Chapter Text
Surprisingly, Regulus is still alive.
He is half-kneeling on what must be the remains of a library in the ruins of the mansion, breathing heavily and staring at the body a few meters away from him, afraid that it will disappear.
He decides to approach, to check in a burst of morbid curiosity. As he stands up, he loses his balance. He catches himself quickly, his eyes never lose sign of the unmoving body. He stumbles towards it, still fixing it, before dropping down beside it.
The man has collapsed face forward, so Regulus gently turns him onto his back to see his face and observes.
Before becoming a Death Eater Regulus naively thought that death came to cover those it came to take like a veil and left behind only an empty mask, with no expressions. This notion was destroyed after the first executions he was forced to witness. Death does not burden itself with anything other than the souls of its victims and leaves everything else; terror, anger, and despair; inscribed like scars for the living to see.
The Dark Lord is no exception to the rule but Regulus did not expect to see fear etched on his face. But perhaps, coming from a man so afraid of his end it's not so surprising.
He succeeded.
He expected to feel immense joy but he is just lost and dazed. The probability of his success was so low that he has trouble fully assimilating it. The deep exhaustion he feels doesn’t help.
He remains in front of the corpse for a moment longer, wondering if he should do something with it. Should he destroy it? And if yes, how? By burning it? But perhaps he should leave it so the Aurors and the members of the Order of the Phoenix can see the dead for themselves? They should arrive soon and Regulus is even surprised they’re not already here. The runic barrier Regulus had put in place is crumbling. And if the ministry can track the misuse of magic by minors then it is impossible for the particularly violent and destructive magic that was used during the duel to go unnoticed. The mansion is half collapsed and burned, almost the entire roof is scattered in the surrounding park which did not escape damage either. He doesn't have much time left to leave without being caught. He pushes himself and gets up, staggers a little and hastily makes his way through the rubble to the bottom where he realizes that he no longer has his coat. If the Aurors discover it they could use it to identify him, he turns around and considers going back to look for it. It probably burned down, after all the drawing room was annihilated. He also doesn't worry about the traces of his magic signature, the remaining magic residues are unstable and the aurors will get nothing out of it.
So he continues his journey to the iron gate marking the end of the magical protections of the domain, or what remains of it. He hurries while dawn is just peeking out, almost timidly, as if wanting to make sure everything is finished and the coast is clear before taking full possession of the sky. He takes a glance behind him and, without stopping, observes the few fumaroles rising in the air. The moment he feels himself crossing the barriers, he disappears.
His apparating in Hogsmeade is anything but elegant and it's a miracle he didn't splinch himself. He is in a hurry to return to Hogwarts because now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off, a deep exhaustion is taking its place and Regulus has no idea how long he will be able to stand. He barely remembers the journey but suddenly he finds himself at the foot of his bed. He falls in, wraps himself in the covers, and barely has the presence of mind to charm his curtains shut before he passes out.
The wake-up call a few hours later is brutal.
“Reg? Reg! Get up damn it! We're going to be late again!” warns Evan while pulling futilely on the curtains. Regulus emerges with difficulty, his mind foggy and his body painful.
“Reg, I warn you, if you are late and have nothing left to eat because you missed breakfast again, you will only have yourself to blame. I'm going up, so hurry!”
Regulus emits a growl which must be enough for Evan since he leaves their room. Regulus waits a bit, on the lookout to see if his other roommates have also gone up to the Great Hall. For his friend to be this exasperated, it must probably be around 8 am, which means Regulus only has an hour to exhume his battered body from the covers and make himself presentable. He hastens to deactivate the charms on his curtains before rolling inelegantly on his legs and heading stiffly toward the bathroom. On the way, he takes a look at the clock on one of the bedside tables and it shows 7:58.
Once inside he starts to undress, the hiss of pain that escapes him when he takes off his shirt announces an unpleasant surprise and he sees a long burn on his ribs and the inside of his left arm. He should have immediately taken care of it when he came back. The oozing burn is covered in small blisters but more worrying is the color of the veins. They are blackened, an undeniable sign of dark magic. Probably the result of a curse that he narrowly avoided.
He continues to undress, removing his pants to discover a huge, slightly swollen bruise that begins to turn purple along his thigh and ends almost black at his hip for which he has no explanation.
Maybe when the floor gave way and they violently fell?
He presses on it curiously with his finger, like a child, and unsurprisingly the pain is searing.
The prospect of a shower is less and less appealing by the minute so he will probably use a scrubbing spell.
He continues his examination but finds nothing more worrying than a few bruises and scratches here and there. So he takes out the well-stocked first aid kit, a must when three quidditch players share a dormitory and he gets to work. After a Scrougify to remove all the dirt, he tries as best as he can to purge the dark magic from his burn, the result is far from perfect but sufficient to spread an ointment on it. For his bruise, Murtlap essence helps reabsorb it sufficiently to make the pain bearable. He turns towards the mirror, his tired face and his dark circles make him look like an inferius, but a few weeks before the NEWTs this more or less represents the general state of the seventh years. So all he has to do is take care of the scratches visible on his face and hide everything else beneath his uniform. No one will imagine that he went to confront the Dark Lord the night before.
He comes out of the bathroom to put on something clean and looks at the time. 8:41 a.m. Perfect, he will even have time to eat before class. He grabs his bag and heads towards the Great Hall.
As he entered the hall, he expected to be greeted as usual by the sounds of indistinct chatters of dozing students, the clatter of cutlery on dishes, and the hooting of owls coming to deliver the mail. He would have greeted Abigayle sitting at the Hufflepuff table before going to sit next to Evan with the other Slytherins. He would have poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice, before starting to prepare his toast and they would have discussed the day ahead or the contents of the Daily Prophet that Evan likes to dissect at 8 a.m. for reasons known only to him.
He doesn't expect to arrive in the middle of pandemonium, with students running feverishly from one table to another shouting with joy while others are crying. Or both for the more ambitious.
He looks around for Abby or Evan and finds them both at the Slytherin table with their noses buried in the Prophet.
“Am I right to doubt that Minister Minchum's growing enthusiasm for dementors is the cause of such panic?” he asks, settling to the left of his friends. They raise their heads simultaneously and stare at him like two owls.
“The Dark Lord is dead Reg”, Abby responds softly.
Regulus imagines that the news is indeed surprising, but he did not think that it would be revealed to the public immediately! The man has been dead for just over 4 hours, dammit! He grabs the newspaper Evan hands him without a word and tries to display the same face as them, a mixture of shock and disbelief as if the words Abby had just said made no sense.
He begins to read the article pointed to him by his friends, which despite being preceded by an “OFFICIAL COMMUNIQUE FROM THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC” bears the innocuous title of: “You-Know-Who is Dead!”.
Regulus is disappointed, the gazette has accustomed him to more fanciful.
It is written that the Ministry of Magic confirmed just before the newspapers were sent by owls that Aurors had been urgently dispatched, very early this morning to the manor of Lord Bliswick, although suspected of having been assassinated after the Muggle authorities of the neighboring village complained of noises, tremors and light shows. Once there, they were able to see that the magical barriers of the property had been destroyed and that a very powerful impression of dark magic was emanating from the place. But it was while searching the ruins of the house that the Aurors discovered the lifeless body of a man who turned out to be the Dark Lord.
Albus Dumbledore himself came to confirm the identification.
Regulus suddenly raises his head towards the professor’s table who, like their students, are leaning toward each other and conversing frantically.
Dumbledore is here and his impassivity contrasts with the rest of the room. Sitting motionless, leaning against the back of his chair, his un-sparkling gaze lost among the students. He seems tired and for the first time, Regulus wonders about his age.
He looks at the article again and quickly finishes reading it but it reveals nothing other than assumptions and the author's opinion. So he puts the newspaper back on the table and turns to his friends.
Abby watches him silently as Evan stares at his cup of pumpkin juice, slowly twirling it with his fingers.
“Do you think it’s true?” Evan asks softly, as if afraid it was all just a pretty dream and raising your voice would be enough to break it and drag him into a world where he was going to be marked at the beginning of summer. Regulus knows perfectly well the death of the Dark Lord is a providence for Evan announcing his freedom. He was terrified but trying to put on a good face, especially for Abby who was beside herself with worry since her two best friends would be forced to serve alongside the Death Eaters.
He answers just as gently, “Yes, even if the Gazette is not known for its reliability, I don't think they would dare to come out with something so absurd. Additionally, the article is written as an official announcement from the Ministry and Dumbledore looks concerned. So yes, I think it's true, even if the news is surprising.”
“Oh Merlin, ‘surprising’, Reg? It’s incredible!” he breathes with a hint of hysteria while rolling his eyes “We are free Reg!”
“You don't think the Death Eaters will try to continue the will of their master?” Abby asks anxiously.
“Oh they can try to continue whatever they want”, says Evan, “but without the Dark Lord, my parents will never stand behind them. Much too risky.”
Regulus nods before adding, “If the Dark Lord is not there to unite and lead them, the organization will divide into factions, without forgetting that many Death Eaters only followed for fear of reprisals.”
“Or because they didn't exactly realize what mess they were getting themselves into and
what was going to be asked of them”, Evan added.
“Okay I understand, but I don't think Death Eaters like Bellatrix will kindly go home and hang their black dresses back in the closet”, says Abby.
“Indeed”, Regulus grimaces, “I very much doubt that dear cousin Bella will agree to play housewife for Rodolphus but maybe the Order of Righteous Gryffindors will help? Who knows, maybe a second miracle is in sight?”
The three friends are still giggling when a tinkling sound is heard. Dumbledore is standing and silence instantly falls, all eyes turned to him. Regulus can see him take a slight breath.
“As most of you have already read in the newspaper this morning, Lord Voldemort is dead.”
The exclamations burst out and the murmurs start again, as if everyone had expected him to refute the ministry's press release, to tell them it was all just a bad joke. Dumbledore gives everyone a little time before asking for silence again, this time with a slight smile on his lips.
“Although the circumstances of this death remain mysterious, today announces the beginning of a new era! We obviously cannot forget the deaths and sacrifices that took place. Nor that even if Voldemort has fallen, his faithful servants remain present, hidden in the shadows. And if caution is still required, I think that despite everything, for today at least, we can celebrate this unexpected peace with dignity, as the announcement of hope and prosperity it represents!”
And with a teasing glint in his eyes and an innocuous tone, he finally declared amidst the growing clamor:
“Classes are therefore obviously canceled!”
The students end up letting their joy burst forth and the impact is such that Regulus would swear that the stained glass windows tremble.