Chapter Text
Prologue
September 4th, 1979, 11 PM – Regulus Black
Regulus lit the candle with a whisper of flame and a flick of his fingers.
The library was still. It always was, this time of night—heavy with dust and legacy, the weight of a dozen portraits sleeping behind enchanted glass. He liked it here. It smelled like parchment, old spells, and the cold edge of moonlight.
His hands didn’t shake as he unfolded the heavy parchment. Not even a tremor.
In the corner, Kreacher stood stiff and silent, eyes too wide.
“It’s just a letter,” Regulus said. “Don’t look like that.”
The elf didn’t respond. He hadn’t since Regulus told him the plan.
No—not a plan. Plans had contingencies. Plans had outcomes. This was a last resort in formalwear.
Regulus dipped the quill, tapped it once, and began to write.
After he finished penning the letter he reread it once, then folded the parchment into thirds. Pressed his seal into the wax—not the Black family crest, not anymore. Just his initials. Small. Plain. R.A.B.
He stood, crossing to the tall window where the owl waited. A quiet, ordinary bird, feathers mottled and eyes sharp.
Regulus tied the letter to its leg.
“Take this to my brother,” he murmured. “His flat, please. If he’s not there, someone will be.”
The owl blinked. Then, without a sound, it launched into the dark.
Regulus didn’t watch it go.
He moved instead to the edge of the desk, where the ceremonial knife lay waiting. He didn’t hesitate. The cut was small. Intentional.
The spell was older than the House of Black. A blood anchor. It would hold his soul in place—temporarily. Long enough, if he was lucky. Long enough, if someone read the letter and understood.
He wiped the blade clean, breath steady.
Behind him, Kreacher’s voice broke the silence. “Master…”
“I’ll be fine,” Regulus lied.
He looked back at the candle. It guttered once. Then steadied.
Then he turned, and disappeared into the dark.