whispered Kreacher as he smacked himself in the forehead.
"Have you told anyone of the Dark Lord's mission? Have you confided in anyone? Anyone at all?"
"No Master Regulus! I have told no one!"
"Quiet Kreacher! Ok, ok, stop that, stop hitting yourself. Come now. Come help me make amends for my sins."
Salty sea air and crashing waves dominated the scene, a strong ocean breeze whipped across a desolate beach and sent a chill up the young man's spine. A few seagulls were gliding around at this time of night, but nary another creature in sight. A high cliff towered over the beach – it was a straight drop to the blue water below. Jagged rocks littered the base of the cliff, visible due to the low tide. There was a small fissure midway down the steep face of the cliff, almost invisible to the naked eye. It looked impossible to reach, not that anyone would want to. But this fissure was the entrance to a secret cave, and it was there that a young man and a house-elf stood – both apprehensively staring at a wide space of blank rock.
"Are you sure this is the place? None of the spells I've tried have done anything. Kreacher, answer me!"
"Please Master Regulus, let us leave this place. Please! It is very bad place. I don't want to go back inside."
Regulus kneeled down to look eye to eye with the terrified house-elf. "Kreacher, don't you want to honor the Black name? And keep Mistress safe?
"Of course, Master Regulus!"
"Then we must go inside, you must show me where the Dark Lord went and what He did. We must undo His work, to restore honor to the Black family name. Understand?"
"Ok, ok, ok…I'll open it. But please Master Regulus, we must be careful."
Kreacher did not want to obey his master, but bound as he was by the ancient magic of his kind, he eventually had to comply. The house-elf punched a rock on the ground, splitting open his weathered knuckles and causing silver green blood to flow down his palm. He then rubbed his bloody hand on the blank rock and the blazing silver outline of a doorway arch appeared, shimmering brightly against the darkness of the night.
Master and loyal servant entered the archway and melted through the rock – on the other side an eerie sight met their eyes. They stepped into a cavern so large that the ceiling rose far out of sight, stood on the edge of a great black lake so vast that Regulus could not make out the distant bank. A misty greenish light shone from up ahead, pulsing from the middle of the lake; it was reflected in the completely still water below. The darkness in the cave was inexplicably denser than normal darkness – it was an evil shroud, an ancient black menace lurked within the cave.
Kreacher slowly led Regulus around the edge of the lake, their footsteps echoing on the narrow rim of rock that surrounded the water. Regulus began to peer at the lake as they passed, not realizing how close he was drifting to the rippling water.
"Please Master Regulus, stay away from the water! Evil creatures lay beneath the surface!"
Regulus thought he saw a face float by, no it couldn't be, could it? Did something just move behind me? It felt as though someone was watching them from the shadows, Regulus kept expecting something to attack from the deep dark. The Dark Lord would have lain traps to protect his secret and the silence was absolutely terrifying. Regulus could hear every nervous beat of his heart, could hear every panicked breath he nervously gulped down.
"Where's the boat you told me about?"
"Up head Master Regulus. Please! Let us go back, you've seen enough of this place."
Regulus did not reply, but gently pushed the house-elf further along. The overpowering darkness was terrifying and suffocating – it would have been just as frightening to stop and turn around, then it was to keep forging ahead.
Kreacher eventually stopped at what seemed like an arbitrary point along the dark shore. He reached out his small right hand and grasped onto something invisible that hung in the air. Kreacher than snapped his fingers on his left hand – a thick coppery green chain suddenly appeared in his clenched right hand and began to slide through his fist like a snake, coiling itself on the ground with a clinking sound that echoed noisily off the rocky walls. Emerging from the greenish depths of the lake, at the end of the chain, was a tiny boat. There was just enough room on it for the young man and the house-elf.
"Brave new world," whispered Regulus as he steeled himself and stepped into the boat with Kreacher. The boat magically moved towards the glowing green center of the lake – soon Regulus would meet his maker. Memories from his life, both happy and sad, flashed across his mind – Regulus gradually began to accept that he would never leave this place alive. But rather than turn around, run, and flee back to the safety of his home, he sat still and resolute…silently gliding across the lake with his faithful elf.
Regulus had to make amends, for his behavior, for his beliefs, and for the poor innocent man at his initiation…hot tears slid down his cheeks, tasted salty on his dry lips… I will atone, I will redeem myself in this hell of a cave.
Regulus was many things, but he was no coward.
The boat finally came to a halt at a small island of smooth rock protruding from the center of the lake. The island was no larger than a sitting room, an expanse of flat dark stone on which stood nothing but a raised pedestal in its center. On top of the pedestal rested a stone basin, which emitted the creepy greenish glow.
Regulus already knew what he was going to have to do – Kreacher had recounted to him what the Dark Lord had done and what enchantment He had muttered over the basin.
Regulus stepped off the boat and removed a heavy gold locket from his robes. He sat down on the ground and quickly scrawled a note as fast as his trembling hands would let him.
To the Dark Lord
I know I will be dead long before you read this
but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret.
I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match,
you will be mortal once more.
R.A.B.
Regulus folded up the note and placed it inside the gold locket he had brought with him, a few tears splashing down upon it.
"Come Kreacher, let us end this."
"No Master Regulus, I won't help. I'm taking you home! To Mistress! We are being very bad!"
"Kreacher, enough! You must obey me!" Regulus' voice reverberated mightily around the cave. The water surrounding the island began to get choppy, ripples spreading outward. Something was down there, lurking restlessly.
"Listen to me very closely Kreacher. I'm going to drink the potion, please, just listen. I'm going to drink the potion in the basin, all of it. Once it's empty you will switch out the locket in there with this one in my hand. You will leave this place at once and never come back, ever. Go home and never tell mother and father anything about this night, or this place. Never tell them what I've done. They can never know Kreacher, or they will be in great danger."
He grabbed Kreacher by the hand and led him to basin – there was no hesitation in Regulus' step. This was a truly brave young man, he would've made a magnificent Templar Knight in another life.
"If I cannot finish drinking the potion you must help me do it. Do not let me stop drinking it for any reason, no matter what I say or what happens next. I order you to help me finish the entire thing," Regulus instructed his shaking house-elf. "And then I order you to destroy the locket in that basin. Use all your power, cunning and magic. Destroy that locket, it must be done!"
Regulus took a deep breath as he stared down into the basin…and then and idea struck him from nowhere. A fortuitous thunderbolt.
"You must do one final thing for me Kreacher, listen close. Find the wizard they call Albus Dumbledore, tell him what we have done. He must be the only one you tell!"
Kreacher mutely nodded his head, eyes filling with tears.
"Say it Kreacher!"
"I promise to obey you Ma-Ma-Master Regulus."
Regulus handed his gold locket to Kreacher, reached into his robes, and removed a small cup. Without any hesitation, he plunged the cup into the basin and scooped up some of the potion. For a few minutes the only sounds in the cave were Regulus' steady gulping and Kreacher's soft cries.
Regulus grew whiter and paler, the more he drank. His mind swam with revolting images, his darkest fears laid bare and open. They felt so real, but somehow he never stopped dipping his cup into the potion, never wavered from drinking the vile liquid. The potion should have been driving him mad with grief as horrible nightmares burrowed their way into his mind – his parents being tortured, his brother lying wrecked in a dirty street, brutally murdered. The potion was conceived by an ancient evil, meant to cause the drinker tremendous amounts of physical pain, as well as emotional distress. But Regulus' hand was steady.
When Kreacher had told Regulus about his journey with the Dark Lord, he had repeated to Regulus the ancient spell the Dark Lord had sang when creating the awful potion. Regulus had immediately gone to the Lair and tracked down every dark magic book he could get his hands on in the castle's library. He finally found an entry almost matching the incantation in one of the books, and tried his best to create a counter-potion to help withstand the deleterious effects.
As he got down to the last few gulps of the potion, Regulus realized he had not brewed the counter-potion exactly right, for he began to feel an overwhelming thirst – a side effect that should have been remedied. But it was of no matter, as luck would have it he was surrounded by a vast lake of fresh water. The last bit of potion slid down his throat and Regulus slumped to the floor in a painful daze.
Kreacher cautiously walked up to the pedestal and looked into the empty basin. Sitting at the bottom, looking perfectly harmless, was a gold locket. It was beautiful, one would never have thought it housed a piece of the soul of the most evil and terrifying dark wizard of all time. A serpentine S, inlaid with glittering emeralds graced the gold cover. The locket pulsed menacingly; the evil contained within could sense approaching danger.
As Kreacher switched the lockets, Regulus labored to the edge of the lake in a slow crawl, absentmindedly scraping his knees along the way. He was in a cloudy haze, dull and writhing in pain. All he could think about was slaking his burning thirst – just one blessed drop of cold water is all I want! It was if his insides had dried up and his stomach had been filled with dusty sand.
"I've done it Master Regulus! The lockets have been switched! The basin is filling itself back up again. Let us take our leave! Please!"
Kreacher turned around half-triumphant, half-terrified at what he had just done. The old house-elf's last image of that cave was burned into his memory for all time, it would haunt his steps until the day he died. Kreacher watched in horrified shock as his beloved master family's youngest son was roughly pulled under the dark lake by the long arms of a cold, pale inferius.
Lord Voldemort's guardian lagoon had conscripted another loyal soldier to its watery army. But now they weren't protecting a piece of their Master's corrupted soul. They were dead sentinels, standing watch over an ordinary piece of gold jewelry. And the last words of a brave Slytherin, who was the only person in the world to discover the Dark Lord's most precious secret.