Chapter 276. Regulus's End
After a sweep of Fiendfyre, every Inferius had been reduced to ash—except for Regulus on the shore.
Headmaster Dumbledore gave the Elder Wand a slight flick. Stones from around the cavern and the lakebed rushed together at the surface, reassembling and interlocking until they formed a stone bridge spanning the water.
Now they could finally proceed openly to the little island in the middle of the lake.
As for the rickety boat beneath the rock face by the shore, though Wesson and Dumbledore had noticed it, they paid it no mind.
They stepped onto the bridge. It was very steady, and in only a few minutes they reached the islet at the centre.
It was a stone islet only a few metres across.
In its middle stood a stone pedestal bearing a basin like a Pensieve, filled with an emerald-green liquid that glimmered faintly in the dark. The liquid was transparent; at the bottom of the basin lay a locket—of course, merely the copy Regulus had left behind.
"A trap," Dumbledore bent to examine it. "You can only take the locket at the bottom after drinking all of the potion."
As he spoke, Dumbledore dipped a finger into the potion, placed it in his mouth, and smacked his lips twice.
"A taste of pain," he judged.
Sampling unknown substances at random is not a good habit, Headmaster.
Wesson ignored Dumbledore's small joke. He stepped forward at once and reached into the basin.
"Wait—" Kreacher had just opened his mouth to stop him when Wesson had already lifted the locket out with ease.
"Why…?" Kreacher's eyes went wide as he stared, incredulous.
He and Regulus had tried many times, but there had been no way to get past the potion and take Slytherin's locket.
"It's a little difficult to explain," Wesson said, toying with the fake locket in his hand. "In short, all of the traps Voldemort designed form a single whole. That pitiful perfectionist—break one link in the chain and the rest lose their effect."
"When we did not arrive by the specified boat, when we did not follow Voldemort's rules, the constraints here lost their force."
Kreacher still looked somewhat puzzled by Wesson's explanation, but it plainly no longer mattered.
Dumbledore, however, applauded appreciatively at the side. "An exceedingly elegant insight, Wesson."
Wesson smiled faintly and opened the locket in front of them both.
A note drifted out. Wesson caught it, glanced over it, and handed it to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore took the note; at some point a pair of half-moon spectacles had appeared on his nose.
The content of the note was as follows:
To the Dark Lord:
By the time you read this I will long since be dead, but I want you to know that I was the one who discovered your secret. I have stolen the true Horcrux and intend to destroy it as quickly as possible. I go to my death willingly, in the hope that when you meet your opponent you will be killed.
"R.A.B… " Dumbledore read softly, moved. "The Black family has never lacked for courage—only too often it's pointed the wrong way."
At dawn, just before the sun had fully risen, Wesson, Dumbledore, and Kreacher returned to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place with Regulus, who had become an Inferius.
In the sitting room, Regulus's Inferius was bound to an armchair, still straining and snarling without cease.
Dumbledore raised his wand to quiet him, but Kreacher stepped in front of Regulus.
"Regulus is already dead, Kreacher—you know that," Dumbledore told him gravely. "What stands here now is a body driven by Dark magic."
Of course Kreacher understood, but he could not control his instinctive actions.
Wesson, off to the side, was thinking ahead—when they buried him, they might need a sturdy coffin to keep the Inferius-Regulus from breaking out. Oh, and perhaps a Silencing Charm as well, to keep any sounds inside the coffin from carrying outside…
Then Wesson suddenly remembered his Purifying Potion; perhaps it could help.
He took a small phial from the inner pocket of his robes and stepped forward, pouring it over Regulus.
Sure enough, the instant the potion touched Regulus, a billow of black vapour rose and swiftly dissipated into the air.
Regulus's body shuddered violently a few times, then fell completely still; the feral expression eased into calm, and he rested quietly against the chair.
Dumbledore came to stand before him and gently closed the eyes of the departed.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Hermione came into the sitting room, rubbing sleep from her eyes; her bushy brown curls stuck up restlessly.
"Good morning, Professor Wesson, Professor Dumbledore." She greeted them, then noticed Regulus on the chair. "This is…?"
"Regulus Black," Wesson said evenly. "Sirius's younger brother—but as you can see, he is already dead."
"!"
At that, Hermione's drowsiness vanished in an instant.
Whatever else one might say, seeing a moving corpse first thing in the morning is far too much for a fourteen-year-old girl.
"What happened?" she asked, face pale.
Dumbledore moved to Hermione's side, steadying her by the shoulder. "One moment, Hermione. I think it best if we explain when Sirius arrives."
He turned to the house-elf nearby. "If you would, Kreacher—fetch Sirius."
Kreacher wiped at his eyes, then showed a look of disgust, but still said, "Yes, sir."
With a sharp crack, Kreacher Disapparated.
Hermione frowned, clearly displeased with the house-elf's attitude, but just now she was more concerned with the quiet body on the chair.
Wesson handed Hermione a Calming Draught. Grateful, she took the bottle and sipped; her colour returned at once.
In less than three minutes, accompanied by hurried footsteps, Black burst into the sitting room.
His hair was a mess, his dressing gown thrown on carelessly—plainly, he had been roused from sleep.
"Professor Dumbledore, what—" His voice cut off. His eyes fixed on the figure in the chair, and in a tone that might have been terror or confusion he said, "Regulus!?"
Dumbledore immediately told him everything about Regulus.
"That was Regulus who did that?" Black seemed almost unable to believe it. "My weak little Death Eater of a brother?"
Kreacher gave a rasping, derisive laugh off to the side. "The noble, rebellious master—doesn't even know what his own brother did, and now he questions my brave master…"
"Shut up!" Black snapped, displeased, but said no more.
Though Black had always looked down on his brother, after learning what Regulus had done, his expression became too complicated to name.
In such a moment, he perhaps ought to say something, but he only stood there, dazed, for a long while.
Regulus was buried in the Blacks' private graveyard, in a quiet corner. Kreacher personally prepared every part of the funeral—he would allow no one else to interfere.
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