Oblivion

In the dark, decrepit townhouse, Hermione had never felt so hopeless. Listening to the creaking of the building's bones while the wind battered the windows was eerie enough to keep the girl awake long after Harry and Ron had slipped off to sleep. She wondered how it was possible for the pair of them to sleep so soundly when she was plagued by worry and fear. Sitting up from the musty green couch she'd been using as a bed, Hermione crept past Ron's sprawled body, hoping that the loose floorboards wouldn't betray her midnight wanderings.

Looking around the remains of the library, Hermione wondered if Grimmauld Place had ever been as grand as she could imagine. Even when everything was polished and whole, she doubted that it was ever a place of warmth, if Sirius's memories were anything to believe. Now, it was a hollow husk, holding only painful memories and faded dreams.

Hermione wished that they didn't have to stay there, but she couldn't deny that it was the best bet that they had at the time. It was still Unplottable and the Black family blood wards remained as long as Black family members still survived. Ron was convinced that Professor Snape would reveal their location at any moment, but Hermione was positive that the Death Eaters had already been by and found the hideout lacking. It was certainly in quite a state when they'd found it.

Kreacher had explained to them that Mundungus Fletcher had been by, stealing from the Ancient and Noble House of Black, including the locket that they were looking for. Now, Harry had the hairbrained idea to steal the locket back from Umbridge at the Ministry that she'd reluctantly agreed to, knowing that her life was forfeit, if they lost. She would make that sacrifice, if only to provide future generations a better chance.

Creeping up the stairs, Hermione followed where her feet were taking her, unsurprised to find herself standing in front of Regulus's bedroom door. Tentatively placing her hand on the knob, she turned the broken brass before stepping inside the younger Black's sanctuary, pointedly ignoring the sign that forbade entrance without Regulus's express permission.

Talking with Kreacher had been illuminating in more ways than one. They'd learned the true identity of R.A.B., knowing that Regulus had sacrificed his life, thinking that he would be able to take down Lord Voldemort in the process. After hearing Harry's description of the cave and the army of inferi, the trio knew that there was no hope of Regulus surviving that on his own. At least, Hermione mused, they finally knew the truth of what had happened to him.

She just wished she could have told Sirius that his brother had made the right choice in the end.

The room smelled stale and she was very aware that it had not been disturbed until recently. It felt a bit ghoulish to be breaking the stillness that was likely out of respect for the son that Orion and Walburga had lost. Hermione certainly didn't like the shrieking memory in the painting downstairs, but she couldn't imagine what it would feel like to never know what had happened to your child.

The walls of the room, which had probably once been a brilliant silver and emerald, had slowly faded over the decades they had been left untouched. Letting her fingers caress the forgotten walls, she slowly made her way to the small, neat cluster of hangings Regulus had up on his walls. A hint of a smile, Hermione thought that it rather reminded her of her own room; except, where she had pictures of Harry and Ron, Regulus had very serious pictures of himself from his time playing seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

The Regulus in the wizarding photograph did not wave or smile at her, and she was taken aback by how intense his grey eyes truly seemed. As though he already had the weight of the world on his shoulders at only seventeen. With a sigh, Hermione supposed that she could relate to that.

Turning, she let her eyes flicker to the other major difference between her and Regulus. There, on the green walls, was a cluster of newspaper clippings all focused on the good work done by Lord Voldemort. The paper had yellowed too long for her to be able to read, but she could imagine all the wonderful propaganda that Regulus had just eaten up. Knowing that he died still didn't change the fact that Regulus had been a Death Eater at one point and she had not.