Chapter 5: Symmetry
Grimmauld Place, August 3rd 1995
After the Order meeting, I follow Dumbledore into our library. He presents me a wand, and I lift my brows in surprise. The old man has kept himself busy.
"Mr. Ollivander suggested that this would be best suited for you." He says simply.
I'm feeling slightly baffled and frown at him. Weren't we supposed to keep my existence hidden? Isn't it already bad enough that a roomful of Order members know about me?
Dumbledore smiles. "He assured me that everything we discussed would stay between us."
I nod slowly and take the wand from his outstretched palm. I can feel my magic thrumming in my veins, moving towards the piece of wood. I inspect it carefully; it's nothing like the one I used to own, and I even feel the wand trying to resist my magic.
"Cherry wood with Dragon Heartstring. Eleven inches, fairly resilient," He says, and I lift my eyes to meet his. "Cherry wands may possess a truly lethal power, especially when paired with Dragon Heartstring. It is said that that kind of a wand should be never owned by a wizard without an exceptional self-control and strength of mind." Dumbledore says as he studies me. I move my gaze back to the reddish-brown wand between my fingers, feeling how it tries to faintly fight back before eventually settling, accepting me.
"Why don't you try it?" Dumbledore says gently, watching me expectantly.
I give the wand a wave and transfigure one of the reading lights on the side table into a bird. It's not entirely flawless or fluid, but I can still feel a wave of satisfaction flow through me.
Dumbledore looks impressed. "Seems to work nicely enough," He says lightly.
I clear my throat. "Yes. Thank you."
His eyes twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles as he assesses me. "A wand is nothing without a wizard, while a wizard can do all things without a wand," he says simply.
I stare at him silently, feeling somewhat uncomfortable after keeping my mind closed for so many hours.
"Well, I'm afraid I must be going now. I'll be in touch," Dumbledore says after a short silence and nods before he leaves.
An hour later I'm still in the library, alone, practicing spells and relishing the fact that I finally have a wand – and really, it feels like I've been without an arm for the past couple of days – when the girl; Potter's friend, walks in.
"Oh! Sorry, Mr. Black, I, um…didn't realise someone would be here." She stammers.
I stare at her. She's biting her lip, and her eyes are widened slightly. I give her a shrug. "I'm not that surprised." I say wryly, but when she doesn't get my sarcasm, I clear my throat. "I mean, have you met my brother? He doesn't exactly spend his leisure time in a library…" I say, a small smirk playing on my lips, and she lets out a nervous laugh.
"Do you mind if I browse your library? Or, um…Do you want some privacy? I can come back later…" She says unsurely.
I gesture towards the long shelves in the vast room. "By all means," I say, and she gives me a small smile and a nod before she rushes towards one of the shelves on the back wall.
I resume my seat on the sofa and continue testing my new wand. Charms seem to work properly, but I still have a bit of trouble with Transfiguration.
Some time later I hear muttering from the opposite side of the room. I glance up and see the girl, leaning against a shelf, a book spread open on her palm and her eyes glued to the text. I take a moment to study her features. I assume that she – and the rest of the teenagers – aren't that much younger than me, probably in their last years of school.
She's wearing tight jeans and a loose, long sleeved shirt. Her hair – a mess of tangled curls to be exact – is drawn up into a loose bun. I amuse myself for a moment by thinking what she would look like without that shirt. What would her hair look like, fanned out on my pillow? She seems to feel my stare and glances up. She blushes slightly and clears her throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. I shift my gaze away and concentrate on Transfigurations.
"If you lessen the pressure of the motion, the spell will be more powerful," She quips from where she stands.
What? I turn to look at her and arch a brow. Apparently, she has been staring at me as well.
"I'll manage," I say, a bit stiffly. A schoolgirl tries to tell me how to perform spells? Really?
"Oh, sorry…I just meant that…um…I didn't mean to offend you," She says and looks embarrassed.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "You didn't. Now what did you mean?" I can't believe I'm letting her teach me, but I'm also intrigued to find out if she's right.
She walks towards me and after a hint of hesitation, sits next to me. "Erm…May I show you?" She asks nervously, and I nod, studying her features.
She waves her hand in the air, copying the wand motion of the charm I'm practicing. She could perform magic around me and inside this house, since it is full of adult wizards and witches, but she apparently won't take any risks. I stare at her long, graceful fingers move and examine her slender figure again, my eyes running over the sharp angles of her jaw and her full lips as she babbles something about wand movement and intention. I watch carefully when she smiles, and I feel…nothing. I assume it has something to do with her being a schoolgirl, or just…not being my type.
"Reggie, you in here?" The library door opens, and my brother walks in. He's staring us with surprise before his lips curve slightly and he walks towards where we sit.
"Oh, hello, Hermione," Sirius drawls, and I can see his eyes flash with mirth.
The girl – Hermione – narrows her eyes at my brother as she stands up. "Sirius," she says tightly. She turns to look at me with a small frown. "It was nice to talk with you, Mr. Black." She says, and I hear my brother snort quietly. What a wanker.
"It's Regulus," I say politely, and the girl nods before she walks away from me and pushes past my brother, exiting the library.
"Mr. Black," my brother says with a mocking voice. "May I join you?"
I roll my eyes at him and gesture at the empty seats around me. "What did you do to piss her off?" I ask indifferently as Sirius plops down in an armchair facing me.
He chuckles. "Nothing," He says innocently.
I know this act. And I know when women are angry with him. He is sort of an expert in it. I arch a brow and give him a bored look.
He shrugs. "Well, I might've yelled at Kreacher a bit. And she possibly saw it."
I scowl at him. "Why would you yell at my elf?" I ask with frustration.
Sirius grins. "Why wouldn't I? You do remember how it just loves my character?"
The resentment I'm feeling dissolves with his words. Of course I remember. How mother made Kreacher treat Sirius poorly. How she forbade the elf to bring him food or water when my brother was grounded and locked up into his room. But I know Kreacher only did what its mistress told it to do.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Please ignore Kreacher from now on, okay? Don't yell at it, don't mistreat it, and for the love of Salazar, do not beat it up!" I say exasperatedly.
Sirius lets out a weary sigh. "I make no promises," he says darkly and summons a flask from somewhere.
And he's drinking again...Brilliant. I sigh inwardly and stare at the bottle with dislike.
"So?" I prod him. "The girl?"
My brother barks a laugh. "She's worried about Kreacher's living conditions. Apparently, she has this whole cause dedicated to the poor creatures, to champion their rights in the Wizarding world…" He says and then smirks mischievously. "She's a feisty little thing, you know?"
Oh, Merlin…That does not predict anything good. I know how my brother was, of course, when we both were in school, which was a couple of years ago for me. But many, many years for him. And he hasn't changed a bit. "You can't be serious," I huff, and I instantly regret my choice of words.
He grins. "But I am Sirius." He winks at me, and even though I've spent my entire life hearing those fucking ridiculous words, they still make my lips quirk up with amusement.
I clear my throat and school my expression. "Still…you know she's like…your godson's girlfriend?" I ask incredulously.
"No, I think they're just friends," He says indifferently.
"Nevertheless. She's still a child…" I remind him with a reproaching voice. Since when did my brother become this creepy old man? Although, I suppose he always was a bit disgusting with his various liaisons.
My brother's eyes widen comically, and he bursts in laughter. "Merlin, no! Eww, Reggie," He says and looks slightly appalled. "What I meant is that I saw how you were making eyes at her," He chuckles and waggles his brows at me.
I give my brother a much-needed eye roll. I did examine her features, but that doesn't mean I want anything more to do with her. I don't really know what to say to my brother, so I decide not to continue our discussion about the witch and instead change the topic into something else entirely.
"Are our parents buried in the Black family crypt?" I ask, and my brother's hand stills in mid swig.
He slowly puts the flask on the table between us, clenching his jaw. The Blacks have a crypt in Highgate, North London, where all our family members – except the ones disowned – are buried. I doubt my brother has been there after he ran away from home.
"I assume they are." He grits out, staring darkly at the table.
I understand that talking about them is difficult for him. It is for me, but for different reasons. My brother obviously hated them, and our parents didn't exactly hide their dislike towards Sirius either. Nevertheless, I suspect a small part of him feels bad for not being there when they died.
"I'm going there," I say, a bit defensively, since I expect him to stop me.
He stares at me for a bit and gives a curt nod. "I'll go with you." He says, and my brows lift in surprise.
"Okay." I say slowly.
Grimmauld Place, August 5th 1995
I wake up to particularly disturbing noises. Fuck, my head is pounding. What happened to me? Why does it sound like a herd of Centaurs is stomping up and down the stairs?
I blink slowly, and peer through half-closed eyes. I'm in my room, thank Merlin. I assume it is morning, since the sun peaks through the drawn curtains. Well, at least I have drawn them closed last night.
Last night… I try to remember it, and a scatter of images flood into my mind. I went to see my parents' graves with Sirius, and then afterwards…we got pissed in father's study. I moan with nausea as I remember the several shots of alcohol I downed, and my stomach churns nastily. I'm gonna be sick.
I moan again.
"Reggie. If you're gonna chunder, I suggest you take it to the bathroom," My brother mutters from somewhere close.
I curse and leap to my feet from the bed and run towards the bathroom, almost stumbling on Sirius – who for some reason is sleeping on the floor next to my bed – as I go. Thank Merlin I get into the bathroom in time and empty my stomach successfully into the porcelain bowl. After a few minutes of unpleasantness, I wash my face and return to my bedroom, swaying as I go. My brother is chuckling quietly on the floor. I kick him on the side as I walk past him and slide back between my sheets.
"Ouch, fuck, Reggie…" He groans, and I can hear him shifting on the floor. "Feel better?" He asks innocently.
"Bugger off." I mumble back. I can feel the pounding in my head getting worse. "What did you do to me? I feel like shit."
Sirius sniggers. "Oh, brother. This was all you. You insisted on mixing up vodka and Firewhiskey," he says with delight in his voice.
I groan again. "Please stop talking."
He barks a laugh. "Well, as nice as it was to stay with you, I'm gonna head to my own bed and try to catch some much-needed sleep," he says and as I open my eyes to look at him, I see him standing up and making his way towards the door.
"Thank Merlin." I mutter dryly, but then something nags at me. "Why didn't you go there in the first place?" I ask, and for some reason I'm not sure if I want to hear his answer.
My brother clears his throat, his hand stilled on the doorknob, his shoulders tense.
"You didn't want me to." He says quietly, not turning to look at me.
Bloody fuck. I knew I shouldn't have asked that. Images of me asking him – no, pleading him – to stay with me, images where I tell my brother how scared I am, how lonely I am, drift into my mind. I groan inwardly. I'm so fucking embarrassed right now.
I stay quiet, and he eventually speaks. "I'll see you later, Reggie." He says softly and exits my room.
"Fuck," I mutter and press my face against my pillow.
Grimmauld Place, August 11th 1995
Days go quickly by, and I've spent my days in the library, occasionally sleeping through the nights there as well since I hate to let my guard down for the locket and its dark magic. And I can't really place it anywhere else, not when the house is swarming with people.
After Dumbledore questioned me and supposedly presumed that I was trustworthy, I decided it was time to start researching the methods to destroy the Horcrux. Even though I did make some groundwork before I went to the quest to find the locket, unfortunately, the artefact – and the soul in it – remains intact. I already knew that Salazar Slytherin's locket itself bears some ancient powers, and when enhanced with Horcrux magic – which basically is a portion of the Dark Lord's power – I assume I'm up against a powerful and unpredictable artefact.
What I do know, is that a Horcrux must be put beyond the power of magical reconstitution, destroyed beyond magical repair. I have formed a list of curses I would like to try against the locket, and since I can't exactly try them inside this house, I now need to find an appropriate place to practice them. It doesn't help matters that my brother and Lupin are keeping a careful eye on me, and it is undoubtedly impossible to leave this place unnoticed after our little outing to the graveyard. Destroying the Horcrux is necessary, but it must be done in secret.
After weighing my options, I concluded that once the teenagers go back to Hogwarts, this place will quiet down a bit, and then I might have my chance to slip out without anyone noticing.
It is now Friday evening, and the place is abnormally quiet. Usually the teenagers and the adults are traipsing up and down the stairs, making insufferable noises, or I hear my mother screaming downstairs. But I hear nothing now. I vaguely remember that Potter's hearing was earlier today, and then I realise that everyone must have gathered in the basement. I'm not really upset that no one asked me to join them, but I am somewhat interested to learn what happened in the Ministry.
Have they really expelled the boy? The Boy Who Lived. At least, that's what some people call him. I roll my eyes. What a fucking ridiculous name. But at the same time, I can't deny that it is quite incredible that an infant has somehow managed to defeat the greatest dark wizard I've ever known.
My brother of course told me all kinds of things about his past during our visit in father's study last week after the graveyard. While part of the night is still kind of hazy to me, I remember talking with my brother about his godson and his godson's parents. I sort of pity him. The boy. The expectations, the attention, the loneliness…It must have been difficult for him.
I need a break. I haven't found anything useful today, and I know there are still more than a handful of books scattered around the library that could contain something regarding Horcruxes. What can I say – our family has their share of dark and obscure books. With a sigh, I flick my wand to clean up the small pile of books and notes and decide to stop by the terrace downstairs for a bit of a fresh air. The backyard and garden are not enormous, but they're safe from prying eyes and ears.
As I slip outside and close the door behind me, careful not to make any noise to disturb mother's portrait, I almost suffer a heart failure.
"FUCK!" I wheeze, startled, when I see the other person occupying the terrace. It's Potter.
He glances up to me, the remains of a scowl edged on his face. I realise something must be bothering him, but I don't like the way he stares at me. He doesn't say anything, and only shifts his gaze back to the sky. The sun is setting, and as he looks at the rays of light in different colours of red, yellow and orange, I look at him.
Potter is sitting on the terrace, pulling his knees against his chest with his arms draped around them. His jaw is placed on the top of his knees and his face tilted slightly upwards. I stare at his profile, and even though there is a significant resemblance between him and his father, there are some differences; his much slenderer figure, and the shorter nose for example. Although the untidy black mop of hair seems to be quite the same.
"What are you doing in here?" I ask, and I try to make up my mind if I want to stay or to leave.
He shrugs. "Needed some peace and quiet, I guess." He says quietly and turns to look at me. "You?"
"The same, I suppose." I say and glance around me. The place is empty of furniture, so I conjure a couple of garden chairs and sit on the other one. Potter eyes the vacant chair hesitantly, before he clears his throat and stands up.
"Cheers," He mutters and sits down on the chair next to me.
We stay silent for a while, both staring into the distance before he breaks it and speaks. "So…what's up with you?" He asks stiffly, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
I huff at him. "With me?" I ask and give him a pointed look before I continue, "What do you think? You do realise what happened to me is rather abnormal, right?" I say flatly.
What is with that kid? I mean, is he oblivious, or something? His lack of discreetness is as appalling as his unkempt mane of hair is.
Potter arches a brow. "Well…I know everything about abnormal," He says with a thin smile.
I lift my brows quickly in recognition. "Yeah, so I've heard," I mutter. My brother told me about the various, dangerous situations into which the boy has been put by others, or even by himself when he has played the hero. I want to ask what it was like, meeting the Dark Lord and seeing him resurrected, but I don't.
"I heard you killed a Basilisk." I say instead.
His mouth curves up a bit. I find the look on his face irritating. "Yeah, I did. It was a couple of years ago." He says simply.
I want to sneer at the smug kid. Okay, so perhaps he doesn't look that self-satisfied as my mind makes me see. But still. A couple of years ago? He's a child. I tell him so, and he laughs.
"I'm fifteen." He says a bit defiantly. "But yeah, I was twelve then. So…I was a child," He says and smirks at me when he sees me rolling my eyes.
"How did that even go? Don't tell me you just happened to run into it?" I ask with a hint of sarcasm.
He sighs and rubs his neck awkwardly. "It was Voldemort, actually." He says, and I feel myself tensing at the name. He notices, and his gaze shifts to my left forearm. He stares at the place he knows where my mark is, hidden under my robes, and I can see a shadow of disgust in his expression. I stay still and study him carefully.
"Voldemort possessed a friend of mine with his old diary, opened the Chamber of Secrets in Hogwarts with her help and unleashed a Basilisk to prey on Muggleborns." He says a bit absently, his eyes still glued to my arm.
"Luckily no one died, and I managed to get into the chamber and finish the creature with the help of Dumbledore's Phoenix bird." He says, his gaze flickering to my face.
The whole thing just sounds so fucking absurd and unbelievable, that I can't help but shake my head in mild disbelief. "Where was Dumbledore? I find it rather implausible that he would have sent you to kill a fucking Basilisk with only the help of his bird," I say and give him a dubious look.
His cheeks redden slightly. "Dumbledore was asked to step down as a Headmaster by the School Governors. There had been many attacks towards Muggleborns, and even though everyone was only petrified by the snake, they apparently still felt it was the right thing to do," He says with an irritated look.
I get the feeling he doesn't want to continue talking about it, so I only give him a curt nod.
We stay silent for another while, and the sun is slowly creeping down behind the garden and other buildings around us.
"So…How did the hearing go? You suddenly in a need of a hiding place?" I ask lightly. As if the wizarding world could do that to the boy who lived, I think bitterly.
He smiles. "Oh, it was…okay, I guess. I can go back to Hogwarts." He says with reserve in his voice.
I arch a brow at him. "I can see you screaming with delight," I say dryly.
He sighs. "Yeah, I'm relieved, but…It was a close call. They apparently hate me in the Ministry…" He says and grimaces a bit.
I stare at him intently. I've read some of the Prophets from the past months. I'm surprised the Ministry is not taking seriously anything the boy has said about the Dark Lord's resurrection, and even more so as I've read how they write about Potter and Dumbledore in the paper. In short, the Ministry is in denial.
I'm also a bit taken aback how easy it is to talk with my brother's godson. The thought of it seems so fucking strange. But in reality, he's only three years younger than me. Still, he is an annoying, whinging brat who evidently doubts my every move. He loathes Death Eaters, former or not, that's certain. The look in his eyes says it all.
I clear my throat. "Why did they let you go then?" I ask.
Potter clenches his jaw. "Dumbledore testified." He says tightly. Something about the Headmaster is evidently rubbing him up the wrong way.
"Or…perhaps it was your status as the Boy Who Lived that prevented them from throwing you into Azkaban." I say wryly.
Potter groans and shakes his head in frustration.
We stay outside and chat for a while until the sun has set and it is dark outside.
"I should go," Potter mutters eventually and stands up. He stretches his back and I find myself staring at him.
I clear my throat. "Yeah, you should." I say tightly, eager to get rid of him.
Potter's brow furrows slightly before he leaves without another word.
I stay put and stare into the distance. Even if it was…tolerable talking with him, most of the time I am irritated by his presence. I feel somewhat confused, as I can't make up my mind about him.
After a while of silent contemplation, I stand up from my chair and head towards my room for the rest of the night.