(Author's Note: This sequence, spread over several numbered chapters made up of one-shot style flash scenes was originally written as a short story that I never ended up publishing before realizing that with a few tweaks, I could have a very interesting way to weave it into the narrative for The Marauders story and explain a bit of true canon that was never satisfactory to me.. in the original series. Because it was originally written entirely as a standalone, this story line arch is a little long, but I think that adds an interesting twist to the Marauders' story as well as giving closure to Regulus's story. Hopefully this does him the justice he deserved, our brave little snakey. ~ H.G.M.)
James apparated in the mouth of Fingal's Cave, catching himself on the rickety old bannister that ran alongside an almost vertical cliffside. Steps - small stones that had been cut into the rock face - ran like jagged teeth down toward the sea. He moved carefully, picking his way down the stairs.
At the bottom, he found himself on a tiny outcropping of rock, waves crashing just feet from where he stood, the water crashing violently at high tide. He pressed his back to the cliff face and inched along carefully toward the mouth of the cave. Moonlight turned everything silver and the darkest blue-green. It was terrifying and beautiful equally.
He reached the cave mouth and James started to step inside.
"James Potter."
He stopped dead in his tracks at the sound of his name and turned around.
Kostos Mopsus stood behind him.
Anger flashed through James as he stared at the bent frame of the Blind Seer, coming up over the rock toward him. "You --" James choked. "You. Where the bloody hell have you been? All day I've been begging in my head for you to show up and now you're here when it's already too late? Why weren't you there when Regulus needed you to be? When I needed you to be?" James demanded. He didn't know why he felt so offended by Mopsus's lack of presence in the whole ordeal with Regulus. He didn't know exactly when it had become his place to expect the Blind Seer to show up and save the day... It just seemed as though every time something came up, Mopsus's name was being mentioned, there were stories cropping up all over James's life of things the Blind Seer had done. And then there had been Lily, Lily drawing connection between James and the way he felt about things that happened and the way the Seer's presence was ever looming...
Somewhere in there he'd started to think Mopsus was alright.
Somewhere in there he'd started to have a bit of faith in the old man.
And here he was, the first time since trusting Mopsus to help, and he'd been failed.
Mopsus stood and listened as James lashed out.
"WHERE WERE YOU?" he screamed. His voice caught on the wind and was carried into the cave, echoing about the chamber within. "YOU, ALWAYS RUNNING ABOUT TAKING SECONDS FROM EVERY BODY, ORCHESTRATING GREAT OUTCOMES AND MANIPULATING TIME LIKE YOU DO, GIVING PEOPLE ASSIGNMENTS AND SECOND CHANCES AND SUCH, WHERE WERE YOU THIS TIME? HE WAS JUST A KID! AND NOW HERE YOU ARE, TOO LATE! ARE YOU HERE TO TAKE AWAY PRECIOUS HOURS PERHAPS? REWRITE THE WHOLE DAY?"
The Seer did not move, did not flinch, his milky white eyes did not shift. If it were not for the rise and fall of the man's chest as he breathed, James might've thought him an utter illusion.
But what good was it that he was real anyways? It wasn't like he was going to do anything.
"He was just seventeen years old," James gasped. "And look how much Voldemort took away from him!" His voice trembled as he spoke. "It's bad enough Voldemort's gotta be part of any of our lives, but bloody hell. Regulus.... I mean, choices were just made for him, and he got strung along and groomed and forced into a life he never asked for, and --"
"He did ask for it."
James shook his head, "When?"
"Under the sorting hat," Mopsus answered.
"How do you bloody know what he asked for under the Sorting Hat?" James rolled his eyes, then, realizing who he was talking to, he sighed, "I know.. I know... Mopsus sees all... Save your breath, you haven't got to say it."
"Have you never wondered how the Sorting Hat works, James?" Mopsus asked.
James stared at the mouth of the cave, unable to stop himself feeling like time was being wasted standing here talking to Mopsus about the Sorting Hat instead of in there, fighting to get to Regulus Black. Lily had said he was too late, but perhaps she was mistaken. Perhaps there was still time, still hope, and Regulus had simply managed to put up his walls against the pain she'd felt him having? And if nothing else, there was - there was a body to retrieve, a resting place to make...
"James?" Mopsus prodded.
"The founders bewitched the hat," James said, irritated.
"But how does a hat know which house a child should be sorted to?"
"I don't know. And I don't know that the hat is always right anyway."
"No you're right there, the hat is not always right. Sometimes, the hat allows the child to make a choice for themselves, for one, and those choices that are allowed are not always the right choices. And for another, sometimes people do not fit into categories and as diverse as they seem, there is a good deal of overlap between the houses - grey areas that could land in either position... and in those cases, the Hat must make placement based on a majority ruling. What is MOST true, what is true most OFTEN?"
James was quiet, accepting this explanation for a moment, then said, "I suppose there are probably special cases where the extenuating circumstances of a person's life needs to be considered as well."
"Yes, there are times like that as well," Mopsus said.
"Awfully smart for a hat," James said.
"I and the Sorting Hat are one and the same, James."
"You?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter," Mopsus replied. "And when Regulus Black was sorted, I suggested to him that Gryffindor would be a fit. It was a terrific hat stall, perhaps you recall it? It dragged on and on and ended only with a crash of thunder that scared the young boy beneath the brim and sent him spiraling onto the path that he traversed until his death day." Mopsus paused. "Which happens to be today."
James felt like Mopsus had swung a beater's bat directly into his stomach with those words and he winced, pained. "So you think it's fair to punish someone for their entire lives for being afraid of an unusually loud crack of thunder? What, an eleven year old is scared of thunder so they can't be brave?"
"That is not what happened, Mr. Potter."
"That's what it sounds like you're saying."
"I gave Regulus Black a chance at having an easy go of proving his bravery, rather," Mopsus answered, "And, as usual, in typical Regulus Black and likewise Slytherin behavior, he chose to strike it on his own. Has he proven himself brave? Undoubtedly so - and likely braver than a good number of the little showboats that end up sorted Gryffindor themselves."
"The bravest, sir," James said firmly.
"Indeed. But was he cunning and resourceful and ambitious, as well? Yes. And these are the qualities he used to prove his bravery... so that in the end, the bravery did end up his most important trait - but it took those other traits to get him there."
James was anxious, looking toward the cave mouth.
"You won't find his body, James."
James looked at Mopsus.
"You won't find it, but you also won't ever see it in his armies, either. I promise you that. I have already taken him out of this place myself."
James looked hopeful, but Mopsus shook his head. He held out his hand, pointing to the shallow water, "There, James. Look there... Among the rocks."
James looked and he didn't see anything, so he knelt, crept closer to a small pool of water, and there he saw it, just like in his dream, floating... He reached out and his hand broke the surface of blue sea water. James took the watch up out of the pool, and without even having to look at it, he knew it would be stopped, blank faced and waterlogged. He held it tightly so the knob pressed into his palm and was surprised when the glo face lit. He stared at it, then turned back to look at the Blind Seer.
"It still illuminates, sir."
"Seems it ought not to light, doesn't it?" Mopsus asked. "Yet as many times as you press that button, that poor old watch will light up on command... Never at rest, you see, always being called forth..."
James looked at the watch. Then back to Mopsus. "Seems it deserves a rest..." he murmured.
"Indeed," Mopsus said.
James hesitated, then, "And does Regulus get to rest now, sir?"
Mopsus sighed. "James, my boy, let us get away from this place, and let me show you something..."
James looked wistfully at the mouth of the cave as Mopsus held out his hand. "Sir... He's - he's gone from here? You're really sure --?"
"Yes, James. I am sure that Regulus Black is not in that cave.
"Alright." James took Mopsus's hand. They disapparated away.
They appeared back on the opposite shore, where James had just left Lily not long ago. James looked around, wondering why they were back here... and that's when he saw him, Regulus, sitting on the sand far off across the beach. Even from a distance, James could tell that Regulus looked like himself again - the look of Freddy Jenkins gone from his nose and eyes, his hair back to the mop of black curls that was so like Sirius's in color and texture. Regulus sat in the sand, his knees bent and his arms crossed, creating a platform to rest his chin upon, and he stared out at the sea.
The breath caught in James's lungs and he started to go to Regulus, but Mopsus caught his arm, stopping him and shook his head 'no'.
"But --"
"He's not alive, Mr. Potter."
James stared at Regulus's back and watched as the boy's breaths expanded and shank his lungs and he stared out at the sea. "But --"
"He wouldn't be able to hear you or see you right now anyway, James."
"Why? Where are we?"
"We are simply here, James. Regulus Black is in a place in-between. He is neither alive or dead. He is neither in suffering nor in peace. Not asleep, but not a ghost.. He exists in some manner, though. The sun rises and the sun sets and he simply waits."
"Waits for what, sir?"
"To be allowed to rest."
James felt anxiety at the thought of this kind of existence and he looked around, "So he'll just just wait... all day, everyday here? Why? Is this some sort of purgatory? Some kind of punishment?" James was already calculating how he might attempt to rescue Regulus from such a place...
"Unless he is summonsed."
"Summonsed?" James looked at Mopsus.
"Now this may be a bit confusing," Mopsus warned. "You're about to learn about something as the Blind Seer sees it... but for you, it shall feel a bit like time-jumping through a chain of events.... Do you understand?"
"What do you mean time-jumping?"
"Picture time as a pool of water," Mopsus said. "Your origin point is somewhere in the middle and from that point you can move forward or backward, side to side or up and down freely, so long as you return to that center fixed point."
"Alright," James did what he could.
"Now, you take a stone and you skip it across the surface. The stone strikes in one place... a second place... a third... fourth... and so forth, all connected by the singular throw."
"Yes," James said.
Mopsus said, "We are throwing a stone through time, James, and you are seeing only the places where that stone strikes the water as it pertains to our particular topic."
"Regulus?"
"Yes, Mr. Potter. Now keep up...."
(1)
"I have long suspected that Gellert was more deeply involved with the rise of Lord Voldemort than I imagined, Cadmus; however I must admit, never did I expect in this way... This is much more direct than I had ever thought possible..." Dumbledore sifted through papers, hand scrawled notes on parchment in fine script, each signed with a flourished R.A.B. Photographs and maps, articles and even drawings. He laid them out, starting to sequence them together.
Cadmus Peverell stood in his portrait which hung in the Headmaster's office watching warily as Dumbledore ran his fingers over his chin, looking through the things Regulus had amassed. Cadmus had been reluctant, to say the least, to share the things Regulus had learned with anyone else - much less with Dumbledore... But it had been the last wish that Regulus had given before he left Number 12 Grimmauld Place, that his work be shared so that when the the time came, the Dark Lord would be able to be killed.
Cadmus had grown fond of the boy... so much show that he now took it upon himself to see to it that he honor that last request. Even if he thought Dumbledore was a mistake.
A mistake that was about to prove Cadmus right.
Dumbledore got up from his seat and he walked to one of the many bookshelves which lined the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts. He ran his fingers along the tomes until he came to one particular book, which he pulled out. The book was no book after all, but a lever and the lever caused the books on the row below to stand up and shuffle themselves about until they'd opened up an empty space about the size of one's arm to slip through. Dumbledore slid his arm through and felt about a moment, then withdrew and in his hand was a small glass jar and in the glass jar was a ring.
Cadmus squinted, watching, as Dumbledore opened the jar, shook the ring out into his palm, and put the bottle down on his desk. He picked up his wand and lay the ring down and as he did, Cadmus recognized the stone in the setting and let out a sound of absolute shock.
"The Stone," he said, "The - the Resurrection Stone. You - you have it? I didn't think you had it.... I - I thought you were still searching for it, that --"
"I am pleased to hear you react this way, Cadmus," Dumbledore said casually. "I was planning to ask you if this was, indeed, the stone, but you've answered my question before I have even had to ask it of you." He smiled, pleased, and lifted his wand.
Cadmus felt a chill in his spine. "You've got two thirds of them, then... the Hallows?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said, "And I know the location of the third, I do believe, although I need to find a way to obtain it from the current holder to verify its authenticity."
Cadmus shifted in his frame uneasily.
Dumbledore used the Elder Wand to release the Resurrection Stone from the ring setting which it had been prisoner of for so long.
In spite of himself, Cadmus was pleased to see it - though he would have liked to have seen it in Regulus's hands, rather than Albus Dumbledore's. But there it was. It appeared whole, maybe, and he wondered what sort of miracles had kept the stone from destruction after all this time.
Dumbledore walked around his desk in pacing circles, looking at he stone, reaching now and again for one of the parchments or another that had Regulus's handwriting scrawled across it, the direction of the lettering going off every which way as he'd frantically written notes from various books on multiple trips to the national archives and to the Ministry's public ancestry records. Finally, Dumbledore paused, rubbing his chin, and he'd reached for the stone.
Cadmus saw the first toss between fingers... "Careful, sir," Cadmus warned.
But Dumbledore had already begun. He smiled benignly at Cadmus's portrait. "You do know, Cadmus, that it is standard procedure for the Ministry of Magic, when a breach of this nature occurs, the paintings which have acted in such a way as you have are generally collected and either set in storage in the Department of Mysteries, or else burned for their collaboration with dark wizards?"
"Sir..." Cadmus's voice dipped with concern.
"Oh not to worry, Cadmus, of course you've nothing to worry about with me. I shall not turn you over to the Ministry, but perhaps in the future a bit more discretion might be wise, for if I overlook one such instance and it happens a second time, the breach would positively have to be reported, you understand?"
Cadmus understood too well.
Dumbledore's fingers expertly rolled the stones between then and Cadmus thought it was as though he'd done it a thousand times before.
Perhaps he had.
Once... twice... thrice...
The candles in the sconces blew out and at once, the hearth went dark. The room seemed to get stiller than silence, and a cold chill came into the air that had nothing do to with the weather.
The first time was always the hardest for the ghost, so Dumbledore was expecting the panic that resounded in the ghost's voice as he glimmered into existence.
After all, the first time that ghosts appear, they do not realize that they are dead, usually... and being that this had been a couple days since the initial Death Day, and the fact that Regulus Black's was not a naturally-spawned ghost, well. It was sure to be even more confusing for him now, being summonsed to the Headmaster's office.
"Where - where am I? Where am I?" Regulus panted, trying to catch his breath, his eyes flashing around him, his limbs still flailing rather desperately, as though fighting something off...
Drowned, Dumbledore remembered, watching Regulus claw at the air around him. Of course the poor boy would need a moment or two to orient himself to the feeling of not needing oxygen.
Regulus actually acclimated fairly well - and (although he still was gasping in a way that any normal human might have hyperventilated from doing) he started looking around, taking in the office and realizing where he was... but the confusion of how and why quickly clouded his expression... and then his eyes met Dumbledore's.
"I have questions in need of answers.. and you, my boy... appear to be quite the expert in the field of Voldemortology." Dumbledore waved his palm over the artifacts on the desk, and he smiled, amused by his own word for it.
"Don't say the name!" Regulus pleaded.
Dumbledore chuckled, "Don't you worry, Regulus... The name cannot hurt you any longer."