Daggers | r.a.b

discovery

[daggers - part two]
[3rd] regulus

    A stack of dusty books stood in front of him as he searched frantically for the information he needed. No one suspected him as they walked by- they were in a house of Death Eaters after all. No one cared about safety.

    It had been almost a year since he had last seen her face to face- a year since their goodbye. After the cold-blooded murder of the Mckinnons, Peter had come back, pleading for the Dark Lord to take him in as a spy for the Death Eaters. He had also proved to be more than he looked, having been best friends with three of the most brilliant masterminds and two of the most talented witches of their age. He had impressed the Dark Lord with a powerful glamour spell that Voldemort had never heard of, claiming it as a creation of his own, but he knew better. He had seen her working on a thick spellbook of powerful and useful spells of her own invention, including that particular one. He had felt the the urge to roll his eyes then. He had never particularly liked the plump boy, and this only gave  one more excuse for him to dislike him.

    Peter had tried to earn his trust, as he was one of Voldemort's favourites for his powers in Legilmency and Occulmency, but he had always ignored him. He had never agreed to be a spy for the Order, but he now sent Patronuses every so often to warn the Order, balancing out Peter's betrayal the best he could.

    He could never be as straight out brave as Sirius, who rebelled against their parents and broke out of the bars of abuse and prejudice. Nor could he be as brave as Peter, who straight out went to the opposite sides and told them he wanted to be a spy. He wanted to help the Order, but he could never be bold, and announcing he was helping them. He could only do it discretely- pulling strings at the sidelines.

    If she and Lily were there, they would have called him loyal to his family despite what they did to him. They would've admired him for that. He, on the other hand, called it fear. Cowardice. Fear of losing what he had. He didn't fear death- he had set himself for death when he risked his life to warn the Order. But he didn't want to die, he was afraid no one would ever find out what he discovered, that he would lose the trust his parents put in him the way he lost hers and Lily's and Sirius'. He was scared of being tracked, of pain. He didn't mind dying at all.

    He flipped through the books, trying to find something that fit the stories he was told years ago, that would fit what he had heard. The Dark Lord often prided himself on near immortality. But what exactly made him near immortal?

    He recalled how a year ago, when Peter had entered the Dark Lord's service, Voldemort had emphasized on the fact that he was all-mighty, powerful, near immortal. Somehow he felt like he was the only person who noticed these small details, and as time went on he began to have suspicions, childhood stories his parents told him when he was young resurfacing in his mind, and an idea started to present itself. It was horrible, immoral, horrific- but not beyond the Dark Lord.

    He remembered how a Death Eater close to the Dark Lord had somehow gotten his hands on a locket that had the Slytherin crest on it months ago, and was killed the moment Voldemort saw him with the locket. The next few weeks, Voldemort had kept the locket with him everywhere, had treated it like the most precious thing on earth, like a part of his soul. It had Regulus thinking, and the idea became more and more possible every time he thought of it.

    The Dark Lord had called for him earlier that day and had asked for a house elf in front of his extended family, giving him no choice but to volunteer his first friend after Sirius started to rebel, Kreacher the house elf, and there and then he had seen the locket again, glittering evilly in the dim light. They had been gone for quite a few hours, and even though he had spent the time searching for information he couldn't help but feel worried for Kreacher.

    He reached the last book in the pile. It had no title, no author's name. The spells featured in the book were gruesome, disgusting, and he flipped through the book, looking for his theory, when he found it on the very last page.

    How to make a Horcrux

    He skimmed through the explanation, the instructions, the book sending chills up his spine, and he shuddered. Yes, it fitted in with his crazy idea extraordinary well, he wondered, what if,, what if it was true? How would he find the Horcrux, or maybe even Horcruxes, who knows what the Dark Lord was capable of?

    He looked up, and a fresh spasm of worry for his house elf passed through him. Tentatively, he called out, "Kreacher? Kreacher, please, come back if the Dark Lord has finished his business?"

    For a moment, nothing happened, and he thought that he had been too late, but then Kreacher appeared, coughing up water and choking, taking in breathes, huge gulps of air, choking out the words, "Master Regulus- the cave- potion- locket- water-bodies-", and he listened to him, eyes wide in panic.

    Startled and frantic, he quickly conjured a cup of tea for Kreacher, and helped Kreacher regain his breathe, and Kreacher told him what had happened in the cave, shuddering, he felt angry, but intrigued.

    A locket. The description had made it quite clear- this was the same locket as the one he had seen before. And now, once and for all, his theory was proven correct.

    Lord Voldemort had created Horcruxes.

    He shuddered. How will this war end, how would the Order survive, if the Dark Lord has such a dangerous weapon with him?

    Terrified, he drew in a breath.

    He could only hope they would all come out unscathed.
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