NOTE: This is just a little preview. there are more to come.

DISCLAIMER: All the fictional characters appearing in this fanfiction story are not mine, they're J.; and they are being used with the only purpose of personal entertaiment.

Prologue – A Point of no Return

Any man’s death diminishes me

Because I am involved in mankind;

And therefore never send to know

For whom the bell tolls;

It tolls for thee.

- Donne

London, winter of 1979

It’s the middle of February and the mist pools think and oppressive over London. The fog is so thick this night one can’t see past one’s nose. Long pale tendrils of wet cold inclemency clutch at people’s hands and legs like fingers of ice, freezing living beings down to their very bone marrow.

The elegant business-like buildings stand proud and tall side by side. It is a busy street, even this late at night it still buzzes with feverish activity. It is said that often it is the best to hide thing in plain view. This would be such a case: where a man hides himself not in a remote location, but in the middle of one of the most concurred streets in one of the most crowded cities in Europe.

A dark figure stands on the street gazing at the building in front of him, half hidden in the shadows of the night, while people pass him by without noticing. A torrential downpour is going to fall over London soon, one can smell it. But the man doesn’t seem to notice, nor care.

Lots of people have tried to enter the same flat on the fifth floor of the building he is staring at. All of them had ended up in St. Mungo; and in Guile’s case, the grave. It’s a well defended bunker for all its apparent normality. Alarms must set off every time someone with bad intentions towards its owner comes into a two mile radius. The contention spells are most likely impenetrable for someone with the slightest intention of harm. But his intent is totally different to all those who previously tried, he doesn’t want to hurt the house’s current inhabitant, he just needs his help.

With a quick glance down the street he heads towards the entrance of the building, trying with all his might for his stride not to falter. He has already made up his mind; it is not time to turn back now. He pushes the door open without feeling any untoward resistance. Not even cheeking the flat number on the mailbox starts to make his way up the stairs with haste. First floor, second floor, third floor… after two more floors, he finally reaches the attic. There are two doors on that floor; without even as much as a second though he heads towards the one on his left.

He swallows hard and tries to ease his breathing. It won’t do to look scared, his pride won’t allow it… and it wouldn’t be convenient either. He knocks on the door, not too loud neither too quiet, loud enough to be heard but quiet enough not to seem hesitant. He can hear soft footsteps behind the door, the click of the door latch opening, and then a face appears hovering above him, in the darkness in front of him. The man stands for a second there, face unreadable and blank. He can’t really know, but he can imagine. An assessment of the situation is most likely.

The one standing outside makes to talk. The other never gives him the chance. The second after, he is being dragged inside the flat at wandpoint. The taller man has his right hand fisted around his collar and he has to make to stay on his toes, a wand being pointed directly into his face, into his left eye socket.

- What are you doing here? - asks the older man, almost spiting out the words, full of venom and hatred. - Come to kill me, Regulus? - says, pressing his wand harder against the pale skin between Regulus’ eyes.

The man named Regulus opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, he tries to talk, but finds he has lost his voice. Surely he realizes he would have never gotten through all those meticulously set up layers of wards, jinxes and alarms had he had the slightest intention of doing any harm?

- I… I... - he swallows hard as the other man’s wand gets dangerously close to his nose again. - I need… your help - says so quietly that the other man seems not to hear, and might in fact, have not. - I need help… Sirius. - states the younger man. Sirius’ face seems to soften for a moment but he keeps his grip on Regulus shirt collar strong. He doesn’t lower his wand either.

- What do you want? - says Sirius, his voice a little bit less stained with hate, but still chilly.

- It would be far easier for me to explain it if you took your wand away from my face - asks Regulus quietly. Sirius doesn’t do as told, but keeps pointing the wand at him. Regulus looks up its long shaft and into his brother’s eyes, as cold as they’ve been for what feels like uncountable years now. They’re scrutinizing him meticulously. He tries to hold his gaze, show he’s honest; but feels compelled to look away after a few minutes. It is a stare difficult to hold.

- Please, Sirius, let me talk, then you can freely maim me, kill me… or do whatever it is you prefer to do to the idiots that make you loose your time. – it seems that Sirius is going to refuse and hex him right there without further ado. – My wand is in my left pocket breast, in my outer tunic. - says reading quite accurately his brother’s track of thought, and possible reaction. Sirius then reaches slowly to his brother’s pocket and removes his wand, putting it in his own pocket.

Now that Regulus is properly disarmed, he slowly releases his grip and taking a couple of steps back, still aiming at him, he shakes his head to the right.

- Move over there – but when the smaller one makes to move his head to check, adds: - two steps to your left, two backwards. Don’t do anything stupid.

He feels his back collide with the cold wall; it is a bare corner at the end of the hallway. Clever, he thinks. He’s got him effectively cornered. He certainly can’t move without being hit, can’t try to escape. Sirius loosens the muscles in his arm, lowering his wand to breast level. He isn’t letting his guard down. Regulus is breathing heavily and looks at his feet.

- Start talking. - commands Sirius sternly. - If that’s why you’re here for, start talking. - and Regulus does as he is told. He always does. He looks at his brother in the eye and starts.

- I want out. - he stops, looking for the right words. He knows he sounds stupid. And funny enough, Sirius doesn’t interrupt him. - I truly don’t want to be a Death Eater. The only reason I entered in the first place was because I thought it would make mother happy. But again… I was wrong. - his voice is a mere whisper.

- One does not walk away from Voldemort that easily Regulus. - says Sirius looking disapprovingly at his brother; and he can swear there is also pity there. - It’s a lifetime of service or death.

- I know, but I have no other choice Sirius. - Sirius would have sworn that what he read in his brothers eyes was regret. For entering or leaving he doesn’t know yet. But he waits for Regulus to elaborate. It is a tactic that always works, and this time too because only another few minutes of silence Regulus talks again. - I have come to realize that he is not what I thought he was. That he does not fight for my beliefs, for no-one’s beliefs, he only fights to fulfil his megalomaniac dreams of grandness. I’ve realised… that I’ve been doing horrible things… for someone that is totally amoral. - he stops again, trying to put in order his thoughts.

It is hard making this confession. It tears at his pride; he has to fight with eight years of profoundly engraved habit. He is afraid it won’t be enough. Only Merlin knows if positions were reversed, it wouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve so… but he does it anyway. It is time to start doing the right thing. And he can’t quite squash hope, that despite all the bad blood it will be enough. With all this he has more faith in Sirius that he has in anyone else. And he steels himself, his face hardens.

- He’s been making horcruxes, lots of them. - Sirius doesn’t seem surprised at all. But after all they were raised by the same people. If he himself could have suspected before, so can Sirius. Suddenly, his hand flies to his pocket, causing Sirius to raise his wand again.

- Watch what you do brother. - says menacingly. Regulus stands frozen. - Now raise your hand… slowly. And don’t try anything with me. - Regulus nods, and very slowly he raises his hand. He is keeping his hand closed around a small object. - What’s that? - asks the older brother. The younger one releases his grip, and his finger close around an old faded silk ribbon, and a round solid golden medallion comes dangling from it, emitting sinister shimmers into the partially lit dust room. Realisation strikes him. - You’ve stolen one of them?

- As I said, I had no choice.

- One does always have a choice. Although there is not always a right one; or an easy one. You have condemned yourself to death. - states Sirius. - And there is nothing I can do. - his face holds no feelings, only coldness and contempt. Regulus looks at his brother’s eyes and shudders.

- You were right, all along. - says the younger, trying not to look intimidated. - And I was totally blind… - Sirius face seems to have softened. He couldn’t possibly deny that he is curious about what his brother has to say, about the constant half-uttered apologies, so he lets him talk instead of kicking him out of his flat as he had planned. - I should have listened to you. You were right… about everything. And I was wrong.

Two pairs of grey eyes meet over the wide ocean of solitude that separates them. Regulus is trying with all his might to appeal to his brother’s merciful nature. He’s supposed to have more of it than he does. He pours a world of feeling into that look. He pulls all of his barriers down; they’re useless anyway with him. And if there ever was a moment to be honest it is this one. Suddenly he looks so young to Sirius, so innocent and so lost. His gaze holds far too many horrors for one who has barely reached nineteen. Something in Sirius’ heart softens. It is a hardened piece of steel that hardly responds to touch anymore; but it does now. His brother’s helplessness tugs at the few sensitive chords it still has left.

Somehow despite the endless years of fighting, the constant insults and mutually professed hatred, they are still the only person who can read the other with a measure of success. How they can sense the others feelings and thoughts, sometimes even judge accurately the other’s honesty. Something akin to pride appears on the eyes of the eldest. He takes two steps forward and looks down at him.

- You know that a good action does not redeem a live of crime. - states the older brother. Regulus looks ashamed.

- Yes, - says quietly, and then looks up at his brother. - But what man is a man that does not try.

Sirius places a hand on his brother’s shoulder and looks at him, his scrutinizing gaze sweeping over him once more. Of a sudden, he walks up to the couch, grabs a jacket and heads towards the door. Once there, he turns around to find Regulus looking back at him, still in the same place, questioning his actions with a single look.

- We must go. - says the older brother as he unlocks the door. – You must leave the country. With a bit of luck we’ll be out of England before anyone notices your absence. No one will notice mine. Hurry up. – both brothers walk out of the flat, and sneak outside the building.

The two figures walk down the deserted streets of London under the heavy rain, they keep a fast pace. One of lesser build would not be able to keep up. The underground of London is almost deserted now, and almost everyone is drunk enough not to think twice about the oddly dressed couple. About an hour later, they’ve reached the outskirts of the metropolis. Another half an hour later they’ve reached a deserted area near a small forest. They find shelter themselves between the big trees and suddenly disappear into thin air.

::::::::::::::

A loud crack resounds in the darkness. A night owl stirs and flies away in a rustle of feathers and annoyed hoots. Violent coughing breaches the silent stillness of the night in the forest. It’s pitch-dark and there is nothing to be seen. The two figures have appeared out of the nowhere. The trees are so tall, the omnipresent green foliage so thick that not even the moonlight reaches the ground. The world is submerged in shadows.

The tallest one of the two figures starts walking in a direction that apparently leads to nowhere.

- Where are we? Where are we going? - asks Regulus in hushed tones, his brother turns around and places a finger on his lips, signalling the other to remain silent. There will be not another exchange from now on. Putting blind faith in his brother, the smaller one follows the hem of the cape willowing in front of him.

They keep walking, making their way through the maze of the trees in the night. They walk for half an hour and when the vegetation starts to clear. In front of them appears a valley with a small village nestled at the bottom, a clear gurgling river travelling its whole length like a single big silver ribbon. On the nearby hills little lights show the positions of other dwellings scattered in the slopes of the mountain. An old hunting cottage, accessed by an old rock path and an iron gate stands relatively nearby.

- Lüneburg Schlöss? You’ve brought me to Germany? - questions the younger brother. Sirius gives him a look that silences him.

They keep walking until they reach the house. The front gate opens with a loud creak that for a moment causes both brothers to suddenly jump and look around to make sure they’re still unnoticed. They cross the main garden, overgrown and wild, the darkness and solitude of the building looming ahead more than a bit depressing. Sirius draws his wand and mutters a small series of incantations that cause for the old door to open with a groan.

Both brothers enter the house and make their way inside. The house is old and definitely dusty; it is plain to see that even if the garden had left room for doubt, the house has been abandoned for a long time. It is clear that it has seen better times. The furniture is more than several decades old, and most of the curtains are ratted and frayed at the edges. Dust swirls in the atmosphere, and cobwebs have settled on the chandeliers. Despite that, it is quite well kept; it could easily be inhabited again.

Once in the parlour, Sirius lights a candle near a mirror and lights up the fireplace, filling the room with flickering light. Then he turns to his brother.

- These is one of the family properties. - Regulus is about to remark that he already knows that, but Sirius ignores his intent and goes on. - I brought you here because it’s been abandoned since Grandmother Irma decided that she didn’t quite like Germany. It was once Uncle Alphard’s and now it is mine. The good thing is no one would come here looking for you. Mostly because everyone things I sold the properties. - Regulus nods and Sirius takes a couple steps towards his brother.

- I need to see the mark. - the younger man shudders.

- Why? - says as he holds his forearm close to his chest. Sirius rolls his eyes.

- The Death Eaters will find you through it. You know that. See what happened with McMullen. Maybe not right now… this house is protected by blood wards as old as the family and every other piece of protective spell you can think of. I put all of them up a couple years ago. It’s been one of my safe houses. Therefore you’re impossible to locate right now. The house itself interferes too much with the signal of the mark for you to be traceable.

Regulus sags in relief. He never thought of that. But it is true. He knows Bellatrix commented once that when the Dark Lord feels a distorted signal from one of his followers he assumes they’re in one of the properties from the older families.

- …But they will, eventually. If both, father and I die, you are going to be the landlord on paper too and you don’t know how to keep the wards up and working, do you? - says looking at his brother sharply. Regulus shakes his head. - If that happens they’ll find you through the mark, and they will kill you. We need to remove it. Or at least try. Understood? - the younger man nods. - Your forearm, show me.

The younger man stretches his arm out and rolls his sleeves up on his left arm. The tattoo of the Dark Mark is there, a sharp dark contrast against pale skin. Sirius frowns at the sight and grabbing him by the arm he watches carefully the pattern of the tattoo.

Regulus is about to complain that it is most assuredly protected, but he remembers then that his brother has worked most of his life around wards, jinxes and protections of every kind. He is one of the best, and even the Death Eaters can’t deny that. He isn’t going to screw it up.

- I’ll have to have a look at it, I need to know how it works, or else I’m working blindly here. – He pushes Regulus on a chair and knees on the carpet so he has the arm level to his eyes.

Without further elaboration Sirius places the tip of his wand on the mark. His eyes are half lidded and his breathing slows with concentration. Regulus feels a bit alarmed. Surely Sirius needs to know how deeply it is connected to him… looking at it won’t suffice, but he has the inkling that what he is about to do won’t be pleasant at all.

Regulus feels a soul-deep intrusion immediately. He can feel the magic cursing through him, in his veins, bones, muscles. It is a magic alien to him; it feels far more intense and rawer to him, who has only been attuned to the gentle and timid vibrations of his own. It is white-hot brilliant and rough at the same time, like the rush of a tidal wave rapidly taking over every corner of his body. And still it is somewhat familiar. It would be a touch far beyond invasive if not for his subconscious recognition of the hand behind it. It was an oppressive sensation as it was.

And despite knowing it is Sirius invading the privacy of his own body and mind, it is the most excruciatingly shameful experience of his life. His very core bared for the intruder to see. The feeling of asphyxia is starting to become unbearable, nausea threatening to overcome him when Sirius decides to retreat. When he is gone Regulus is left gasping for air. He raises his head and finds Sirius in front of him, a disgusted grin on his face.

- What did you find? - asks Regulus, almost scared about his brother’s reaction. Sirius shakes his head as if trying to shake off a bad feeling.

- It’s disgusting. Your own magic is interwoven with the spells on this tattoo. Almost part of the ink itself, not the pattern or the motive as it is usual. – Regulus feels grateful that Sirius bothers to elaborate, makes him feel less lost, have the impression they can find a way out of this. - This mark binds your magic to Voldemort’s. That’s how he controls all of his Death Eaters. It is a powerful kind of Dark Magic. Through that bond, you’re feeding his magical core. The mark strengthens him, and weakens you. And the link is a complex series of very small, tiny really, links at irregular intervals. It's going to take days, weeks maybe, to untangle this knot, not hours, and we're running out of time.

- That means you can’t remove it? – asks disheartened. Sirius looks at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

- No, it means I have to think.

And saying so, the older man stands up and starts pacing up and down the room, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. He is thinking fast, and hard. His current speed of though is so high that you can almost hear the gears in his brain turning. He moves like an imprisoned animal, walking around his brother, circling him, reaching one end of the room then the other, and back to the same spot. Now and then he stops brusquely, only to start walking again. After what feel like hours he stops again and looks back at his brother.

- Separate compartments! That’s it! – Regulus doesn’t understand. But he does understand the sparkle of triumph in Sirius’ eyes. - We'll have to leave it on you. - Sirius continues. - I can't untangle all of this right now… and the fact it is warded against you doing it yourself only would add to the difficulty…

- But…? – Regulus prompts.

- I can't remove the spell - Sirius says, - I might be able to separate it from you in the deeper sense… cut it off from your magic.

- The tattoo will still be on my arm? – he asks, half alarmed. - What's to keep it from simply reporting my location?

- We won’t know anything for certain until we try. Your arm. – says, his voice stained with authority.

Regulus, instinctively pulls back, thinking he is about to sever his arm. Sirius seems to read his mind and rolls his eyes.

- I’m not going to amputate your arm. That wouldn’t solve anything. You’d still be traceable. - that seems to relieve a little the younger man, who reluctantly offers his arm to his brother. Sirius grabs his wrist, keeping a strong grip around it. On the last moment he looks up to the sacred eyes trained on his hands and take pity.

- It is set so your magic is powering the spells and providing the magical support for it to work. The strain of powerful spells, most of them not meant to function continually for a long time, on his magic is minimal for it goes all on your own; it allows him to maintain as many of these as he wants. - Sirius explains. - Separating it should act like depriving a lamp of oil. The mark may still be there, but the signal will die off. Maybe we can even make it short-circuit.

He grins with a confidence that suddenly feels very reassuring and the younger man mirrors his brother’s grin.

Sirius goes silent again, his lips moving noiselessly, the tip of his wand on the mark. Regulus can feel bits of power flaring and subsiding beneath the skin of his arm. Minutes tick by, and he only watches silently the head bent over his forearm; trying valiantly to contain the nausea.

The mark starts sink back into his skin. The edges cutting into the white flesh like sharp boiling knives. The tattoo curls upon himself, refusing stubbornly to die. He can feel it lurch and struggle inside itself. It is slowly fading, but refuses to do so without putting up a fight. His vision is a blur now… Regulus fear is bigger than humanly comprehensible. The last thing he can feel is an arm across his shoulder as the world slips out of focus.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he come around, but when he does a sodden rag is swiping vomit from his lips and chin, the taste of bile strong in his mouth. The first he does is look back at his arm.

The mark is gone now, but the place where it used to be had been replaced by burnt skin, mangled flesh and tortured nerve endings. The wound is bleeding a lot. He can’t quite move the whole limb.

Sirius hands him a piece of cloth to swipe the grime from himself as he sets to work hurriedly in stopping the blood loss. He mutters healing spells with efficiency, trying to do as much damage control as possible. But the bleeding isn’t stopping. He has spent most of his life with strong cushioning spells on his arms and legs just to avoid something like this to happen. Blood weakness (1) doesn’t attend to reasons and circumstances.

Sirius looks at it critically and then with a silver knife he extracts from his boot cuts himself on his right hand. He lets his own blood pool in his hand before upturning it and pressing his wound together with his brother’s. He maintains the pressure until he feels the stickiness grow thicker and the blood flow slowly halt. Then, he retires it. Regulus’ wound is ugly and charred but at least has stopped bleeding. He had already forgotten what it was like having someone to do that for him. After applying a healing spell Sirius places a conjured bandage around the wound; not very effective, but at least would stop the younger boy reopening it or getting it infected and bleeding to death anytime soon.

- It’s going to take a while to heal but I guess that you’d better be maimed that killed.

Regulus swallows, his thoughts still a bit muddled.

- Now, listen to me carefully. – he urges his brother, forcing him to look into his eyes. - You must promise me that you’ll lay low.

- I’ll do… whatever you tell me. - states the youngest, a hint of fear glittering in his eyes.

- You must change your name, at once. Find yourself the most muggle name you can come up with, not a hint of magic on it, got it?

The youngest nods. He knows not how yet, but he is far too confused to protest or ask for more clarifications.

- Good. Secondly, you must never ever, under any circumstance use any kind of powerful magic; any kind of magic that could lead the German Ministry of Magic to you.

Sirius is holding his chin so his head doesn’t slip and he keeps meeting his eyes; his other hand in Regulus’ cheek in a manner that seems almost loving.

- You’ll also live in the muggle world; the magical world is dead to you. You have been dead at least an hour. Getting my words? - again, Regulus nods. - And do not even try to contact the wizarding world; do not interest yourself in trying to know what’s going on in there.

He is dead… of course that’s what they’ll think has happened. His signal just gave out. He is free as only a dead guy can be.

- You won’t be hearing from me again. Don’t try either. You are dead Regulus. - the shorter boy nods again.- And do not under any, I repeat, any circumstance come back to England. I’ve already risked enough as it is. My neck is in as much danger as yours now.

- I’ll do so Sirius. I promise.

- Good. - then he turns around and without even a word he heads towards the door, but is stopped by his brother on the last second. Sirius starts looking for his coat. Then he turns back for a moment and looks at him pensively.

- If you ever, by any reason… which you shouldn’t; need to leave you have to remember something… - he seems to struggle to find a way to say this without seeming crude. – you’re already way deep to your neck. A little more won’t do anything. Move fast. Don’t give the European ministries a chance to track you in time. Apparate as fast as you can from one country to another. Cross borders as often as you can. Do with a quick series, then stop. After a while do so again. They can’t track you when you cross a border. Alarms go off, but they can’t know where you’ve gone. By the time they guess you’ll already be three countries away. It’ll take even more time for several ministries to realize they’ve got the same problem. Get them tangled in the mound of bureaucracy required… ask for foreign collaboration. They never do that well. Cross over to soviet lands as much as possible. Those never collaborate and they’ll get stuck without anything to do... don’t get to your last destination apparating. It should make your trail impossible to trace…

- Sirius! - the aforementioned man stops on his tracks and turns around to find his brother proffering that thing in his direction, offering him the medallion.

- No, you keep it. Keep it safe; don’t loose it from your sight. Try to destroy it if you can. - Regulus nods. The older brother walks back to the door, but before leaving he turns back to his brother one las time. - Remember, stay put and lay low!

And saying so he leaves, slamming the door shut. His tall frame slipping back into the darkness and the deep river of actual living breathing people and human sorrows. And Regulus is left there, on the shore, stranded forever and condemned to lie among the reeds and forbidden to look into the glittering waters, looking at his wound and scared to death. This is the last time he’s ever going to see his brother, the last person on earth that might look at him with anything else but pity or contempt. And that is a frightening thought.

::::::::::::::

The sky is dyed with the red tint of dusk. The stagnant air was chilly nonetheless. A shovel of damp soil settles on top of the dark polished empty box. There are a few present, but none of them talks. All of them are dressed in dark robes, and most of them couldn’t care less. The marker is plain, brief and impersonal.

It is a hurried affair. Failure such as this, stings. There were many things they could have thought would happen. This, was never one of them. Many hopes were held and many calculated risks were taken… but fate had a weird sense of humour.

No human being would be able to sustain such a blood loss. The shame and impropriety for the family not to have a body. Travers said he most likely came to enlarge the count that so far make Wilkies, Guiles, Morctan, Rosiers…

But the wind stirs and the people leave and the place is left deserted. Because no one really grieves, cares yes, but not strongly enough to freeze out in the weather. After all he was no-one. Another pawn who believed he truly made a difference. And life goes on and nobody will come back. One does need a heart to truly miss.

R.A.B – Beloved son. 1961-1979. May he rest in peace.

(1) Regulus suffers from haemophilia, a congenital illness which the wizarding world calls blood weakness. It causes a blood deficiency that makes it impossible for their blood to coagulate properly. It is known as the plague of the aristocratic classes through all Europe. Regulus’ family and many others of a magic background stretch the normal life span in those that are born with it protecting them with all kinds of spells to avoid bruises and cuts… but those can’t avoid a wound inflicted magically.

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