Cave tibi a cane muto et aqua
silenti.
WALTHER – Proverbia Sententiaeque*
There was another other
young Death Eater who felt thoroughly dissatisfied with the situation he was
in. What had he been thinking? He couldn’t say. Yes, he had been
fascinated with the Dark Arts. Yes, he had dreamt of joining the Dark Order and
prove himself – prove that he wasn’t the little, soft fool that everyone was
taking him for. He had wanted to step out of the shadow of his elder brother,
be truly respected by his cousins… But the prize had been too high.
It hadn’t taken him long to
realise that he wasn’t cut out to be a killer. He really, really wasn’t. He
wasn’t like Bellatrix – he didn’t find any pleasure at all in tormenting
helpless victims. He wasn’t like his cousin-in-law Lucius either – he couldn’t
be indifferent, so coldly efficient and single-minded. He winced back
every time when he witnessed torture and death; in fact, it got only worse the
more often he saw it. Those poor people, Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers or not!
When they were begging for mercy – pleaded for their lives – for their loved
ones… It was terrible! It gave him nightmares, made him nauseated and
sympathetic in a way that he hadn’t believed to have in himself.
Regulus Black was
underestimated by anyone but his own mother. Nobody had ever seen him for real.
He was immensely talented, but also suffered from a sort of
stage-fright. He was clever and sly, but with a face like his – good-humoured,
cheerful, harmless – nobody would believe it. For almost twenty years, he had
cursed his bad luck, but lately, he had come to appreciate those apparent
drawbacks. Nobody kept an eye on you when they thought you were an idiot.
He had found out some
things… The Dark Lord was said to be immortal, and he had always wondered if
that could be true, and if it was true – how the hell had he brought it about?
Well, he thought he had got a clue now. In the extensive College library, he
had come across an ancient tome, mentioning in passing what a Horcrux was… And
Regulus had counted two and two together when he had heard from Kreacher… Poor,
poor Kreacher… And he, Regulus, had given him to the Dark Lord like a
lamb for slaughter!
He had found the spot that
the elf had described, and managed to enter that cave, but after many attempts,
he had to give up. This was no task that could be mastered by a single person.
He had to give up and return home, racking his brains for two days and nights.
Whom could he let into the secret? He had no true friends outside of the Dark
Order, and if he had, he wouldn’t want to endanger them. The same was true for
his parents. Where to find someone he could trust enough, and whose life he
could bring in such peril? Kreacher had merely survived because he was a
house-elf… But asking him was out of the question. The poor sod had suffered
enough.
The Dark Lord… How could he
have been so – so stupid to fall for his shit?! To disprove his wretched
brother?! Well, maybe Sirius had been right all along, because he was a
goddamned idiot! The first Muggle he had killed to show that he was capable of
it, the second one he had killed to silence the sceptics, but number three had
already been killed merely because he had been too frigging cowardly not
to do it! That man – perhaps he had had a family? A wife? A kid? A whole lot of
kids? Undoubtedly, he had had a mother, and Regulus knew about mothers.
His own might rage and rumble because of Sirius, still she was totally
heartbroken since he had left. How bad would she feel if he was murdered?!
By some bastard who was just too much of a chicken, like Regulus?! For
absolutely nothing?!
He had murdered three human
beings, and he couldn’t forgive himself for it. They had been Muggles, all
right, but that didn’t make them any less human! And he had slain them, one
little incantation and woosh, they had dropped dead, like flies in
autumn, like dead leaves from a tree –
He wasn’t yet twenty, and
already he had messed up his entire life. Had ruined it beyond repair – he
couldn’t make those Muggles alive again. But there was something he could
do… He… – But this was too big for him. Everything anyone had ever said about
him was totally true. He was a coward, he was weak and foolish, and silly, and
an utter and complete failure!
But after a while, he calmed
down again, enough anyway to contemplate the mess he was in. Fact number one
was: he had reached the end of the line. He couldn’t do this any more. Fact
number two: this meant his end. He’d be killed like a rabid dog. Fact
number three: he alone knew where the Dark Lord had hidden this certain
something, which must be so terribly important that he had taken a dozen
security measures. Fact number four: apart from all the other atrocities, a
child had been sought out to be murdered, and the parents considered to be just
collateral damages – and that child was said to have the power of vanquishing
the Dark Lord…
And then there was the wide
field of guesswork. Firstly – the likeliest cause for the master’s alleged
immortality was that he had crafted a Horcrux. It was the only thing Regulus
had ever heard of that could make someone ‘immortal’. Or had Snape, the
ingenious potioneer, invented some potion with the same effect? Snape had risen
high in the Dark Lord’s favour, and very quickly so – could the reason be… No.
No, Snape might be the best potion-maker he had ever seen, but it was nigh
impossible that he should have invented such a thing, before the age of
twenty-two. No…
Secondly – if his life was
forfeited anyway, he could just as well use the rest of it for something
useful, something good. He could help to save that little boy, perhaps…
He could help saving the lives of many people. Without the Dark Lord, the
others wouldn’t dare to act like they did now…
Thirdly, and in this context
possibly most important – if that item that Kreacher had helped to hide was so
important, it might well be that Horcrux, and if it was that Horcrux, it could
be destroyed, and if it was destroyed, the Dark Lord was a mere mortal again
and could be killed. He’d be careless, because he’d think nothing could happen
to him anyway, he’d be injured, and killed – and for once in his life, Regulus
Armando Black would finally have achieved something good.
* Beware of still waters and silent dogs.
*****
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