With the funeral over, Arcturus Black III exchanged a few words with Orion, leaning on his cane, then departed with Lucretia. Cygnus Black III and Druella were making for the yew wall as well, her hand on his arm, her veil still in place.
Lucius tipped his head in a subtle signal and stepped deeper into the shadows of the yews.
Regulus took his meaning and followed.
They stopped beneath an old yew, its trunk broad enough to hide two men, the light through the canopy laying crosshatched shadows over them.
Narcissa's gaze swept toward them, then withdrew.
She knew what Lucius meant to discuss. He'd told her. A flicker of worry crossed her eyes and was quickly pressed down. She folded her hands before her, showing no intention of following. Men's business. She would not intrude. She would only worry.
And yet, worry aside, she wasn't much concerned for Regulus's safety. She had seen what he'd done at the Christmas banquet. Where power was concerned, this little cousin needed no one fretting over him.
What worried her was something else.
Lucius asking Regulus for help benefited Lucius, she knew that. If Regulus agreed, it benefited relations between the Blacks and the Malfoys too. She knew that as well. But for Regulus, it meant one more step into that circle, one more thread binding him to that lord's affairs.
She couldn't decide whether that was good or bad. He was her cousin, and she didn't want him drawn in on her account. Though in her heart she also knew: no one dragged Regulus into anything he didn't choose.
So she chose silence, watching their backs recede, and did not follow.
Sirius noticed too.
Standing a few paces off, he watched Regulus walk aside with Lucius, and his expression soured at once. Mouth pulling down, brow knotting, eyes fixed on Lucius's back. Plainly displeased. But he didn't move, and didn't speak. With Narcissa's warmth still fresh, the collar straightened, the concern, the instruction to eat properly, he opened his mouth, closed it, and held his peace.
Narcissa's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him. She could read exactly what he was thinking. He had no fondness for Lucius, and even less for the sight of Regulus talking with him alone. But he was holding it in.
She caught that detail, and said nothing.
A small clearing between two yews, far from the crowd, darker still.
Lucius stopped and turned to face him, posture relaxed. Around Regulus, he'd abandoned the Malfoy reserve long ago. Because of Narcissa, and because of what he'd witnessed with his own eyes.
"There's a matter I wanted to raise."
He moved his cane to his left hand and brushed his right lightly down his robes. "The Dark Lord has assigned certain tasks of late. One of them involves a werewolf."
His brow creased, distaste flashing through his eyes, and he delivered a precise summary in that elegant way of his: "Vile. Base. Filthy. But dangerous."
Regulus's eyebrows rose a fraction. He waited.
"Fenrir Greyback."
"He's pledged himself to the Dark Lord, and he and his pack have been entrenched in northern Yorkshire for the better part of a year."
His gaze drifted off Regulus's face, swept the distant headstones, and returned.
"The problem is that the beast has grown too bold. A string of attacks in Yorkshire, plenty of people bitten, a fresh batch of Werewolves made. New Werewolves are harder to control. More volatile, less obedient. And most recently, he was operating near a wizarding settlement. His trail was found."
Here his phrasing turned delicate. "The Dangerous Creatures Control Division has begun laying detection nets in the area. You understand the current situation..."
He looked Regulus in the eye. "Many things still need time. Until the right moment arrives, certain doors are best left closed."
Regulus knew what he meant.
Voldemort's strategy remained growth in the shadows, avoiding open confrontation with the Ministry of Magic at this stage. Minchum's neutrality was a performance. He played deaf and blind because Death Eater activity still fell within an ignorable range. Greyback's rampaging would shrink that range, forcing the Ministry to respond. And at that point, Minchum's act would collapse.
"So the Dark Lord needs someone to deliver a message."
Lucius turned his right hand outward, a trace of resignation crossing his face. "Rein it in. Cooperate with the broader arrangements. Suspend all action outside designated targets. Stay away from wizarding settlements. And bring along a shipment of supplies. Food, daily necessities, a potion that eases the pain of transformation. Terms for his cooperation."
He finished and looked at Regulus, and a troubled expression flickered across his face.
"Honestly, Regulus, the errand itself is easy. Delivering a message. The hard part is dealing with Greyback." His tone was casual, threaded with sincerity. "The creature doesn't reason. Negotiating with him is like discussing how to divide a kill with a starving animal. Present him with logic, he won't listen. Press him with status, he won't yield. If I go, he'll cooperate, because the Dark Lord's name carries weight. But he'll find ways to make the process unpleasant, and that unpleasantness..." His mouth twitched, and the corner of his eye jumped with it. "Tends to be filthy."
He looked at Regulus, and his tone grew more direct, with the frankness reserved for people one is close to.
"You're powerful, Regulus. I saw everything at the Christmas banquet. When I go to meet Greyback, if you're standing beside me, a great many things become simple."
Regulus didn't answer at once.
His gaze traveled past Lucius to the handful of Blacks still conversing in the distance.
Lucius didn't press. His cane tapped the soil in an easy rhythm. By his reckoning, anything short of outright refusal meant the door was open.
Regulus brought his eyes back to him.
This was Lucius Malfoy. The request laid out plainly, the purpose stated clearly. No circling, no wielding Voldemort's name as pressure, no pretense of desperation. He simply came asking for help in his own name, in the tone of a discussion, direct.
That directness was itself shrewd. Concealment would be pointless. Invoking Voldemort's banner would be worse than pointless. The heir of the House of Black was no Death Eater, no subordinate of the Dark Lord. Leaning on that lord's authority would only backfire.
And in truth, none of this was what it appeared.
On the surface, Lucius needed someone who could keep Greyback in check. But finding capable wizards was trivially easy for the Malfoys. Abraxas had spent decades building his network. The Malfoy line ran thin, father and son, Abraxas to Lucius, but plenty of wizards made their living in the family's orbit. Long-term hired guards. Researchers and craftsmen in Malfoy enterprises. Old connections who owed favors. More than a few could fight, and Abraxas kept several formidable old hands under him. Any of them could escort Lucius through Greyback's territory with room to spare.
So Lucius hadn't come because it had to be him.
He'd come for the relationship.
The socializing of shrewd men: I come to you for help, I willingly place myself in your debt, and that debt becomes the bond between us. If you help, our houses gain a layer of goodwill, we gain an understanding, a foundation for the next collaboration. If you refuse, he loses nothing. The gesture has already been made.
With Lucius's cunning, this was an investment in the relationship.
Regulus saw through the whole calculation, and found no fault in it. The approach was sophisticated, even. Volunteer weakness, manufacture a debt, make Regulus feel he was doing Lucius a favor when in fact Lucius was helping him weave into his network. To Lucius, the value of this favor far outweighed the trouble of a trip into Greyback's territory.
As for what it signaled about Voldemort, Regulus considered.
The Dark Lord had handed Greyback's affairs to Lucius. Set a young heir barely past twenty to manage a beast. Perhaps a test, to see how Lucius handled a situation with no leverage at all. Perhaps grooming, exposing him to dirtier, rougher work to grind down his edges.
If Regulus's guess held, Abraxas would die at Voldemort's hands one day. A conveniently timed case of Dragon Pox. And that day was not far off. Then Lucius would inherit the House of Malfoy, becoming an heir who was rich but young, capable but not yet hardened. Easier to control.
Seen that way, Voldemort's current moves made sense. He was polishing Lucius in advance, making him capable enough to stand on his own, with the ceiling of that capability set by Voldemort himself. An obedient, competent Malfoy was far more useful than a shrewd but not fully controllable Abraxas. The family's political resources and Galleons mattered too much to the Dark Lord. Worth the time spent cultivating this heir.
All conjecture, of course. But Regulus rated the odds high.
As for the Malfoys themselves: a target worth winning over, but not yet. Abraxas still lived, and the family's voice still rested with him. When something truly happened to Abraxas, when Lucius took the reins, when he felt Voldemort's grip closing and learned that gold alone wasn't enough, that he needed real allies... that would be the moment for the Blacks to move.
So if Lucius wanted to build the relationship now, Regulus didn't mind playing along. Each side took what it needed. Neither lost.
But his answer had nothing to do with Lucius's calculations.
Werewolf. The word had set off an entire chain of things in his mind.
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