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Hunting Time Approaches


Druella Black raised her palms high over her head, spinning in a steady rain that fell from the sky over the muddy little park before Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The sky was dark grey and her usually pouffy hair was soaked and hanging in stringy clumps ‘round her face, but it had been so long since she’d felt the rain that she danced and laughed, sing-songing loudly so that her voice echoed about the square.

Walburga stood in the window of the house, staring out at Druella, her lips curled in disapproval. She poured a cup of steaming tea and put it down on the saucer on a tray. “Kreacher,” she called, looking around.

Kreacher crawled out of the cabinet nest, dabbing his globe-like eyes with the hem of his tea cloth toga. “Mistress calls for Kreacher and Kreacher comes to obey his mistress,” he said, his voice even croakier than usual.

Walburga thust the tray toward him, “Take this to the Dark Lord.”

Kreacher creeped closer, dropping his toga and flapping his ears, “Kreacher will take the Dark Lord his tea, yes Mistress, Kreacher can do this…” He held the tea tray over his head and teetered out of the kitchen and up the short steps to the parlor by the front door, where the Dark Lord had made his lair. He pushed the door opened timidly and entered the dark room.

Voldemort sat in a chair by the fire, which glowed an eerie green, flickering lowly as Kreacher carried the tray into the room. Orion Black and Abraxas Malfoy flanked his chair, each sitting on little wooden tables taken from the squat table in Regulus’s room where Kreacher kept the gobstones set up and polished and ready for his master’s return. Fenrir Greyback leaned with one arm against the mantle before the fire, baring his sharp canine teeth in the reflection of a foggy glassed mirror that stood on the shelf. He ran his tongue over the pointed incisors, a bit of drool falling over his chin as he did so. He swept his palm across his face to wipe up.

Kreacher slid the tray onto a small table beside the Dark Lord’s chair carefully.

“The full moon comes closer, Greyback; your hunting time approaches,” Voldemort said, “What plans have you to increase my army?”

Fenrir growled, “The best, my Lord. My omega’s current position opens quite a lot of blood for the taking - young blood, mind. The juiciest sort.” He grinned, cackling quietly. “He’s got quite an impressive brood of students under his care.”

“What good do school children do me?” the Dark Lord demanded.

“What’s the one thing that every momma and pappy will fight for if not their bairns?” Greyback hissed.

Voldemort thought a moment, then leaned back into his chair, an amused smile spreading slowly across his face, “I see.. Go on.” He reached out and took up the teacup from the tray Kreacher had pushed to his side.

“We get the children, take them from their school where their ickle widdle parents think they’re so bloody safe and one by one we show them we mean business… one little, two little, three little werewolves are turned,” -- he snapped his teeth -- “Just like that, I’ve hunted down an army of children, ready to fight for the cause of the Dark Lord… and then the parents know we’re not kidding about and they begin to serve to keep us from changing the rest of their ickle little ones…” Fenrir grinned, “Meanwhile, we weaken the strong ones. The folks in the Resistance. It’s their kids we bite first to draw them out. You endanger their children and they take notice, they come out of their little hiding places to save them… That was proved in the forest by the Potter property. Didn’t even get away from the fight before Potter swept in to protect his son.” Fenrir snickered, “Every hunter knows -- it’s easier to smoke the prey out of hiding than it is to get them in their dens.”

“And your… omega, you call him… he is willing to bring you the children?” Voldemort asked.

“He can’t say no to me,” laughed Fenrir. “As his alpha, he ain’t got a choice but bringin’ the children to me. Even if he tried to resist my command… he can’t. Natural law dictates he can’t. And he knows I’d kill him.” Fenrir grinned and snapped his teeth menacingly.

Voldemort mused, “Very good… very good…”

The front door of Number 12 banged open, letting in a cold gust of air that threatened the life of the terrible green fire. Kreacher hurried over to feed more logs onto the hearth, taking up a poker and stirring the smolders carefully. Druella flounced into the room rather dramatically, looking a bit like a drowned rat from her dances in the rain and she cackled as she crossed over to where Fenrir, Orion, Abraxas and Voldemort were meeting. “The wolf is here!” she cried in a mocking, sing-song voice.

“And, now, so is the bitch,” Fenrir replied, grinning at Druella as she raised her wand, a smile on her face.

“Don’t make me hex you with that filthy little mouth of yours,” she said, eyes twinkling in a wicked, playful manner.

Fenrir stood upright and took hold of Druella’s wrist, bringing his mouth to her hand to kiss the top of it, then slowly moving his mouth up the length of her arm so that his teeth only just touched the surface without scratching even a single molecule from her skin. When he reached her shoulder, he had come up behind her and he laughed quietly, her head tilted back, as he pressed his face ot her neck, “Don’t make me snap,” he whispered in her ear, clicking his teeth together as he spoke the words.

Voldemort rolled his eyes, “And don’t make me throw up with this pathetic display… Remove yourselves if you must act like vermin.” He scowled and looked at Kreacher. “Elf. I desire food.”

“Kreacher will get the Dark Lord food, yes, Kreacher is the Dark Lord’s to command, yes…” he scampered back from the room, down the stairs to the kitchen.

He’d just entered when he let out a shriek. Walburga was sitting on the floor before his cupboard and in her hands was Regulus’s letters. Kreacher stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the witch with his bulbous eyes. Walburga stood up slowly, her eyes fixed on the House Elf, the stack of carefully bound letters in her hands - still bound just as Regulus had left them with Kreacher. Kreacher’s hands trembled.

“What is this?” Walburga hissed, holding the letters up for Kreacher to see.

“Kreacher guards Master Regulus’s things, as Master Regulus has asked his Kreacher to,” he croaked.

“Liar.” Walburga stared at the Elf. “You stole this from your Master’s room.”

“No!” Kreacher wailed, “No, Master Regulus is giving those to Kreacher to watch over as Master Regulus is away at school!”

Walburga glowered at Kreacher and she took two rather swift steps forward and was just raising her wand when Orion burst into the room. “The Dark Lord requires audience with you, Walburga,” he said breathlessly. “It’s about the Boy.”

Walburga threw the letters onto the table in their little bundle. “I will be back to finish this discussion,” she said heatedly to the Elf, and she hurried from the room after Orion.

Kreacher stood there in the kitchen, his ears flapping nervously. He put the little tray he’d been carrying up on the table and stared at the letters, only just tall enough to see over the plane of the table. He looked in the direction of the parlor. There was only one thing to do - in order to follow every order he’d been given, Kreacher needed to make the letters disappear. And quickly. Without touching them. He grabbed hold of a frying pan from beneath the sink and clicked his fingers, using his limited elfish magic to levitate the stack into the pan. He stared at them, and then he took a deep breath.

CRACK!

He was standing the Slytherin table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts at dinner time. Several students had let out loud shrieks of surprise at the appearance of the filthy House Elf, including Barty Crouch Jr., Regulus’s friend, who all but dove beneath the table. Regulus blinked in surprise at Kreacher’s appearance before him, standing in his pudding.

“Master!” Kreacher exclaimed, relieved at seeing Regulus there, “Master Regulus - Kreacher is bringing you the letters that needs protecting.”

Regulus looked at the pan the elf proffered. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be watching those at home,” hissed Regulus.

“Mistress Walburga found them in Kreacher’s hiding place,” he explained.

Regulus’s face seized in concern and he took the stack of letters out of the frying pan Kreacher held them out at arm’s length in. “Did she read them?” he asked.

“Oi, Black, mind telling your filthy elf to get off the table?” demanded Alecto Carrow.

“Yes, there’s no telling where that thing’s been!” shrieked Amycus Carrow.

Several guffaws went up and down the table, rippling through the Slytherins that were gathered ‘round. Regulus turned red. “Kreacher, get off the table.”

Kreacher hurriedly climbed down to the stone floor, staring up at Regulus, “Kreacher needs to go back to the Mistress… Oh Kreacher will most certainly be in most largest trouble for bringing the letters to Master Regulus, but Kreacher will take whatever punishment he must in order to keep his secret for Master Regulus!”

Several of the guys were still snickering.

“Yes, that’s very fine,” said Regulus. “Now go away.”

Kreacher stared up at Regulus with watery eyes. He hesitated only a moment - he couldn’t resist taking the command for too long - and then he looked away, heartbroken that Regulus would send him off so quickly - and he clicked his fingers and CRACK! he was gone.

“What’s that he’s brought you?” sneered Severus Snape from down the table, “A pile of Love Letters?”

Regulus glowered at him. “I’ll have you know, this is evidence.”

“Evidence of what?” questioned Evan Rosier.

“For the Dark Lord,” Regulus said. And, quickly fabricating, he added, “I’ve got a private interview with him for when I get home. He told Mother that I would be a most excellent Death Eater. When he heard what I was willing to do and what information I have, he instantly wanted to meet me and he’s gone and set up a private meeting with me.”

Evan Rosier lowered his fork from his mouth.

Barty looked up at Regulus in narrow-eyed surprise.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Rubbish,” he murmured.

Regulus shrugged, “I guess you won’t the Dark Lord’s favorite anymore,” he said.

Evan looked at Severus, “What’s he going on about?”

Severus’s face was quite red with anger. “I have no idea,” he drawled just the same and he turned back to his food.

Regulus tucked the letters into his book bag safely, his stomach turning as he realized what sort of hole he’d dug himself into, making up a story such as that. When he looked up from his bookbag, there was a moment where all the students in the houses separating Gryffindor and Slytherin tables had moved just right so that he was staring directly into Sirius’s eyes, which were cocked with curiosity. Sirius, it seemed, had seen Kreacher on the table from Gryffindor table - all of his little mates were looking over, too - and now Sirius himself was half-standing, James’s hand on his arm to stop him coming over.

Quickly, Regulus stood up and hurried away from the table.

Barty Crouch did not follow.




Regulus was sitting on his bed, the letters all sorted out across his duvet, making sure they were all there and that they had not been disturbed. Luckily, it seemed Kreacher had managed to bring the letters to him before Walburga had seen anything of importance. He sighed in relief and started gathering the letters back up into their stack.

Now that he knew she hadn’t found out anything, he started worrying about Kreacher. What would Walburga do to the poor House Elf for disobeying her? Regulus wondered. He hoped nothing too severe. She was fond the Cruciatus on Sirius, he knew, but Kreacher was a good elf and the punishments he’d received were very far and few between and typically self-inflicted. He hoped that Walburga would not go too hard on the elf…

The dormitory door opened and Barty came in, avoiding looking at Regulus, keeping his eyes cast to the floor as he walked across the room to his trunk and opened it up, looking through it. Regulus bound up the letters as he had them before, tying a very special knot so he would know if they had been disturbed. He looked over at Barty. “Are you alright?” he asked, “You’re awfully quiet.”

Barty shook his head, “Just brilliant,” he replied, but his tone was dismal and cold.

“What’s wrong?” Regulus asked.

Barty sighed and looked up, “You didn’t tell the Dark Lord about me, I’ll bet, did you? When you set up your private interview with him, you didn’t include me?”

Regulus looked taken aback, “Actually, I --”

“It doesn’t matter,” Barty interrupted, “I don’t care. It’s just that I thought we were mates and that you and I were going to join the Knights of Walpurgis together and pursue a career fighting for Lord Voldemort together. I didn’t think that friends left friends behind like this.” Barty shook his head, “I forgot we were Slytherins is all.”

Regulus waved his wand at the door, “Colloportus,” he cast and there was a click. He looked at Barty, about to tell him that he’d made the whole thing up, but Barty’s expression was rather pathetic and watery and let down. Regulus realized what a great deal it was to Barty that Regulus might not have been his friend and Regulus felt something stir inside of him. He felt bad for Barty. Regulus paused, gathering himself, and, having already fabricated a part of the story, he kept on. “Mother made the appointment, not I. The Dark Lord is staying at my house, you know, and Mother made the appointment for me for during the Holidays. I didn’t know she was doing it. Kreacher told me… a couple nights ago, I… I summoned him and he told me about it.” Regulus was getting better at this lying stuff by the minute.

Barty shrugged, “You might’ve told me is all.” He still looked hurt. He’d found whatever it was he was looking for and he stood up and headed for the door. “Alohamora,” he said, breaking Regulus’s locking charm and reaching for the handle.

“Wait - Barty -” Regulus said desperately, for he realized that it wasn’t just Barty that was worried about losing their only friend at Hogwarts - it was him, Regulus, too. “It-was-supposed-to-be-a-surprise-but-I’m-trying-to-get-Mother-to-let-me-bring-you-along-too,” Regulus lied all in one rush of words. Part of him hoped that Barty hadn’t understood what he’d said so he could find some way to take it back, but the looked dawning on Barty’s face was quite obvious he had.

“Really?” Barty asked, lighting up.

“Yes, of course,” Regulus said, “I can’t meet the Dark Lord without my best mate! Obviously!”

Barty ran back across the room, tossing his book onto his bed and wrapped his arms ‘round Regulus, “So you didn’t forget me after all!” he said gleefully, “I was so worried you didn’t want to be Death Eaters together anymore!”

Regulus hugged Barty back and stared at the wall over his shoulder, trying to work out how he was going to get out of his lies, as Barty pulled away and gushed on about how grand it would be, being Death Eaters, and working for the Dark Lord as he rose to power.