The Art of Living - R. Black

ten

Regulus Black

February 28th, 1996

I rehearse what I'm going to say to him as I reach for the Floo powder. How I'm going to confront him, call him out for his lies.

Meredith is at work, coaching the Holyhead Harpies for the match this weekend, so she doesn't know where I'm going. She played four seasons with the Harpies before retiring when she found out she was pregnant with Atlas. Then they asked her to come back and coach in 1988.

I step into the fireplace and throw the Floo powder down.

"Albus Dumbledore's office."

When the smoke subsides, I brush the nonexistent ash and soot off of my jacket and step out of the fireplace. Dumbledore is standing beside his pensieve, looking down at the silvery light spilling out of the basin.

"Mister Black," He said, "You're punctual as always."

"Dumbledore," I acknowledged him before I stepped further into his office, peering around him to the pensieve.

I had written to Dumbledore two weeks ago, asking to meet with him about something. I hadn't said what exactly I wished to speak with him about, only that it was extremely important.

"Take a seat," He said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk.

I hesitantly sat down as Dumbledore took a seat behind his desk. His pale hands were folded on the old wooden desk, and he watched me as I shifted in my chair.

"I think I know what you wish to speak with me about, Mister Black," Dumbledore said.

"Do you?" I asked, meeting his gaze.

"You have theories. You want the locket back," He stated.

I tilted my head slightly. "Ah, that," I said. "As much as I would love to get that Horcrux back from you, that is not what I wish to talk about."

Dumbledore sat up straighter.

"Then what is it you wish to speak with me about?"

"The night the McKinnon's were murdered."

I see his face fall momentarily, but it is quickly covered up by his normally unreadable expression.

"Such a tragic night," Dumbledore said. "Marlene was one of our best."

I can feel him trying to get into my mind. Legilimency. Unfortunately for him, I've been practicing Occlumency since I was thirteen years old.

"Meredith's memory was tampered with that night," I announced. "She could recall every event of that night except for who the other attacker was. She only saw Barty."

Dumbledore nodded, "If I remember correctly, Miss McKinnon was very worked up when I saw her that night."

"It's Black."

"Well it was McKinnon at the time," Dumbledore said. "Her memory was already tampered with when Mister Trouche brought her to me that night."

"Was it?" I asked.

Dumbledore shifted in his seat. "Are you questioning my authority, Mister Black?" He asked.

"No, of course not," I replied. "I'm just a bit confused about the situation. I was hoping you could give me some clarity."

He didn't respond. The older wizard just waited for me to speak again.

"You know I grew up with Barty? Had almost all of my classes with him for seven years, and shared a dormitory with him for seven years."