Sacrifice

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

May 7, 1979

Nape Cottage, Aranshire, Hogsmeade Valley, Scottish Highlands

In Hogsmeade, Laire had managed to find Chinese chomping cabbage seed oil and African red pepper seeds at Dogweed & Deathcap and Brood & Peck had special ordered diricawl teardrops for her. The Apothecary in Diagon Alley provided dragon liver (ethically sourced) and Aconite fluid. She had even traveled to Holyhead in Wales to get powdered root of asphodel, blatta pulvereus, and left handed nazle powder. A few ingredients she'd even collected herself, traveling the scottish hillside on her trusty Tinderblast. A broomstick known for being not as fast as the Cleansweeps or the Comets, but highly resilient.

Currently, all the ingredients were simmering in a cauldron in the woodshed behind Laire's cottage. It required a quarter stir to the right each evening at dusk, and Laire had just stepped outside to carry this task out, when she heard the light flutter of leaves. Looking around, she spotted a bright shimmering, ghostlike animal approaching from the treeline: a patronus. She thought it was a coyote at first before recognizing it as a gray fox. For a moment the fox stood silently before her. Then it spoke, in a voice that sounded exactly like Regulus.

"On my way. I've got it."

The fox turned on its heel and disappeared back into the forest. Its message conveyed.

Laire breathed in relief. The more days that had passed, the more her concerns had grown. She feared that Regulus had been caught or that he hadn't been able to get their final ingredient. She had been checking The Daily Prophet consistently, unable to relax until she'd confirmed that Regulus' death wasn't one of the dozens that filled the headlines each morning.

Coming up the hill towards her, Laire recognized Regulus' stride. He seemed tired but still smiled politely at and crouched down to speak to, Laire's ten year old neighbor, Oliver Ollivander who was building slingshots in the doorway of his family's home. Conversation complete, he finally approached Laire, sliding his rucksack off his shoulder with an exhausted sigh. He stepped behind the stack of firewood that concealed the woodshed and its potion from Laire's neighbors and sunk down on a log. He smilied tiredly up at her, his singular dimple flashing on his cheek.

"That was easy," He said with a jokingly sarcastic smirk.

He looked well. No noticeable injuries or harm to his body. Laire's stress alleviated as she leaned in, throwing her arms around Regulus' sturdy presence.

"Thank Merlin you're okay" She said, her fingers tightly gripping Regulus' muscled back, "I thought for sure he'd catch you".

"You of little faith," Regulus said with a stunned laugh. It took him a few seconds before he hugged her back, his chin resting on top of her head as he pulled her in.

"It's You-Know-Who. He's not exactly trickable." Laire defended. Breathing in Regulus' smell of pine and parchment as she pressed her cheek into his chest.

Their embrace lingered. Laire listening to the comforting thud of Regulus' heartbeat through his chest. His scent and steady heartbeat calming her racing thoughts. They parted slightly, Regulus leaning back enough to make eye contact. He brushed a lock of Laire's hair behind her ear.

"I made sure to cover my tracks," Regulus assured her, his voice carrying a mix of determination and weariness. He pulled back, reaching for his rucksack and rummaging until he retrieved a small vial containing a single tiny piece of cotton. "The final piece," he said, handing it to Laire.

"His - His saliva is on this?" Laire asked, her voice full of breathless anxiety. This was the closest she had ever come to You-Know-Who and the closest she hoped she would ever get again.

"I hope it's enough," Regulus said with a nod, "I swabbed the side of his goblet after he drank from it."

The gravity of the situation sank in as Laire carefully took the vial, her fingers trembling slightly. She knew the risk Regulus had taken to obtain this minuscule sample. Their plan hinged on this tiny piece of cotton. Laire unstoppered the vial, tilting her chin to silently direct Regulus to the woodshed. As they entered and looked down at the pale gray potion bubbling softly, Laire took a shaky breath.

"Well, it's now or never." She tilted the vial and pulled the cotton fragment out with a careful wave of her wand. With another careful movement from her wand, the cotton wrung itself firmly over the cauldron. Nothing noticeable dripped from the cotton into the cauldron, but a soft humming noise began to emit from the liquid and the bubbling of the potion suddenly stopped.

"If it changes color, it means his soul is already broken. No longer whole." Regulus read from the volume that sat next to the cauldron. For a moment the pair looked at the humming grey potion, praying it would stay this color. Praying that they weren't too late to stop Voldemort from creating a horcrux. But, with a sharp inhale of air from Laire, the potion turned a deep midnight black.

"We're too late." She breathed. Her heart lurching recklessly against her ribs, "He already made one."

A steam began to rise from the black liquid, spreading upwards and sneaking through the cracks in the roof of the woodshed. Outside, there was a loud crash of lightning. Regulus made a noise of pain, his hand clasped over his forearm. His dark mark shining through his robes and between his fingers.

"And now he knows that someone knows."

***

A frantic energy of panic spread over the pair. Simultaneously and without words, they both came to the same conclusion: they needed to dispose of this potion immediately and discretely.

"I shouldn't have let you brew this so close to your house." Regulus said. He reached for his wand, murmuring incantations under his breath. A series of spells, forming a containment field around the cauldron, isolating the potion from the outside world. The blackened liquid churned within its magical enclosure.

"Let me?" Laire asked, her mind racing for a way to neutralize the potion as she flipped through the book of dark magic they had found the potion in, "I'm a big girl. I made my own choices here. I knew the risks."

"This might work," Regulus murmured, leaning over Laire's shoulder, his attention on the book as well. His finger tracing over a page etched with an intricate diagram. "But we need an ingredient, a rare herb known as Silverthorn."

Laire nodded, determination etched across her features. "I'll go. It's risky, but I know where it grows."

"I'm not letting you go by yourself, after the sun has set, into the Forbidden Forest," Regulus snapped, seeing the direction Laire's gaze traveled.

"Do you have another idea, Reg?" Laire asked, frustratedly running a hand through her long wavy hair, "There isn't a shop open this late, and we'd just call attention to ourselves by purchasing it anyways. Also, one of us has to stay here and keep the containment wards up, if they fall, he could potentially track our location."

"Then let me go," Regulus insisted, his strong hand wrapping around Laire's wrist.

"You can't, Reg. You've got no idea what the herb looks like or where to find it. And isn't it just as dangerous waiting here. Hoping the wards don't fall. Hoping Death Eaters don't arrive." Laire argued, gently prying Regulus' fingers off of her wrist.

She didn't wait for the blue-eyed man to try to come up with another argument. She was already scared enough as it was. Her flight or fight signals firing off in her head like a lighthouse scanning the sea. A particularly persuasive argument from Regulus might keep her frozen in place. After all, she wasn't a Gryffindor. Nothing about Laire felt particularly brave.

"I'll be back." She promised him. One hand tracing a reassuring line down his back as her other hand pressed something into his free hand. His vial of memories; returned to their owner. Breathing in, Laire imagined the air flooding her lungs to be courage. She turned and quickly left the shed, pulling her mulberry cloak more tightly around herself as she began her journey towards the Forbidden Forest.