INFERI (REGULUS BLACK)

42

Both brothers appeared with a pop in a deserted, desolate alleyway. Sirius glanced meaningfully at his brother, who honestly did not look well, when they landed.

"You feeling nauseous?" he asked, surveying the area as Regulus chugged down the Polyjuice potion.

"No," Regulus replied shortly, after the transformation was complete. The potion didn't taste that good, in Regulus's opinion. It was quite bitter, like Walburga's favourite dish, which poor Kreacher had to make almost everyday. He shuddered at the thought of it.

"How do I look?" he asked his brother, placing a portly bowler hat on his head. It was a black, polished thing, which they'd nicked off the poor bloke from whom the hair came.

"You look exactly like those Pureblood Lords at the Balls," Sirius snorted. "But that'll do."

Regulus strode towards a tattered awning, and knocked forcefully on the shuttered window present. It creaked open, just how it ought to.

For the last two years the Black brothers had been tailing a few dodgy characters, trying to find their shop. It was quite a far-fetched plan, but there was nothing else they could do. With Orion dead, they had no hope for any other lead. By a sudden stroke of luck, about a year and a half ago, they'd traced down the shop, and how to enter it. Such places often had a tight security system.

"Bedlam, flotsam, filibuster," Regulus recited, feeling quite odd. Who in their right mind would choose such a password?

The window opened more. A wizened old geezer with rotting teeth poked his head out, greedily taking in Regulus's expensive attire. "How may I help you sir?" he leered.

Regulus cleared his throat contemptuously. "Am I at Shadowick and Purges?"

"Yes sir, though you do not look like the type of man to meander in this part of the city? Can we be of any assistance?"

"I would like," Regulus sniffed disdainfully, "to make a purchase. That is, if you have anything worthy of my attention."

"Why come here then sir? There are many other reputable stores to visit." Till now that man hadn't noticed Sirius, his eyes drilled on Regulus. He faltered, hesitating to say anything. The man narrowed his eyes at Regulus, like a bird who had spotted its prey. Sirius panicked a bit, and made a gurgling sound. Both Regulus and the man fixed their eyes on him. One's held caution, the other's panic.

"And who may he be?" Shadowick sneered at Sirius.

"He is my secretary," Regulus said sharply. "And if you do not respect him, it'll be the last thing you do." The dangerous look on Regulus's face caused Shadowick to shrink back, but he still eyed Sirius distrustfully.

"Back to my question sir. Why here?" Shadowick turned back to Regulus.

"You often find quite ... interesting — trinkets in such shops," Regulus said haughtily.

"Well the  sir, I hope you have a big enough purse. We here at Shadowick's and Purge's do not take kindly to haggling," with another spine-chilling sneer, the man opened the door for them.

The shop was ghastly. Dark, dinghy, with a suspicious smell floating about, Sirius did not like this place at all. Even though they were in the Muggle world right now, he couldn't help but feel a tingle of Dark Magic in the premises. Unidentified substances were stoppered in glass bottles. Strings of rotting objects were strung from the room, sometimes hitting Sirius's hair. He swatted them away.

"Well sir, what can I get you?" The man looked positively eerie inside the dark atmosphere of the shop.

"I would like to look around a bit. Alone," he added forcefully when Shadowick moved to escort him.

The man obliged, though quite reluctantly. Sirius and Regulus went towards a shelf, beady eyes watching their every move.

"Let's just nick that scroll and scarper," Sirius whispered furtively into his brother's ear. "He's not the right sort of bloke."

"Of course he isn't," he hissed back. "You don't find 'the right sort of blokes' in such business. But I agree, we should leave quickly."

Both brothers combed the premises for the scroll, interrupted only but the insistent nagging of Shadowick. It was quite clear he was nervous — but for what reason, they did not understand.

"I beg of you sir, please, buy something and leave!" Shadowick cried for the umpteenth time.

"Here!" Regulus said triumphantly, grasping a scroll in his hand. Sirius looked elated.

Shadowick paled at the sight of Regulus with the scroll. "So it is you," he said feebly, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "It is you. Run if you care for your life! Leave the scroll."

"No," both Regulus and Sirius said obstinately. "We're not going without it."

Regulus pulled out a wad of money out of his coat pocket. "For the scroll," with a mocking bow, he added, "now we shall take your leave, good sir."

The brothers were almost out of the shop, however, when a large crack startled them.

The Quirods. Again.

Sirius inwardly rolled his eyes, exasperated. Why did they always turn up where he and Regulus were?

One Quirod seemed to have recognised Regulus, and gave a breathy hiss. "Come here boy," it beckoned Regulus.

Both brothers took out their wand, ready to fight, to protect themselves. The Quirods shook back their sleeves, and began to cast quite dangerous spells. Regulus and Sirius battled against them, while Shadowick cowered behind the counter, moaning and grumbling.

"Reg, watch out!" Sirius yelled, seeing the blast of blue light drawing close to his oblivious brother, too busy fighting.

The warming was too late. The spell collided with Regulus, and a blinding white light engulfed the room. Sirius clung to his brother's wrist as the unmistakable feeling of a Portkey swept over him, whisking them away from Paris.