15

Chapter 15: Let It Go

Grimmauld Place, July 13th 1996

"I see you've finally taken a leaf out of your big brother's book, huh?" Sirius says with mild amusement as he studies my rumpled exterior through the archway.

I roll my eyes at him. "Bet you're just loving this," I grumble, not bothering to tidy myself up. What good would it do?

My brother frowns, looking contemplative as I take a seat on the cold stone floor.

"How are things?" He asks tentatively, sitting on the floor as well.

I shrug. "The usual, I reckon. Dementors swarming all over the place, Giants attacking cities…" My voice tight and trailing off.

"What else?" My brother asks intently, his grey eyes fixed at mine.

I swallow hard and close my eyes briefly. Two days ago, Vance's lifeless body was found near Number Ten, Downing Street. And a day after that, Amelia Bones was found in her home, brutally killed.

And it is only starting.

"Who?" Sirius asks, his gaze hardening.

I clear my throat. "Amelia Bones, and…Vance."

Sirius's eyes widen slightly and he nods slowly. "…I'm sorry."

"Yeah. Me too." I mutter tiredly. Even though I wasn't close with Vance – at least, in some respects – her death still stung. She was someone I knew before everything changed. Before I became a Death Eater. Before I travelled into the future.

And while Bones wasn't part of the Order, the Head of the DMLE murdered supposedly by the Dark Lord himself has to only mean one thing. He's planning on taking over the Ministry.

We sit silently for a long while, and it's not unusual during these uncanny meetings we have, meetings, that usually happen when I'm three sheets to the wind – which seems to be the case more often than not these days.

And because of that, I've started to have doubts, I've started to suspect that I'm merely picturing everything. That my brother really is gone, and this is how I'm dealing with it. I want to believe that there is something else, that there is a bigger picture. I want to believe that I wouldn't be here, talking to my brother through an old, crumbling archway if he truly was gone.

The problem is, that no one else seems to agree with me. No one else dares to have such high hopes like I do. I've talked with Lupin, who stops by every week, and I've discussed with my cousin, who has come by a couple of times, but hearing what I have to say seems too hard for them to deal, too unlikely to have any hope for.

I've even talked briefly with Dumbledore, questioning the reality of this, of my brothers…existence. He merely told me that even if I was dreaming, it doesn't mean that it is not real.

Still, he also said that he doesn't have any information that could help me to figure out if my brother truly is forever trapped behind the Veil – which I've learned is believed to separate the worlds of the living and the dead – or is there a possibility for him to come back. This part of the Department of Mysteries is unknown to most of people, even more so than the Time Room, which I'm told was there, at least until Potter and his friends destroyed the place.

"Talk to me, brother," Sirius says quietly, studying my features carefully.

I lift my gaze slowly to meet his, and I can't stop the helpless feeling spreading inside me. I need this to be real. I don't want to move on. Not if there is a sliver of a chance to get my brother back.

"I don't know what to do…" I say with a weary sigh. "I've researched everything I can get my hands to, and I will continue until I find something, I promise, but…"

"But what?" Sirius asks with restraint, supposedly knowing my thoughts already.

I clench my jaw, willing away the headache that threatens to take over. "What if…What if I'm only dreaming?"

Sirius curses under his breath, standing up and struggling in place, trying to reach out. We've tried this several times before – it is not possible to walk around in here. We merely stay in place and see and talk to each other through the archway. Sirius threads a hand through his hair, a habit that tells how frustrated he is.

"You're not, Reggie. Trust me. You're not." He says dejectedly.

My head is throbbing with pain, and I know what that means. "I need to leave soon," I say weakly, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Talk to Harry."

I shake my head. "No," I say stoically, my eyes fixed to the ground.

Sirius huffs exasperatedly. "You can't blame him, brother. It wasn't his fault, and you know it."

Of course I know it. It's just easier to blame him. My head is pounding now, my vision starting to blur.

"Talk to Harry, Reggie."

The Burrow, August 2nd 1996

My sixteenth birthday dinner is served in the fairy-light-decorated garden in the Burrow. Despite Mrs. Weasley's protests, our topics keep slipping to the gloomy side.

I take a careful look at Lupin, as he wearily describes the latest Dementor attacks. It's obvious that the full moon three days ago has taken its toll on him.

"…And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it…well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters," He continues with a deep frown.

The topic brings Regulus to my thoughts again, and now that I finally have someone who actually has seen him after…well, after what happened in the Ministry, I quickly swallow a mouthful of roasted beef and clear my throat. "What about, um, Regulus?" I ask from Lupin.

Everyone turns to stare at Lupin as he shifts in his seat uneasily. "Regulus…is…handling it," he says simply, staring at a crook on the table with a strained expression.

The last two weeks I've been at the Burrow, I've spent most of my time playing Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchards with Ron, Ginny and Hermione. Mr. Weasley and Bill; who's moved back to Burrow, and Fleur; who is staying here for the summer – much to Mrs. Weasley's and Ginny's dismay – have been busy working from morning to night every day, and thus haven't been able to go to see Sirius's brother.

Lupin, on the other hand, has met him every week, if what Bill mentioned the other night was true.

"Yes, well," Mrs. Weasley says slowly, "perhaps we should talk about something diff–"

"I'd like to go see him. And Grimmauld Place," I say quickly, interrupting Mrs. Weasley. An empty feeling spreads in my stomach from the mere thought of going to the place where my godfather had been living, alive and well, just a couple of months ago, but it is something I know I'll have to face.

There's an uncomfortable silence, and I suppose everyone's afraid to broach the subject, at least when I'm around.

"Well, I suppose, if Regulus agrees, you could go there," Mr. Weasley says carefully, glancing at Lupin, who looks reserved.

He scratches his greyish stubble for a short moment before nodding almost reluctantly. "I'll ask him. And well, since Sirius left you the place, you ought to have the right to go there in any case," He says with a wistful look.

I share a look with Ron and Hermione as Bill and Mr. Weasley start to talk about Florean Fortescue and Garrick Ollivander, who both have disappeared from Diagon Alley during summer.

Grimmauld Place, August 4th 1996

Two days after my birthday celebrations, I'm standing in front of Weasleys' fireplace. Before I'm able to reach to the box for floo-powder, Lupin puts a hand on my shoulder and stops me.

"Harry…just…be patient with him, will you?" He says, seeming hesitant. "I'll be still coming with you, but just so you understand. Regulus is…struggling," he says quietly, looking straight into my eyes expectantly.

I nod at him, trying not to show how much the thought of Regulus struggling worries me. "Yeah, of course."

Lupin gives me a sad smile before he removes his hand and takes some floo-powder from the box. He throws the powder into the fireplace and green flames roar into life. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," He says and steps into the flames, vanishing from sight.

I take a deep breath as I grab a handful of floo-powder and step into the green flames after giving my destination. And almost walk straight into a handful of pots and pans that soar across the kitchen of Grimmauld place.

"What – " I mumble and take a look around. The place is a mess. There're dirty dishes everywhere, empty bottles of different kinds of liquor – mostly Firewhiskey – scattered around the surfaces, and newspaper pages littered on the floor.

I spot Lupin, who's in the process of tidying the place up with the help of his wand, a concerned look in his eyes.

"Where's Kreacher…?" I wonder, and there's a loud crack in the room as Kreacher appears at my feet.

Kreacher scowls at me. "Master called Kreacher," it grumbles, and then under its breath, "…half-blood brat thinks he can order poor Kreacher around…"

I glance at Lupin again, assumedly looking as baffled as I feel, when Lupin merely shrugs resignedly and says, "Give the elf an order."

Feeling confused, I stare at the glaring elf and speak with a strict voice, "Kreacher. I order you to clean this mess up," I say and gesture at the untidiness around us.

The elf sends me a final glower before it starts snapping its fingers, sending newspaper pages into neat piles, making the dirty dishes clean themselves up above the sink, vanishing the spots of spilled liquids and foods from the table and floor.

At least Kreacher is not screaming at me, or trying to hurt itself, as it was the last time I saw the elf. It was only some weeks ago, when Dumbledore informed me that I'm now the rightful owner of Grimmauld Place and…Kreacher. The elf protested loudly, and quieted down only after I gave it a rather harsh order to shut itself up and return immediately to Grimmauld Place and stay there with Regulus.

But why hasn't it been taking care of this place? Because I didn't give it an order to do so? I grit my teeth and curse inwardly.

"Kreacher. Where's Regulus?" I then ask from the muttering elf, but Kreacher doesn't need to answer as the door to the kitchen swings open, and a ragged looking Regulus Black staggers inside.

My insides warm momentarily, but the feeling is quickly replaced with uneasiness as I see the empty look in his eyes, and the unsteadiness in his step.

He observes us with a small twitch in his brow, otherwise an unreadable look on his face. "Thought I heard your irksome voices," he merely says and walks towards the dark pantry, only to emerge back a couple of seconds later.

"Kreacher, what did I say about stocking up," he says to the elf with a displeased look as he brandishes a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey he has snatched from the shelves.

So…this is how he's handling it.

Kreacher cowers a bit. "Master Regulus, Kreacher is sorry, so sorry! But Kreacher could not leave, it could not leave home!" Then the elf turns to look at me with deepest loathing. "Master forbid it to."

Both Lupin and Regulus turn to stare at me, the former with puzzlement and the latter with his eyes narrowed, a hateful look in his eyes.

"You what?" Regulus asks darkly, and takes a couple of steps towards me. "You…you forbid my elf to leave this place?" He asks with a menacing look.

I swallow hard and shake my head slightly, trying not to be affected by his behaviour. "N-No, I – "

"Do you have any fucking idea what that means? Do you?" Regulus asks slowly, his voice still low but cold.

I open and close my mouth a couple of times, feeling slightly intimidated as his eyes flash dangerously. Why is he so…angry?

Lupin clears his throat and fixes a hard look at Regulus. "Calm down, Regulus. You know Harry didn't have any other choice. You know Kreacher knows too much about the Order. We can't let it leave the house anymore, not when its Master isn't here to supervise it," he says calmly, even though his eyes are blazing at Regulus, a hint of warning in them.

Regulus stares at Lupin, and then me. "I suppose this means I have to leave the house then, if I wish to eat." He says blankly and turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen.

I gape after him. "Is that – does – has he been here the whole time, without anything to eat?" I ask from Lupin, feeling horrified.

Lupin rolls his eyes. "Of course not. He's merely being dramatic. I have produced him all the necessary supplies whenever I've visited him. We still can't risk for him to leave the house either," he says wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I just haven't supplied him the alcohol he apparently has been overusing…" He adds and then turns to follow Regulus with a tired look on his face. "Come on, Harry."

This is not what I expected…at all. We walk to the second landing and find Regulus sitting in the library, in an armchair, staring at the empty fireplace. He turns towards us with a contemplative look in his eyes.

"I apologise. I haven't been treating my guests properly," He says aloofly, and I'm not sure if he's being scornful or apologetic.

Lupin gives him a nod and then Regulus speaks again, "I'd like to speak with Potter. If you don't mind, Lupin." He says expressionlessly and takes a sip of the amber liquid in his crystal tumbler.

I give Lupin a reassuring nod as he lifts his brows at me in hesitation.

"I'll be downstairs," Lupin says with a tight smile before exiting the library.

I walk towards Regulus, feeling nervous. His eyes are trained at the glass in his hand. I sit down on the couch, close to his armchair and gnaw at my bottom lip as I try to think what to say to him.

This is not how I wanted to see him, to talk to him – about us, or what is going between us. It seems like a thousand years ago when we were here by ourselves the last time. And so much has happened after that. Now the only thing I can think of, is how sorry I am for him, and how miserable he must be. At least, we both might have someone who truly understands how the other feels. And what we've lost.

"How are you?" I ask cautiously.

He swallows hard before placing the glass back to the coffee table and leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Brilliant." He says plainly, not looking at me.

I purse my lips and give him a pointed look, even though he hasn't even glanced at me. "Oh? I dunno, somehow, it doesn't seem like you are," I say grimly.

He shakes his head slightly and pushes the heels of his palms against his eyes. "Don't. Don't act like you have any idea – "

Annoyance surges through me. "But I do!" I interrupt him with a rough voice. "I do know. Don't you get that?" I ask angrily, my jaw tight as I try to keep my temper in check. "I've lost him too."

He whirls to look at me, his eyes narrowed. "And whose fault is that?" He asks darkly.

I let out an outraged scoff, losing the ability to speak. He's blaming me? He's blaming me for Sirius's…No. No, no, no, I can't think of it. I feel a lump forming in the back of my throat. It's bad enough that the thought follows me into my dreams every night, but hearing it from someone else is…unbearable.

"I'm…I…" I say, my voice faltering, not able to say anything to him. Not able to deny it.

His grey eyes molten with rage. "If you hadn't gone there…If you'd just fucking stayed where you were supposed to – I'd…I'd have my brother," He says harshly, his face slightly scrunched up, a pained look in his eyes.

There's a pressing silence during which we merely stare at each other, his eyes filled with grief and mine…with regret.

I swallow hard and take a stuttering breath. "I know," I give him a bitter nod. "I know that…And there's not a day gone by that I haven't regretted it," I say with a stricken voice, swallowing the bile that threatens to rise in my throat. There's no use for excuses – even if there are good ones. I checked. I flooed to see if he was at Grimmauld Place. But no one was there to answer. What was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to let it go? Who would've let it go after that?

He looks away to take a sip from his drink – and empties the whole glass in one gulp. The glass makes a heavy thud as it slams against the table.

"I think you should leave now," He says quietly, almost pleadingly, his voice trembling.

I press my lips together, willing away the burning in my eyes and what follows after. I want nothing more than to keep apologising, to make him feel better. But I can't. Because I'm the reason he's lost his brother. Sirius went to the Ministry because of me. I'm the reason he's dead.

The Burrow, August 31st 1996

The last weeks of summer have been mostly gloomy and dull, even though I have been with my friends and my second favourite place in this world – the Burrow.

As we visited Diagon Alley a couple of weeks ago to get everything necessary for school, we ran into Malfoy and his mother at Madam Malkins. After the unfortunate encounter, Ron, Hermione and I saw Malfoy give his mother the slip and sneak into Knockturn Alley. Naturally, we followed him under the Cloak and saw him doing business with Mr. Borgin at Borgin and Burkes antique shop. Apparently, Malfoy wanted to fix something, so badly he even threatened Borgin with someone called Fenrir Greyback. There wasn't much more information to be discovered from their short meeting, and thus Malfoy's business remains a mystery.

What bothers me the most in the whole thing was the satisfied look on Malfoy's face as he left the shop – a sure sign it can't be anything good. After discussing it with Hermione and Ron thoroughly for a couple of days, they became disinterested by Malfoy's possible schemes, which only managed to annoy me more.

"Yes, we've already agreed it was fishy, Harry," Hermione says, giving Ron a meaningful look from the windowsill where she's sitting at, rifling through her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation. "But haven't we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?"

"Maybe he's broken his Hand of Glory?" Ron suggests from the floor where he's twiddling with his broomstick. "Remember that shrivelled-up arm Malfoy had?"

"But what about when he said, 'Don't forget to keep that one safe'?" I say knowingly. "That sounded to me like Borgin's got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both."

"You reckon?" Ron says absently as he checks the balance of the broom handle.

"Yeah, I do," I say impatiently. When neither of my friends say anything, I continue, "Malfoy's father's in Azkaban. Don't you think Malfoy'd like revenge?"

Ron looks up at me with his brows lifted in confusion. "Malfoy, revenge? What can he do about it?"

"That's my point, I don't know!" I say with a frustrated sigh. "But he's up to something and I think we should take it seriously. His father's a Death Eater and…" my voice trails off as I gaze out of the window.

That must be it. Malfoy…Malfoy is a Death Eater! He has to be!

"Harry?" Hermione says carefully. "What's wrong?"

"Your scar's not hurting again, is it?" Ron asks with a nervous voice.

"He's a Death Eater," I say quietly, still staring at the window, not really seeing anything through it. "He must've replaced his father as a Death Eater," I say and turn to look at the others.

There's a short silence, and then Ron bursts in laughter. "Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"

"It seems very unlikely, Harry," Hermione says dubiously. "What makes you think…?"

"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark," I explain, as if it is obvious.

Ron and Hermione share another meaningful look. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, as I know they're not convinced. We continue to argue for a bit, until I leave the room to get my Quidditch gear cleaned up before leaving to Hogwarts. I'll prove them wrong.