Summary: When he didn't remember and then suddenly he did and wished to forget again. Or where Regulus survives, hits his head and becomes the Cloud Arcobaleno.

Disclaimer: Neither Harry Potter nor Katekyo Hitman Reborn is mine.

Warnings: Language?, Reborn, Black Family in general, others I'm not sure of, absolutely NO pairings, no Beta

Rating: T

Word Count: 4108

Author's Note: Didn't think I would post again any time soon but here we are. Wanted to get it out on my birthday on the 18th but my laptops aren't responding well to being nearly 10/11? years old and so I couldn't edit this shit. (For your info I write every story on my phone first so this chap was done for some time, I just couldn't more or less post it in its chopped state, I need to see the whole thing and I need a laptop for that so ya, whatever). To be truthful with you, I tried reading this story from the beginning again and decided it's absolute shit xD Don't even know why you like it.

AND, the most important: I maaay have fucked up but those who were reading carefully (like, really fuckin carefully, basically - no one, I don't know XD) will know (I guess, maybe) that: Regulus awakens - 31s October, Arcobaleno visit his flat after X-mas somewhere after the New Year, and everything I write about Regulus doing in the past few chapters have been between Halloween and Yule. So, I may have just lead u all the wrong way but it wasn't intentional, I swear. Just, when writing a story you have to be careful with dates but I still didn't know where I was going then so guess you will just have to deal. Maybe I should just write the date at the beginning of every chap... Will think about it.

Chapter 7

They reappeared in the apartment within seconds, the travel taking slightly longer as it was a longer way than Wizards normally Apparated. Regulus looked around at the dusty flat and wrinkled his nose. As much as he wanted to know what in Merlin's name his body has been doing these past years, he didn't feel particularly comfortable in a Muggle household. Even if the house in question belonged to him. Or, his body. The one who moved his body through the years. Whatever.

He didn't really know what to look for. What clues should he watch out for. He decided to start simple and just looked around, taking in the apartment in a different light. Without panic, without fear, focusing on the parts that seemed important.

Alright, motorcycles were obviously a part of his former (body thief's) life. That he could work with. He started moving, making his way to the bedroom.

He didn't find much. There weren't even any Muggle books, nothing that would point to his identity. Nothing that would pinpoint his character. Nothing to tell him what kind of person inhibited this body for the past decades.

He sighed, walking back out, he knew there was only bathroom left and he wasn't too positive that he would find anything but he went there anyway.

There was a used towel on the ground, dry because it wasn't used for nearly two months.

He opened a few drawers, finding some toiletries and a big white box with a red cross in the middle. He opened it to find gauze, bandages, scissors and a lot of other things that Muggles used in place of spelling the wounds away or pouring potions over them. There were some syringes and a lot of pills, probably for pain. He carefully closed the box and hefted it up with some difficulty, it was not only huge but also really heavy.

His past self must have been really clumsy to need that much materials for treating wounds. Or just really unlucky. He put the kit away.

He turned and startled when he saw Kreacher standing in the doorway, watching him. Unfortunately, his body's reaction to surprises was to jump back. His legs came on the towel, one stepping on it, the other catching in its tangled form. He tried tugging his leg free in his panic and immediately regretted it when it unbalanced him and sent him crashing to the ground. His breath caught, his head banged on the tiled floor and his eyes watered.

"Master Regulus!" Was uttered with horrified fear and he lifted his head up, looking at the elf. Merlin, he was so clumsy. The world was swimming, though.

"I'm alright, I'm good. Don't worry about it, Kreacher," he waved the elf off, sitting up despite the pain and trying to calm his friend down. From the distressed look on Kreacher's wrinkled face, it wasn't working as well as he hoped.

To trip in the same bathroom, twice. It was an embarrassment. Lucky no one saw it. He didn't remember himself being so uncoordinated back then at school, this body was bigger though, maybe he wasn't used to it quite yet? Or it was just his particular kind of luck.

Sirius would have had a good laugh if he saw him like this. Thankfully, he wasn't here. Because he was dead. Siri may stuff his opinions to himself wherever he currently was, he thought, in whatever form he was. He knew that ghost or not, his elder sibling would still find Regulus falling down unbelievably hilarious and make some joke about it, such as, maybe "Falling from grace, Reggie?" or make some other, equally idiotic jab at his temporary clumsiness.

"Master Regulus is bleeding," said the horrified servant and that made Regulus go silent.

He let the house-elf bustle him to the sofa in the living room and cast a healing Episkey and wrap his head in the bandages from the kit from the bathroom.

He sat for a while more and let Kreacher fuss about him before carefully getting back up, smiling faintly despite himself at the disgruntled expression on the elf's face. He ignored the shaky hands of his friend with only a passing look and some unease deep inside but didn't say anything, carefully avoiding his gaze.

"We can go home now. I don't think there is anything here that will give us much clues," he looked around with resignation and actually pulled up short when he noticed something he didn't think about earlier.

There was mail lying at the floor at the foot of the front door. He came closer, anticipation building up and crouched to gather it all up. There wasn't much, just three envelopes.

All of them were addressed to a Signor Skull de Mort.

...

Immediately after they arrived home, Regulus tore into the first envelope and was immensely disappointed when all it came with was a magazine about the same machines that Sirius loved and that Muggle apartment had so much pictures and other magazines (and an actual real one) of, motorcycles. The second envelope contained the same magazine, only this one was marked as from November to the first one's December. All in Italian, of course but Regulus wasn't an ignorant and illiterate man, of course he knew Italian.

He was aware that it would benefit him to know many languages and his parents knew that too. They agreed on this at least, and Regulus learned as much foreign tongues as possible.

(There were things they didn't agree on, for example learning how to use the three Unforgivables by making him practice them. On Muggles. But Regulus didn't really let them know that he didn't agree with that type of schooling because that would inevitably make him the one his mother practiced her curses (which were really perfect, he didn't know why she needed to practice that one, it was so painful that not using it for a while certainly wouldn't take anything from its strength, really Mother) Cruciatus on.) on.

Finally, the third envelope contained something useful. An invitation. He read it quickly and sat back in his armchair. A ball was hosted by a Vongola. It could lead to more information about what his body has been up to for the past several years. Maybe he could show up there and demand some answers...

No. It would be a monumentally bad idea. He didn't know this Vongola. He didn't know who was invited, he doubted he would have had an easier time if he knew the names of others guests as most people nowadays are complete strangers to him. The only ones who would know him now would be his professors from Hogwarts (he didn't know if they still taught there or even if they were still alive) and his former associates (whom were most likely dead, in prison or in hiding).

Going to a party in a foreign country, not knowing anyone, not remembering anyone (while some obviously remembered him, or rather the him from a few months ago) or anything, even himself, was calling for trouble.

He shook his head, no, he wouldn't go anywhere near this party. Celebrating Yule was considered a family occasion (not that it stopped the Malfoys from throwing a giant party every year to show off their wealth and other purebloods from fawning over them (or being jealous of them) but still going to the celebration).

The Blacks, on the other hand, always politely refused the invitation, citing family traditions and obligations to the Blood but in reality it was just a time in the house to sneer and snipe at the Mudbloods, the Mudblood Lovers, the other Purebloods, the poor, the wealthy and each other. Regulus was almost relieved that he wouldn't have to spend his Holidays that way ever again. Instead, he could do whatever he wanted and include Kreacher in it, not worrying about his family ridiculing and cursing either of them for this.

Also, his birthday was on the 25th of December. He did not want to spend it away from home. (And from Kreacher who was really starting to worry him.)

...

Kreacher made delicious dinner on the 24th. There was a tiny mishap where the elf added salt to the tea and served a cheesecake for dessert despite the fact that Regulus' probably least favorite cake was cheesecake. Regulus ate every last bit that was placed on his plate and complimented it within an inch of his life, cautiously adding that he adored cheesecake while watching the elf sharply. He remembered that Kreacher never gave Regulus any cheesecake because the elf knew that Regulus would prefer anything else instead.

He knew it. But the servant still glowed and bowed and muttered, "Master's favorite pastry, Master said, Kreacher remembers," which it definitely was not and which Regulus did not say. Ever.

His father's favorite cake was cheesecake, though.

Regulus tasted every dish and declared each one a smashing success. Even if some were too spicy or if there were ingredients in them that normally were not added. The house-elf made too much food too, much too much, as if he forgot that it was only Regulus now. There was enough to feed the entire Black family, extended relations and all.

...

Regulus looked at Kreacher from where he stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the doorframe. The elf was frantically running around, making cake, presumably for Regulus' birthday the next day. There was an almost nervous energy about the old servant, making him stumble about, mutters riding and falling in volume. He was making strawberry cake.

Regulus was allergic to strawberries.

Grey eyes narrowed, and, unknown to him, a hint of purple entering them as a frown appeared on his face. Seeing the slightly longer strands of hair in front of his eyes start to turn violet, he took a deep breath and let it out after a few seconds. He repeated the action a few times and raked a hand through his locks, now pure black, smoothing them back and most likely only succeeding in making his messy hair stand up in an even more ridiculous way.

He was worried about the elf. He stopped himself from saying anything, knowing that if Kreacher heard his concerns the elf would most likely attempt to punish himself in some way for disturbing his Master.

He pushed away from the door, quietly making his way away from the kitchen. He made some mental math, Kreacher was the Black family's servant for quite a long time. Regulus didn't know how long exactly, several generations, at least.

He was perfectly aware that the Blacks usually bought new servants before they started mistaking the amount of sugar that is to be added to their Master's tea (he winced) and talk to themselves. But Kreacher now added salt. And talked to himself constantly, even before all this mess happened. For as long as Regulus knew him probably. The elf was always muttering something to himself, about his responsibilities, about Blood Traitors, about Sirius breaking their mother's heart.

Which, Regulus had to admit, his brother did not. Their mother was furious though, but it was merely that. Anger and frustration and the typical Black Madness making it sharper, more focused and all the more dangerous. Regulus didn't think she was even capable of having a broken heart because he doubted she was capable of love.

He never voiced this opinion out loud. If Sirius, who was far away and, consequently, not nearby for their mother to point her wand at, was shaping up to be a scaping goat, who was Regulus to refuse him. If that got the negative attention focused only on his brother, he was perfectly capable of keeping quiet, cherishing the more civil and agreeable side of his mother and leaving as soon as he saw her temper getting the better of her (he left her presence fairly often, in that case, always desperately casting around for an excuse to get away).

After Siri ran away she didn't punish Regulus as often as before, too, he was the only heir now, after all, and Sirius was the cause of all her problems too, so as long as Regulus didn't get in her way and kept doing whatever she wanted him to, she didn't have a reason to take it all out on him in absence of his brother. But even if she didn't have a reason to, he wasn't really safe from her wrath and sudden bouts of random cursing. Neither was Kreacher as he was usually the one she took her frustration out on, he winced.

Usually, the old elves were killed by some curse thrown at them from one of the family members, their heads were then cut off and hung on the wall. Regulus didn't like thinking about the wall. He knew that Kreacher looked at it as his final goal in life. He also knew that it was a miracle that Kreacher lived for so long. Not only did Kreacher live nearly fifty years as their house elf, he was still, after many years, somehow, here. Even without a Master or a Mistress for so many years, he still served the Family.

House-elves in general were rather resilient but they weren't immortal. He knew that the heads displayed in the house were those of elves that were thought as too old to fulfill their responsibilities. He knew that Kreacher was supposed to be killed around the 1980s, he was already old back then.

And Regulus was expected to take over as the next head of the family by then. Buying a new house-elf would signify a completely new reign.

But then he wasn't around anymore, Sirius was in Azkaban, as was Bellatrix, Cissy was already married and off in Malfoy Manor and Andy was away with her Muggle. Half of the Olds died off when Regulus was still at school, the rest after he disappeared. And they wouldn't have been allowed to order the house-elf around anyway as they weren't of the main family, his mother would never have allowed them to.

Kreacher was old. A little mad too, he admitted, if only to himself, but who wouldn't be, after living with his family for so long, he thought dryly. Enduring the jeers, the hexes, the Crucios, Regulus' death, his father's which happened the same year as himself and his mother's in 1985 and then the loneliness for a long time, until Sirius escaped from prison. Next was also Sirius' death but Regulus was rather sure that Kreacher wasn't too bothered by that one. And then, finally, the war and the years after that followed must have been just as bad.

His mother would say that the servant's time is due, in less sensitive words of course, more expletives and a cutting curse thrown at the end of her rant at the thin neck of the house-elf. Regulus felt relief that his mother wasn't around to do that anymore.

...

He looked around as he made his way up the stairs.

Kreacher has been cleaning the house since Regulus came back but, he swiped the banister with a finger and winced when he saw it came back with a layer of dust on it. But, despite Kreacher's claim of cleaning, the house was in ruin. Well, maybe it wasn't as bad but, he looked around at the glum and mold and dust. He knew for a fact the there was also doxie infestation in nearly every room he kept closed and probably a Boggart or two hiding somewhere around the house in the shadows.

Kreacher's job was to get rid of these but, as it seemed, he heard high-pitched noises coming from the curtains he passed by, the elf was not doing his job.

Maybe it was just the house itself, he mused doubtfully. But no, he remembered that in his younger years, in spite of the dark atmosphere, there hasn't been any cobwebs and the house was kept in relative cleanliness. He looked at the peeling wallpaper, the creaking stairs, dirty and worn thin carpet and felt concerned despite himself.

"You need a new servant, so it would seem," he heard from one of the portraits and looked to it, seeing his aunt Cassy who was looking down her nose at him, silver eyes narrowed. She sniffed at his inquiring look and continued. "This one is, as you may have noticed, no longer in a state to take care of the house. He has grown old and useless, the House no longer abides by him."

Regulus had no idea what his old aunt was talking about so he looked at her apologetically,"I'm truly sorry, great aunt Cassiopeia, but I'm not quite sure I understand. You're saying the house won't listen to Kreacher because he's old?"

The old crone snorted inelegantly, "Is that what it's called? Kreacher, a fitting, if not dull and completely unimaginative name. Yes, the servant's powers have waned, his Magic grew old and weak. It's not worth keeping anymore. You should look into buying another one and get rid of this one," and with that said, she nodded at him sharply and walked out of her frame, traveling further away from him. The last thing he heard was her calls of "Pollux! Pollux, brother dear-" before he started making his way further up the stairs.

...

He tried thinking about something else as he climbed to the topmost landing, where his and Sirius' rooms were. That, unfortunately, immediately reminded him of his brother and didn't help elevate his gloomy mood in the least.

His mind latched onto the subject and refused to let go though. He remembered what Kreacher told him and what he pieced together from his mother's journal, which he found in the master bedroom when he was cautiously looking around. There was quite a lot written about the Muggles or rather Mudbloods and why they were inferior.

There was a lot of mad rambling all around, in that diary.

There was also a lot about Blood Traitors in which his mother mentioned everyone, from Sirius the runaway Mudblood lover, and Andy who married a Mudblood, to Marius - the squib, Phineas - the Mudblood supporter and even to Isla who married a Mudblood.

Sirius was especially expanded on, as was Uncle Alphard who left him his own gold.

The one relative that simply adored Sirius and his sense of humor and Gryffindorish behavior, he thought bitterly. Kreacher told him about how Uncle Alphie left Sirius some inheritance, which their mother apparently blasted him off the Family Tapestry for.

That was how Sirius continued living after escaping from Azkaban, he found out, the members of the Order of the Phoenix taking small but still significant withdrawals for his brother and, of course, their precious Order. The Goblins didn't care about it being a vault of an Azkaban escapee because they didn't care about wizarding matters. As long as there was a key to the vaults.

The Blacks (not even the cheerful and fun-loving Uncle Alphie) weren't that irresponsible, even the least protected vaults had some safety nets. In Sirius' vault's case though (as Kreacher informed him), it was probably a weak "Nobody will take anything out without the owner's permission" instead of dragons and hexes and curses.

Sirius, in contrast to the rest of the family, was possibly that irresponsible, what with him being fresh out of his twelve years stint in Azkaban, mind vulnerable from the Dementors, the fact that he was an innocent man and was betrayed by one of his closest friend and then abandoned by the rest. He wasn't really in the right place, Regulus knew that he would have needed healers and he doubted aby such help was offered to his elder brother. Maybe the Order preferred him mad, they could take his money, live in his house, use him for their own purposes and discard him when he stopped being useful. All because Sirius was incapable of telling them 'no'.

And while Regulus wasn't close with his brother ever since the latter's first year at Hogwarts, he still felt a burning indignation at the thought of those Order members simply using his brother like that. It was a hollow feeling, too little too late, but still ugly and still there.

He shook these thoughts of Sirius away.

A grimace was seemingly permanently etched onto his face when he got to his room and collapsed on the bed. He did not enjoy the thought of having to eat the cake the next day but he enjoyed having to tell off Kreacher even less, especially if what he thought about the elf's state was true.

He clenched his fists, biting back tears. How undignified, he thought as he felt a tear slip anyway and dashed it away with a sleeve.

...

He nailed on a smile to his face for his birthday and readied himself to face the day. He dressed himself appropriately, in a suit, as every other day, casual didn't exist in the house. It was always robes, eventually a somber dress or a suit. And even though it was only Regulus (and Kreacher), the paintings were still there. More importantly, his mother's portrait was still there, and she would find a way to make him feel sorry and humiliated even from her grave (or, well, canvas).

So there he was, eating a traditional English breakfast and drinking his mother's favorite tea. This... was starting to really scare him. Also, bother, but that was more his irritation and indignation speaking because how could Kreacher forget that Regulus liked Earl Grey in the mornings? It would have been treated as sacrilege, back when the rest of the House of Black was still around. Kreacher would have been shot with a cutting hex right where he stood a long time ago.

He never liked chamomile but he chugged it down like it was going out of style, with a smile permanently fixed on his face. He popped a few grapes (Sirius never liked grapes, Regulus was pretty impartial to them himself and was he ever going to stop looking into this so much, was he going to examine every food Kreacher brought him from now on because it was turning out to be pretty exhausting) into his mouth as well.

He let out a satisfied sigh anyway, leaning back in his chair and still downing that awful tea.

...

Later on, he moved to the living room to check in on the red octopus. It traditionally disturbed him with its intelligence when it waved one tentacle at him and attempted to climb out of the tank, presumably to reach him.

He waved back frantically and shouted, "Stay right there, please!" though and that seemed to somewhat settle it. Although, it looked fairly offended. And well, offense looked weird on an octopus but there it was, not looking at Regulus again and swimming as far away from him as possible, even pointedly turning away from the room. Which was just as well because Regulus didn't want it anywhere close to him anyway. Not that he himself was close, sitting a fair distance away from the gigantic aquarium, which was taking a fair amount of the wall next to the windows.

He figured out some time ago that the octopus was some kind of familiar. He grimaced, it was, also, obviously, his. If it wasn't, it wouldn't be so calm and would rather be trying to get back to its master. It could be a spy but... He looked at the red form with suspicion and shook his head after a few seconds of it ignoring his stare, the wards around Grimmauld Place were old and decayed back before he got to renew them and put the house under a Fidelus, but they still worked. They would have alerted him if there was someone who could or wished to cause harm to the Head of the House when he first brought the Familiar here. They would have downright annihilated the octopus when he renewed them.

So he was good.

Besides, despite feeling disgust for the creepy creature, he also felt some kind of fascination and bond towards it.

He saw something black in the corner of his vision and looked up, to where the octopus has let out ink, turning the water in the tank a murky dark colour and sparing him a seemingly near challenging glance. He sighed with a grimace, maybe he didn't feel a special bond with the thing after all.

...