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The Blood, The Bowl, and The Locket


“What is this place?”

Regulus Black’s voice echoed off the stone walls, vibrating through the darkness.

“Lumos,” came the Dark Lord’s only reply. And the bone-white wand illuminated at the tip, a glow so bright and concentrated that it was near to blinding flashed from the wand and the Dark Lord’s structured face was cast in the glow. Regulus winced, eyes already unused to light, and looked away so as not to be staring directly at it - or at the piercing stare of Voldemort. The Dark Lord turned, taking his wand with him, the light shifting, casting long, shivering shadows over the stone interior of the cavern.

It wasn’t a terribly huge cavern, from what Regulus could see of it at least. It was dank and dreary and terrible, though, and there was a horrid, thick smell to the air that made it hard to breathe deeply. Regulus thought that it smelled like death and rotting seaweed. They walked around a narrow ledge that bordered the cave and Regulus peered at the black void beside them warily, his eyes searching it for some clue how far down it went… when he realized it wasn’t a black void at all. It was water. Smooth, unmoving water, that stood so stagnant that the surface itself had been hardly visible.

Regulus’s heart beat faster. He’d had dreams of this place - he knew he had. Terrible dreams. Dreams of falling and falling and falling forever, of never stopping falling, of dying falling through the thick black, unmoving water…

He looked up at Voldemort’s back as they walked, and he quickly pressed himself as close to the wall as he could, keeping his shoulder scraping against stone as he glanced uneasily at the pool beide him and he wondered how deep it was, if it truly was unending like in his dreams, and what they could possibly be doing here, in this cave, in this dark, beside these still waters.

Suddenly Voldemort came to a stop, and Regulus, having been staring down at the water, nearly walked right into his back and had to stop short so that his trainers scraped the floor and several pebbles and a spray of dust flew forward and sprinkled across the water’s surface, the stones falling through with plopping sounds.

Voldemort hissed with displeasure, his eyes flashing at the water’s surface and - for a moment - Regulus thought he might see fear in the Dark Lord’s eyes - concern, at least - as he cast his wand downward, aiming for the surface, staring, watching… his eyes searching... But nothing happened, the surface returned to it’s perfect smoothness. “Be more careful, boy,” he commanded. “It does no good to awaken that which lies in the depths.”

Regulus felt as though his very blood had been replaced by ice. He looked up at Voldemort, then down at the smooth surface of the water, and he felt excruciatingly afraid of what might linger there that was so incredibly, horridly terrifying that even the Dark Lord himself was frightened of it...

“Suscitabo navis,” Voldemort breathed, his voice like smoke weaving through the air.

And there was a shivering in the water, a murmuring across the surface, and slowly from the blackness there came a shape, water pouring over it. A small boat, dark grey against the black of the water, with a slightly translucent appearance, as though it were a ghost. Voldemort looked at Regulus and he nodded at the boat - a silent command to step aboard.

Shaking, Regulus stepped forward. He very much would have preferred to stay right where he was, on the solid ground, away from that horrible pool of water, but he wasn’t much in the mind to challenge the Dark Lord’s command at this time, either. Voldemort was in no mood to be prodded. Especially not after what happened back at Durmstrang, and Regulus was still unsure what purpose they could have here in this cave, what reason the Dark Lord was taking him here into this place. So he took a deep breath and he reached for the boat, which was close enough to get in, but far enough he would need to jump a little over the water, to hang in space above the surface for a moment, and the thought terrified him. He looked at the black, still water as he stepped over it, stretching to reach the boat, clumsily making the little thing sway on the water from side to side as he clutched the sides. The boat was soaked, the wood slightly softened from being under the water, and it was deathly cold. He sat on the bench seat and watched as the Dark Lord stepped ungracefully into the boat as well, careful that his long robes did not touch the water and it struck Regulus how humorous Voldemort holding his robes up over his calves might be if only he wasn’t so fearful for his life.

The Dark Lord tapped the wood with his wand and the little boat moved from the ledge they’d been standing upon, floating forward across the water, as quiet as a whisper.

“Do you realize my power, boy?” Voldemort asked.

Regulus clutched the seat he was on, his heart striking his ribs madly, a bit dizzy from the anxiety pressing in on him from all four sides, increasing every second that they moved further away from the solid ground, further over that terrible water. “Yes, sir,” he said, struggling to keep his voice steady, “Yes, my Lord,” he quickly corrected himself.

As though Regulus had not spoken, the Dark Lord continued, “I am infinitely powerful, Regulus, and whatever you and your brother and his little friends do -- I cannot and will not be defeated.” He paused. “Most especially by teenagers.”

Regulus stammered, “I wasn’t trying to --”

The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed.

Regulus shut his mouth.

“Many of the most powerful wizards in the world have tried against me, tried to capture me, tried to best me. And they have all failed at it. I’ve killed Aurors sent by the Ministry - great aurors, ones they lauded as their best.” He stared down his nose at Regulus. “All who fight me, all who stand against me, perish. I even kill my own, if I must.” He paused. “Like your father.”

Regulus looked down at his knees.

“You see, Regulus, that the greatest weakness of being human,” Voldemort continued in the silence that followed, “Is that mankind is susceptible to the effects of death - that they are forced by time and mortality to bow before Death.” The Dark Lord’s voice rang with a charisma of a public speaker, rang of truth and an unfailing strength that had a certain quality to it that one could not help but like. Regulus thought of a spell he had once learned that would make any upon whom it had been cast believe the caster to be wholly trustworthy and he struggled to keep himself from falling into such traps with the Dark Lord. After all, no matter the smooth speech that came from his mouth, this man was evil personified. “And unlike other wizards, who are content with being powerful in what Death has alotted them as their life, I have found a way to be more powerful than them - to be more powerful than Death himself. I, Regulus, have found a way to escape Death.”

Regulus murmured, “But there’s no escaping Death, sir.”

The Dark Lord looked down at the boy. “Perhaps for those who are less powerful than I am.”

Regulus’s heart quickened.

“But when you are as powerful as I am, Regulus Black, then Death is an opponent to fear no longer.”

Fear or something like it flickered in Regulus’s dark pupils and a low, chilling laugh throbbed from the back of Voldemort’s throat, a smile curling his pale lips. “You thought you knew how powerful I was,” he said lowly, “You thought that you had some idea of what you were up against… but I tell you now, I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality, am more powerful than you have ever dreamed me to be… and you do not fear me enough.”

Regulus’s throat constricted, “Sir… I… I fear you.”

Voldemort chuckled, “But not enough.”

And there was a jarring jolt that threw Regulus forward slightly and he caught the sides of the boat in a blind panic, his heart nearly stopping, thinking they were being attacked by whatever it was that lay beneath the surface of the water and he squeezed his eyes closed, certain that life was about to be ended… It took him a moment to realize that they hadn’t capsized or been attacked but had simply reached another shore, an island in the middle of the smooth black lake, and Voldemort was getting out, swinging his leg over the side of the boat and stepping out onto the rock they were moored beside.

“Get out, Mr. Black,” the Dark Lord’s voice was ice-cold, “You have a lesson to learn.”

And, shaking, Regulus pulled himself from the boat.

The island was small, the stones steep and slippery, and Regulus slipped on the algae, the slime slick beneath his trainers, so that he fell and his trousers ripped at the knee. He winced, feeling the skin tear as well, and when he stood up, there was a fair amount of blood visible through the hole in the leg of his trousers and he frowned at it, swept it away with his thumb and was about to mend it with his wand when Voldemort’s voice rang out - “We have not got all day.” So he got up, leaving the leg bleeding as he hurried to answer the Dark Lord’s call.

At the top, the rocks were smooth, though no less slippery.

The Dark Lord was standing in the center of the tiny island, where there stood one stone, perpendicular, jutting up from the ground like a short table. Voldemort moved around it, pacing in circles, a grin upon his face as he went, his features resplendent with amusement.

Regulus approached and bowed his head, “My Lord,” he said lowly.

Voldemort raised his wand in reply and it was as though Regulus had a fishline attached to his belly button, he was tugged forward quickly and he scrambled to stay balanced upon his feet, catching himself on the edge of the stone plateau. Regulus was surprised to find, hewn into the top of it, a basin - deep and rounded and empty. He stared down at the basin… wondering what it was meant to hold. The Dark Lord stood directly opposite of him and he smiled at Regulus, and then reached out and grabbed Regulus’s hand, pulling it so that Regulus was jerked forward again, so that he ended up leaning prone over the little table, his cheek pressed to the cold stone.

“Do you know, boy, how a pensieve works?” Voldemort asked.

Regulus shook his head. “No, sir.”

With a flick of his wand, a heavy, invisible weight pressed on Regulus’s back, holding him down, and the Dark Lord released his arm to resume his pacing around the stone as Regulus stood there uncomfortably. “A pensieve is a device with which one may review memories,” he said lowly, his voice slithering through the air, snakelike, as he walked. “It is a sort of bowl into which a potion is poured that allow you to see the extracted memories of others when added to the solution.”

“Is this a pensieve, then?” Regulus asked.

“No,” Voldemort replied, “But I thought that it might allow you to understand the concept of the Potion that we are about to brew. I know that nothing like it is taught in the walls of Hogwarts, as I myself did not learn of this until after I left the school.”

“What is it?” Regulus questioned, his breath short.

“Cauchemar liquide,” Voldemort said elegantly. “Or somnum exterreri solebat.”

“Liquid Nightmare?” translated Regulus.

The Dark Lord’s shadow passed by. “I forget that you are well educated, a member of the Most Honorable House of Black, of course you are.” He chuckled, and leaned close from behind, his mouth nearly touching Regulus’s ear as he hissed, “Why is it, Regulus, that, as intelligent as your family is bred to be, you are all so idiotically inclined to try to resist me?”

Regulus bit his lip, then, “I do not resist you, my Lord, I am your - your servant, I - I’ll do whatever it is you require of me - I --”

“Led your brother to Durmstrang, to assist him in freeing my prisoner?” Voldemort interrupted.

“I was trying to - to bring him to you,” Regulus’s voice was thin, almost pleading, “I was trying to serve him to you for your bidding, my Lord. What you saw before - in my mind - it was the lie I was telling to Sirius. I wasn’t helping him to find James Potter! I was leading him, like a sheep to the slaughter… I was leading him to appease you, my Lord.”

Voldemort stood upright and he chuckled again, a low, husky sort of sound that was undeniably creepy as he stepped away and Regulus saw him come ‘round the basin once more.

Suddenly there was a loud sound as something struck the basin, making Regulus flinch, afraid there would be pain, but the object simply lay in the basin below his face, never touching him and Regulus rolled his eyes to look down at it. It was a locket - silver with a dark amber-like stone in the center, a clasp holding the stone closed, the chain coiled about it, gleaming in the low light of the cave. Upon it was engraved the insignia of Salazar Slytherin.

“An old family heirloom,” Voldemort breathed proudly, “And so… so much more…” He sounded excited at the thought of whatever more the locket was, and he reached down to stroke it gently with his long-nailed fingers and Regulus looked up at him to see his mouth had curved into an endearing smile, as though he were a proud parent looking upon the face of an infant child. “That which is contained in this locket is most precious.” Voldemort smiled, “It is among my finest achievements…” He continued stroking the stone, “You might say that it means so much that it has sort of become... a part of me.” He laughed and withdrew his hand.

Regulus asked, “What is it?”

Voldemort did not reply, but continued to walk around Regulus slowly. “You understand why something as precious as that would need protection from any whose ill will might threaten my belonging.” The shadow cast over Regulus once again each time he passed by from behind, like a sundial, revealing where around him the Dark Lord hovered, and Regulus watched as he moved. “Liquid Nightmare shall serve me quite well.”

Regulus asked, “And how is it brewed?”

Voldemort returned to the front of the basin and smiled down at Regulus. “I thought you’d never ask. You see, Liquid Nightmare is not simply brewed, but it is extracted. It is what results when the venom of a dementor is sipped and extracted from the mind, as memories are extracted for a pensieve. The venom, if extracted correctly, can be then mixed with a few other ingredients to create the potion, which induces the next drinker into excruciating hallucinations, such as that which they may experience during the administration of the dementor’s kiss.”

Regulus felt a chill slip down his spine.

“To create it, one needs a willing sacrifice who will drink the venom to produce the memories which will be used to create the potion,” Voldemort explained.

He put a bottle down on the stone basin. A small, pitch black vial.

Regulus stared at the vial.

“Gather your wits about you boy,” whispered the Dark Lord, “You’re about to repay the debts you owe me for your mistake.”