Valkyrie Kat

~Severus~

We have apparated to the filthy square of Grimmauld Place. Number 12 never looked more welcome. Not even when it was the hotspot for nefarious spying, and was the one escape from the Dark Lord. One place he never came. I hated “Black” being there, and now it is welcome precisely because Black is there. I won't tell Sirius that. I feel grateful to Arthur as I speed up my steps. I overtake Sirius, who is striding along lightly like an elf of Tolkien fame. He seems as happy of the escape as I.

I allow him first entrance, being his house. My mind is back with Regulus. I step forward and stumble. Looking down, I see gold and scarlet tinsel woven together, woven with small roaring lion heads where my shoelaces once were. I grimace and Sirius claps me on the back. “Wasn't me!” he said. “It was Padfoot, I swear!”

I snicker softly, wondering when revenge would come. Sirius barks, and the bark is twice as humorous because 'Padfoot did it'... my snicker turns to a laugh. I don't have a nice laugh. I have a low, sneering laugh that suddenly appeared when I was fifteen. I wonder why, in all snark. I stop laughing and Sirius does too.

“Would you like Kreacher to make tea?” Sirius asks as the house-elf appears. Kreacher looks expectant. “Jasmine for a change,” I tell Kreacher, and he bows low, and asks, “And for Master?”

Sirius smiles. “Just tea. Black tea. Or Darjeeling. Surprise me, Kreacher, one or the other.”

Kreacher trots from the room in his towel. He is more like the old family elf I knew from the few extended periods I was here as a boy. I know he wasn't pleasant to Sirius, but that recommended him to me at the time. I shake my head as we enter the shadowy kitchen. The scrubbed wooden board shortly has a cup of Jasmine tea and my non-wand arm lying on the table, and two booted feet and two cups of tea, Kreacher brought both types, with a plate of crumpets.

“It's too late for crumpets,” I growl. Kreacher looks ashamed. “It's too late for anything but a chat with Regulus before we go to sleep. See how he's coming along.” I look at Sirius.

“Kreacher used to sneak me crumpets at night, when Reggie told him to. There's a reason for everything.” He turns to Kreacher. “You're a good elf, you don't have to listen to nasty old Snape - unless he asks you to.” Kreacher tries to understand this human nonsense and I have somehow hurt the elf. Human feelings are easy to walk on, elf feelings quite another. “Good elf indeed.” No sarcasm. No irony. Not a sneer. But he takes it as such. He just looks more confused. I always end up wounding where I mean to help. I scowl at the floor and want everyone - Sirius and Regulus' portrait especially – far away where I can't hurt them.

The polished and copper pots gleam, the heavy iron pans glow dully. Sirius puts a hand on my shoulder but my muscles tense and I jerk away. “I'm not looking forward to it either, though there are some things I would like to know.” He's walking away from the table, and I understand that to mean talking to Regulus.

We go upstairs and locate the portraits across from the Sitting room fireplace. Phineas Nigellus is in his frame. Regulus is as well. They must have heard us arrive. “Sirius? Severus?” he flits into a portrait of the hounds depicted on the Black Family Crest, and he scratches a sighthound's ear, looking a bit irritable. “Where the hell did you go? Not with the Prewetts?”
“They're Weasleys,” Sirius says patiently.
“What? Oh you said. But they're the biggest lot of blood-traitors...”

“Things are different.” I say curtly. “What was white is black. The chess game reversed on itself.”

“Nothing can change that much. Or maybe yes. My world is crazy. Severus, go to a social thing at a carrot-tops' place? And leave me alone on Christmas Eve? And Sirius, since when do you decorate the house in house colours? My house colours?”

“Who says I decorated?” Sirius says stiffly, hiding a smile. “OK fine, I decorated to the tastes of the family. Not too much, though. Ask Severus how I decorated his shoes this fair Eve.” Sirius nudges me and winks. I struggle not to roll my eyes and curse him.

“Severus, Sirius, why did you bring me out? Why didn't you leave me to my sleep? Life is so much easier in a twilit world. You know that saying, “Nothing is true. Everything is permitted,” you taught me, Severus? Well I hate it and that's what life looks like. From what Phineas Nigellus has told me, everyone that matters is dead or in Azkaban.” Regulus lifted a finger in his frame. “The Malfoys and Flints and Notts are all right, Montague's OK, but Andy and you Sirius are the only close family alive. You know where this leaves me?” Regulus' voice grows louder and higher, to almost a wail. “Looks like if they could they'd stick my bloody portrait in Azkaban! Mother and Father gone! It's terror all over!”

“We brought your body back from the cave it was in. Did Phineas tell you that?” I say too brusquely.

“Ph-ph-ineas told me you went on a mission to get my body from a place riddled with Dark magic.”

“Riddle and Dark magic had something to do with it,” Sirius mutters. “We brought it back, and you should know, because you can tell me who you wish to be... at your... funeral.”

“At my funeral...” Regulus' voice drifts away. He picks at a corner of his portrait. Something of a pattern with him, the drawing is frayed but the parchment is still in place. At your own funeral, Reg.

“Well, I just mentioned everyone left I care about. And is Professor Slughorn still around? Horace the Embarrassing? He might like to come.”

“He's always around. He's more cunning an old coot than most people realize.” I grimace. “I hate to say anything good about him, but he'd be glad to attend. He certainly liked you more than me.”

Sirius snorts. “You sound like a thirteen year old, Severus. Who likes who better?”

I snort right back. “Would it matter to you if Harry liked me more than you?”

“Harry Potter you mean? I take it you're talking about the downfall of the wizarding race.” Regulus sneers. I smile. “If only it were that simple,” I say.

“I love Harry, and I wish you wouldn't vilify him. It's no more fair than what Hermione Weasley does.”

Regulus and I look at Sirius. I shake my head and so does the depiction of Regulus. “You go against all sense, Sirius.” I didn't say it.

“Maybe so, but I fought against worse. And I've experienced Azkaban. I have a well-defined sense of what is right, if not a conventional sense. Voldemort is worse than Harry any day, and you both know it. Stop snickering, Severus. You know better. You put yourself in constant danger to derail his little train of power.”

“Well, well, I never thought you could say such touching things.” I'm sneering but I don't mean it. I think that they might have noticed.

“Why are you all red, Sev? You really wanted to defeat the Dark Lord?”

“He betrayed all of us. Muggleborns to purebloods. He never lived up to his promises. His actions belied the little speeches and domination in that simple sense, in being master of death- in the end he was in it for himself, what he could attain, not what wizardkind could attain, you figured it out before long yourself.” I say coolly.

Kreacher coughs at my side. I twitch and turn to him a little. “Master Regulus should wear his locket when he is buried,” sobs the elf, “Kreacher will give up his greatest treasure, Master Regulus' locket.” It's a moan of ecstasy. He could serve no better.
“Thanks, Kreacher,” Regulus' portrait says softly, looking at the elf and still trying to swallow my speech. Nothing else has brought home to Regulus the fact that he no longer exists than Kreacher's action.

“Kreacher knows Master Regulus is worthy.”

Regulus sniffs.