Keep an Eye

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Keep an Eye



Regulus could see only hazy images of the Dark Lord walking, pacing, circling like a vulture... of his bone-white wand and long, narrow hands with the thick, dirty fingernails... The Dark Lord's voice was high and low at exactly the same time, sort of a voice within a voice, rasping and terrifying as he spoke... words that Regulus couldn't understand, words that chilled him to the core... Kneeling before Voldemort was his father, the man who had never been perfect, no, but had been the only father that Regulus had... The man who had taught him the most rudimentary magic, who had tied his shoes when he was young, who had carried him up on his shoulders at the Quidditch World Cup, who always smelled faintly of firewhiskey... The man who conjured birds that flew about over Regulus's crib when he was tiny, who sang him lullabies about dragons and told him stories of werewolves and Greek gods... And there was the Dark Lord, with his pale face and well kept hair and his sneer... always a sneer with Voldemort... and there he was, looking down at Orion Black with a most disapproving stare... Speaking in low tones, naming his sins one by one, a parade of failed attempts... and then Voldemort lowered his wand, pressing the tip of it into the shaggy black hair on the back of Orion Black's head...

"NO!"

Regulus moved so quickly that he lost his balance and flipped right out of the bed, smashing his forehead against the nightstand so badly that he drew blood. He lay on the floor a moment, simpering, clutching his forehead as the red streamed over his fingers.

Crack!

"Master is injured, Master Regulus must let Kreacher help... come with Kreacher, Kreacher will make it all better now, come with Kreacher, Master Regulus..." the old house elf took Regulus by the wrist and pulled him along to the bathroom down the hall as Regulus cried. "Master must not cry," Kreacher whispered gently, making Regulus sit on the edge of the bathtub while Kreacher filled a small basin with water with the crack of his fingers and dipped a cloth into it, bringing the cloth to Regulus's cheeks. The water felt cool against Regulus's skin and he hiccuped as Kreacher carefully blotted away his tears and used magic to heal the cut on his forehead. "Quiet now, Master Regulus, before Mistress wakens and shouts at Master."

Regulus nodded. They'd been through this many times already in the month since Orion Black had been killed. Regulus would have the dream he'd just done and Kreacher would come and quiet him but Regulus's tears would get the best of him and he'd end up crying loudly and Walburga would come running down the hallway, angry, shouting for Regulus to get a hold on himself - "The Dark Lord feeds off your fears!" she had hissed just the last time, "You must suppress them!"

But it was very, very hard - especially when he was asleep - not to feel the horrible panic that rose up inside of him when he imagined the way Orion Black had fallen forward as the green jet of light burst through his body, lighting him up like a bloody holiday tree. He'd just... buckled... and that was it. Gone. No goodbye. Just gone. And he could still see Sirius's face - the look of desperation and anguish that had flooded his brother's features when he had somehow - miraculously - overthrown the power of the Dark Lord, to fling himself down over Orion Black's wide chest.

Kreacher continued to sweep the cloth over Regulus's face.

"I miss him, Kreacher," Regulus whispered, barely daring to say the words at all.

Kreacher whispered back, "Kreacher knows, Master Regulus, Kreacher understands. Missing one's father is very sad, Master, very sad."

Regulus nodded, though he wasn't sure if he'd meant Orion or Sirius.

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