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Secrets and Private Words


Kreacher’s shrieks filled the bedroom as the putrid scent of a losing gobstone filled the air. Regulus laughed as the House Elf flapped his short little arms, trying to protect his large and wrinkled nose from the assault. Regulus clapped when the little stone had finished spraying at the elf. “I’ve won again,” he said pointedly, grinning at the elf. “How many times does that make now, Kreacher?”

“Master Regulus has won at Gobstones every time we has playsed it,” Kreacher answered croakily. “Every time, and we has playsed it over and over.”

Regulus grinned, “Correct. I am the Gobstones champion of the world. One day, I’ll play in a professional league and everyone will come from far and wide to see me play!” He sat in his little chair rather regally, his chest puffed like a peacock.

“From far and wide, yes, Master Regulus, they will come from far and wide,” the House Elf nodded, eager to please his master with these praises.

Regulus grinned. “Reset the board, Kreacher!”

The house elf hastened to put the marbles back in their starting positions and he’d nearly finished when the front door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place slammed shut so hard that the walls shook and the table upon which they were setting up the game trembled so badly that several of the gobstones rolled from the game board and onto the floor, making them release their foul stench.

“Ugh!” complained Regulus, clutching his nose, “That’s awful! Kreacher, make it stop smelling,” he commanded.

Kreacher looked helplessly at the floor and then up at the despondent, demanding expression his master had and he clicked his fingers to clean up the mess instantly, unsure what else he could do to stop the horrible stench of the gobstones from offending his master’s delicate nostrils.

There came loud shouting from downstairs, muffled only by the door, and Regulus looked at Kreacher with wide, questioning eyes. “What do you reckon’s going on down there?” he asked the Elf.

“Kreacher doesn’t know what’s happening downstairs, Master Regulus,” he said, “Kreacher has been here, playing Gobstones with Master Regulus and hasn’t been downstairs yet to find out.”

Regulus didn’t seem satisfied with this response, he scowled and got up and went over to the door, opening it up and sneaking out onto the landing of the stairs. He peered down through the bannister rungs to the floor below, where his father, Orion, stood in the doorway, his cloak hood pulled down and speckled with the mist that was falling outside as evening came. Walburga was dusting off his cloak with her palms and drying him with her wand, but he didn’t look happy at all, quite the opposite.

Kreacher crouched beside Regulus on the stairwell, peering down.

“...had him, right there in the room… The Dark Lord will have my head for this!” Orion’s voice was a mixture of anger and a quivering fear. “You mark my words, Walburga.”

“It’s hardly your fault,” she replied. “There were others there that are just as responsible for the blood-traitor’s escape as you are.”

“It was my job,” Orion answered, “I was assigned to see to it that we get as much information from him as possible and then kill him and instead --” he guffawed loudly, “Instead, he simply leaves and we have no information and no corpse to present to His Lordship. I fear it will be my own that will replace it,” Orion murmured.

Walburga’s voice was solid and stern, “If it is, you will know at least that it was for a good reason. The Dark Lord does not move without purpose. You’ve violated his order. You should be prepared for anything.”

Orion was quiet for a long moment. “He wasn’t even that impressive a wizard,” he murmured, stepping into the parlor below. “He only used the disarming charm and the stunning spell at us. Ruddy idiot.” Orion sank into a chair in the parlor and Regulus craned his neck to still see the shadows of his parents, long and stretching out from the cast of the dim lamp, but the words that they were saying were utterly lost to him from their distance apart.

Kreacher touched Regulus’s arm with his spindley little fingers, “Master Regulus should not be listening to Master Orion’s private dealings with the Dark Lord.” He started to bow back into the bedroom, but Regulus did not move. “Master Regulus?” coaked Kreacher.

Regulus had begun to inch closer to the steps.

“Master Regulus mustn’t be listening to Master Orion’s private words!” Kreacher hissed, a note of desperate pleading to his voice. But Regulus was already several steps down, pressed low to the stair to go undetected as he crept to where he could see and hear a bit better. Kreacher followed, though he had begun to wring his tiny little hands nervously, torn between two masters.

Orion sighed, “If only we could figure out where his house was at, we could get ‘im easy as anything.”

Walburga’s voice was low and dangerous. “Charlus Potter is the father of the boy Sirius is friends with from school. James Potter.” She had practically spat the name of her son, as though it was distasteful. “That’s where he went when he left at holiday.”

“Are you rubbing salt in my wounds? Bringing up that boy - my greatest failure of all - at a time like this?” Orion snarled.

Despite the anger radiating from Orion - so hot and terrible that Regulus was cowering even on the stairs - Walburga’s voice was still level and cold. “So we have the boy show us the way.”

There was a long silence as that information sank in - so long in fact, that Regulus had crept just a teensy bit closer to see if they’d somehow blocked him from hearing. But what he saw was Orion, grinning up at his wife with a wide Cheshire Cat sort of smile.

It was a terrifying smile, one that made Regulus’s blood run a bit cold in his veins and he hated it so much, hated the way it made him feel, that he couldn’t look at it even another moment. He turned and crawled silently back up the stairs and into his bedroom, followed by the old House Elf. “Close the door, Kreacher,” he commanded once they were in the room.

“Yes, Master Regulus,” Kreacher croaked.

Regulus paced from the table holding the abandoned game of Gobstones to the window, looking out over the late afternoon sun.

“Is Master Regulus upset?” Kreacher asked.

“No,” Regulus lied. He paused his walking. “Kreacher, I forbid you to ever tell anyone what we’ve just heard - anyone at all.”

Kreacher nodded and bowed, “Yes, Master Regulus. Kreacher will speak of it to no one, ever. Kreacher would never speak of Master Orion’s private words.”

“Good.” Regulus went to the window and stared down at the square. The muggle boys were out there playing, fresh home from school for the day. They were splashing about in their wellingtons in the puddles left by a noontime rain that had fallen over Grimmauld Place. Regulus looked at the tree, at the branch where Sirius usually perched when he was there at holiday.




There came a banging upon the door at four o’clock in the morning. Sirius, who had been laying awake since three, worrying about Remus, who was out in the Shrieking Shack that night, sat up and stared at the door, his heart racing. Was there something wrong with Remus? He leaped out of the bed and hurried across the room, wrenching open the door, half expecting McGonagall. Instead, it was Derek Bell.

“Potter!” he practically shouted the name when Sirius opened up, pushing past Sirius to shake James hard enough that he nearly fell out of the bed, “Wake up.”

James stirred, slow at first, despite the violent shaking, and he grabbed his glasses lazily from the nightstand, ”Come off it, I’m gettin’ up,” he murmured, then he shoved the spectacles onto his face and focused on Derek and a look of panic came about him. “What’s happened? Is he okay?”

Sirius had closed the door behind Derek and hurried over to wake Peter, who grumbled something unintelligible around his mandrake leaf, and stayed sleeping on.

“Yes, yes, he’s alive and home now,” Derek said quickly, “But the Death Eaters are definitely after him.”

James looked terrified at Derek, “How do you know?”

“Because he was picked up at Diagon Alley,” he replied, “They brought him down Knockturn Alley and tried to get more information from him about the Resistance, threatened him like, and he managed to escape - but only just. Dumbledore’s gone to set a Fidelius Charm on your house.”

James clutched his blankets, his heart racing, “What’s that mean?” his eyes were wide.

“It’s the ultimate security system! Dumbledore’s making your house unplottable and the Fidelius Charm basically means he’s going to make it a secret where you live at and only people who have been told the secret from Dumbledore will be able to find your house,” Derek explained. “The Death Eaters won’t be able to locate your father so long as he is in the house. He’s safe.”

“But everyone know where my dad lives! It was all over the papers wasn’t it?!” James asked in a panic, “The Parish’s house was all over the Daily Prophet!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Derek said, “Even if they went there, even if they stood on the street right in front of your house, they still couldn’t find it, James, because they don’t know the secret. Don’t you see? It’s foolproof.”

Sirius spoke up, “My dad did that to our place at Grimmauld Place. You’d probably be able to see it now because you know my address, but if you’d just come there without knowing about it… all the muggles laugh all the time that the houses go from 11 to 13. Nobody can figure out why there’s no Number 12, but there is, they just can’t see it because it’s a secret.”

James shivered, “But how will I get home?”

“Dumbledore will tell you the Secret when he gets back,” replied Derek. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small scroll. “Here,” he said, holding it out to James. “Your Dad gave this to Chriselda Blythe to pass along to you. She’s just given it to me.”

James took it and quickly unraveled it, his eyes traversing over the writing quickly, eager to see proof that his dad was okay and well.

James,
I know that you are worried about your Mother and I, with everything going on, and I just wanted you to know first hand from me that there is nothing to worry on. Your mum and I are alright and we will continue to be so. Dumbledore is going to help us, and nobody - especially Lord Voldemort - messes with Dumbledore and comes out the other end better for it. We’ll be having the FIdelius Charm on the house, which is pretty cool if you ask me. It will be neat living in an invisible house, don’t you think?
I do, however, regret to have to tell you that, due to current dangerous circumstances, your mother and I won’t be able to come out to Hogsmeade to visit the school for your tournament. I expect full details, so you best be ready to give them the moment you return home. I wish so very much I could be there - you’ve no idea how proud I am of you, my son.
See you soon, get good marks on your exams, and remember your mother and I love you very, very much.
Sincerely,
Dad

James looked up, his throat tight despite himself. He felt immensely spoiled, even as the tears burned his eyes.

“What’s a’matter?” Sirius asked, concerned.

James shook his head.

Derek’s eyebrows had gone up, too. “Potter?”

James shook his head, “I’m just really glad he’s alright,” he murmured. “Thanks for telling me, Derek. I appreciate it.”

Derek nodded, “Not a problem at all. Look, I’ve got to get back, there’s still some stuff that needs doing - Chriselda and I are headed to help clean up some of the mess that was made at Diagon Alley before the shops open this morning. But I’ll be back at breakfast. Get some rest, the both of you, so Bilius doesn’t have a goat about me waking you lot up…” he glanced over the sleeping form of Peter, “Well. Most of you.” Then his eyes landed on Remus’s empty bed. “Where’s Remus?”

“Hospital wing,” Sirius replied automatically. “He wasn’t feeling well and Pomfrey’s keeping him over.”

Derek nodded slowly, “Oh… right.” He got up off the edge of James’s bed, where he’d been sitting as they talked, and went back to the door. “Anyway, go back to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, and thanks,” Sirius echoed as the door closed tight behind Derek. He looked at James the moment he’d gone. “Alright, what’s really the matter?”

James started crying. “He’s not coming to the tourney because of it.”

Sirius sighed and crawled off his own bed and onto James’s, hugging him awkwardly, “Sorry, mate.”

“It’s stupid to be upset about it,” James said, “With everything going on. It’s selfish and stupid. I’m great big prat for crying about it, like a two year old who isn’t getting his way.”

“No you aren’t,” Sirius replied, “You’ve worked really hard to be Seeker for the tourney and you just wanted your dad there and it’s just one more thing that the bloody Dark Lord has gone and ruined.” He shook his head, “It’s just one more awful thing that’s happened, that’s all. You aren’t a prat, and you’re definitely not selfish or stupid.”

“Thanks,” James choked on the word.

Sirius nodded, “No problem, mate.”