Lionheart--DvD Commentary, Part 2
***
"You," said the portrait of his great-great-grandfather, "are utterly mad."
I don't think that JKR should have decreed that portraits can't say much and don't have personalities. Five books had pretty much proven that they could hold conversations with humans, and, in some cases (Sir Cadogan, anyone?), had very distinct personalities. Fortunately, she hadn't decreed that when this story was written.
"Fine," said Regulus in an even tone, his dark blue eyes boring into Phineas Nigellus' painted pale blue ones. "I'm mad. Now, are you going to help me with the potion I need, or not?"
Phineas plucked idly at the acid green silk gloves on his painted hands. "Explain to me again why I should help you commit suicide?"
Thanks to Thistlerose, I've acquired a soft spot for Phineas Nigellus's portrait. Phineas is a gift for a writer, really--he's smart and snarky and has no compunction about saying what he thinks. In a lot of ways, he reminds me of Anya, the vengeance demon from the Buffyverse. By the way, this is Phineas's second appearance in a story of mine. The first one was "On a Wing and a Prayer."
"Because for starters," Regulus said patiently, leaning against the largest armchair in the Black library as he gazed up at Phineas' portrait, "this will keep your other great-great-grandson alive."
Phineas glared at Regulus. "I do not particularly relish the thought of losing either of you."
"I don't particularly relish the thought of losing me either," muttered Regulus in a husky voice. He swallowed, and tried to speak normally. "If you can think of any method that will leave both Sirius and me alive at the end of all this, I would be extraordinarily grateful."
"I did not say that I found fault with your logic. I merely said that I do not wish to lose you. Or your thoroughly impossible brother."
Phineas never, ever admits that he loves his great-great-grandsons. He'd be shocked to know that it comes through. One of these days I'm going to write a scene in which Phineas is blisteringly snarky and snobbish and arrogant and proud to the nth power…and have Regulus respond with a smile and a, "Yeah. I love you too, Phineas."
So Phineas would mourn. Regulus was oddly pleased by this. At least someone would regret his death, even though Sirius and his parents would not.
I think, in an odd sort of way, that Phineas and Regulus do have a grandfather-grandson relationship, despite Phineas being a painting. It's clear that Regulus relates to Phineas as a person, not as a thing.
"Just the recipe, Phineas," he said quietly. " We don't have much time. And I still have to brew the blasted thing."
Phineas stroked his black goatee for a few moments in silence. "Very well. Two ounces of powdered root of asphodel. Three tablespoons of frozen Ashwinder eggs. Six ounces of Devil's Snare, finely chopped. Three ounces of dragon's blood. And one raw dragon's heart."
All magical ingredients listed in the Harry Potter Lexicon.
Regulus scribbled down the ingredients on a piece of parchment. "Right. Thanks."
"The potion will not affect the power of the sacrifice, you know," said Phineas softly. "It will merely increase your body's production of blood--while simultaneously binding you to life and to sanity--until you draw the last rune of protection." He paused for a moment, then spoke in an even gentler voice. "The pain may be well nigh unbearable."
I didn't want anyone to think that once Reg took the potion, everything would be fine. That's why I specified what the potion does--and doesn't do.
Regulus' mind supplied the sentence Phineas refused to say: And you have always been a coward about pain, Regulus.
He shivered.
"I--" He began to say, then stopped, uncertain of what he was about to say. I hate this? I wish there were another way? I don't know what else to do? I'm scared?
He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. He was not going to cry, damn it. He would never be able to do what needed to be done if he started crying. He was eighteen and he was a man and he was going to face this like a man. He was.
This is one of the paragraphs that still breaks my heart. Regulus sounds terribly young and vulnerable here.
He clenched his fists, took several deep breaths and made an effort to speak in a calm and level tone. "I wonder if you would tell me how you knew that spell," he said, gratified to note that his voice scarcely trembled at all.
Phineas favoured him with a probing glance, but did not comment on the non sequitur. "Dark Lords arise periodically. Voldemort is merely the latest. There were others who deserved the sobriquet, but who called themselves something different. You wouldn't have heard of them, of course. The wizarding world likes to pretend that corruption doesn't happen, or that it only happens to a select few. Our historians do all they can to reinforce that image. You've heard of Grindelwald, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Regulus, scratching his head in perplexity. "He was the Dark Lord during the nineteen-forties."
"Correct. Do you know what house he was in at Hogwarts?"
Regulus frowned. "Slytherin, but--"
Phineas crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. "Wrong."
Hey, why should smirks be the exclusive property of the Malfoys?
"That's ridiculous!" Regulus snapped. "Everyone knows Grindelwald was a Slytherin, it's in all the history books--"
"And a million history books can't be wrong, can they?" Phineas surveyed Regulus sternly. "You really must learn to stop believing what everyone knows is true.
It doesn't actually matter at this point whether Regulus stops believing what everyone knows is true or not. Phineas knows that. That's why he's trying to behave as if everything were normal.
Grindelwald was a Ravenclaw, boy.
The part about Grindelwald being a Ravenclaw came from a Marauder-era RPG with which I was involved at the time. I think that the person who came up with the idea just got sick of Slytherin being the source of all evil, and decided that brilliance without conscience was just as potentially evil, if not more so.
I knew him well. I should have, considering that he spent three years paying court to my granddaughter Taygete."
"Taygete." Regulus thought for a moment. "One of the Pleiades."
Regulus grew up in a family where most of the people are named after stars or constellations. It stands to reason that he'd recognise the names of stars, I think.
Phineas nodded soberly. "I was still alive then. I cannot say that I liked Grindelwald overmuch. Why, I cannot tell. He was bright, clever, independent, shrewd. He was creating his own spells from fourth year on. His family was not illustrious--he came of a minor German house of purebloods on his father's side and a respectable pureblood English yeoman family on his mother's--but I could not fault his bloodline. He simply had the mentality of a shopkeeper, eager to lay his grubby hands on whatever power and authority he could get." Phineas cocked his head at his great-great-grandson. "Remind you of anyone, boy?"
Regulus winced, for the description did sound uncomfortably close that of Voldemort. "But he was courting Taygete. Didn't she see what he was like?"
Phineas shot Regulus a tired glance. "For pity's sake, boy, she was no older than you. Younger, in fact, when he started paying her court."
Regulus licked his lips, which had suddenly gone cold. " She didn't know what she was getting into."
"Most assuredly not."
"What happened?" Regulus asked, trying to ignore the icy lump that seemed to have settled in his stomach.
"They eloped."
"What!"
"Eloped. Wed. Got married. Call it what you will, Taygete became his wife." Phineas snorted, as if to say what he thought of that. "And in case--just in case--you were thinking of this being true love, rest assure that it was not. Taygete was besotted with Grindelwald, yes, and why not? He looked regal, all wavy blond hair and soldier blue eyes and imperial bearing."
"Taygete..."
Phineas shrugged. "She looked like a Black. Dark hair. Heavy-lidded grey eyes. An eagle's nose, which I fear she got from me. She was not pretty. She might have been called handsome, but only by a pathological liar.
And that line is completely ripped off from Terry Pratchett's description of Granny Weatherwax.
The one thing she did have was intelligence. A pity that she did not have any sense to go with it. He treated her with the neglectful kindness one would bestow on a rather stupid dog, and she worshipped him for it."
Regulus squirmed uncomfortably. Taygete sounded a bit too...familiar. "I never heard any mention of her in the history books," he said lamely.
"She was not particularly important, in the eyes of historians," said Phineas. "She bore Grindelwald one child--a stillborn boy--and lost another before it was born. He became more vicious after each child perished, as if he wanted vengeance on the whole world for those deaths. Starting with the death of his wife."
"He killed her?"
The word rang out, hollow and chill, in the library.
"Yes."
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"Why didn't she do anything?"
"She did," said Phineas, looking away from Regulus for the first time. "But not when she was threatened. When his vengeance threatened others as well--her kin, some friends--then she used her ingenuity, and, after a number of false starts, created that formula you hold in your hand. Very Dark Magic---it has to be, to bind body and soul together, despite lethal wounds, and to compel sanity on a mind that would otherwise shatter--but it does protect those that the caster wishes it to." Phineas stopped and stared off into space, looking, as much as a living portrait could, drained, ill and exhausted.
"Lionheart" was written for the Blackficathon. The challenge I had to do was to write about Regulus looking back at the moment of his death. I also incorporated another challenge for another Regulus ficathon--that Regulus should find out something new, juicy, interesting about his family from a dead person, probably a ghost. I have to admit that I fudged a little by making Phineas the dead person. Even if he did die, physically, some time ago.
"How well does it protect?" Regulus asked, after waiting what felt like an extraordinarily long time for Phineas to speak again.
"It protects against the Killing Curse, and the other Unforgivables," said Phineas in a weary, grey voice, as he fiddled with his silk gloves. "It provides an immunity to poisonous or lethal potions, such as the Draught of Living Death. Spells cast in malice and spite can injure, but cannot bring about death."
I was leaving a loophole to allow for Bella's Stunning Spell to knock Sirius through the Veil--and a way for Sirius to come back, if I wanted to write about it.
"Provided--"
"Yes. Provided."
"Always a catch." Regulus tried to smile; the best he could manage was a tense rictus.
"You can't cast this spell expecting something for nothing," retorted Phineas. "Something for everything...perhaps."
Another awkward silence reigned.
"Are you sure she used the potion?" Regulus asked at last. "After all, you were in England and she was in Germany, and you didn't see her d-…"
"No," said Phineas, his face tense and taut. "I didn't. But she sent me the formula, along with a coded letter. She told me what she was going to do--though of course by the time I received the message, she was long dead. My son Corvus never forgave her for contacting me instead of him and his wife. I never forgave her for not talking to me beforehand." He glanced at Regulus. "Have you spoken to your brother yet?"
Phineas isn't changing the subject. If Regulus is going to do this, Phineas wants him to say his goodbyes and make his peace with Sirius.
Regulus shook his head. Talking to Sirius would be futility itself; his brother had long since convinced himself that Regulus hated him, and regarded him as an enemy. At this point, Sirius would find something suspicious in a statement like, "Hello."
A bit of foreshadowing here. I hadn't realised that.
He thought of asking Phineas to tell his brother someday. Yet what good would that do? Sirius would never go back to Twelve Grimmauld Place, not voluntarily.
Definitely foreshadowing here. This was conscious and deliberate.
And Sirius had never managed to befriend the crotchety old portrait, anyway.
His loss.
"Thank you," he said instead. "I-I guess I'd best be going...brew up the potion..."
"When do you expect to use it?" inquired Phineas, in the same offhand tone he might have used to request that Regulus pass him the table salt.
"Tonight. There's a meeting." Regulus marvelled at how calm his voice was. Then he drew a long, shuddering breath, and his shoulders started to shake. He could almost feel a helpless wail building up in his throat.
He would not disgrace himself. He would not.
He bolted for the door.
"Regulus."
Startled by the use of his name--Phineas normally addressed him as "boy" if he called Regulus anything at all--Regulus turned around, making an indescribable sound of acknowledgement that was something between a grunt and a sob.
Phineas looked at Regulus with a very serious expression. "I'd like to give you a piece of advice, if I may."
Regulus shrugged, as if to say it made no difference to him.
"Never take a deep breath when you're trying not to cry."
This is about the closest that Phineas can come to saying that he's sorry, that he loves Regulus and that he understands. I think that Phineas was reared with the belief that it isn't proper to be too emotional.
***
"You," said the portrait of his great-great-grandfather, "are utterly mad."
I don't think that JKR should have decreed that portraits can't say much and don't have personalities. Five books had pretty much proven that they could hold conversations with humans, and, in some cases (Sir Cadogan, anyone?), had very distinct personalities. Fortunately, she hadn't decreed that when this story was written.
"Fine," said Regulus in an even tone, his dark blue eyes boring into Phineas Nigellus' painted pale blue ones. "I'm mad. Now, are you going to help me with the potion I need, or not?"
Phineas plucked idly at the acid green silk gloves on his painted hands. "Explain to me again why I should help you commit suicide?"
Thanks to Thistlerose, I've acquired a soft spot for Phineas Nigellus's portrait. Phineas is a gift for a writer, really--he's smart and snarky and has no compunction about saying what he thinks. In a lot of ways, he reminds me of Anya, the vengeance demon from the Buffyverse. By the way, this is Phineas's second appearance in a story of mine. The first one was "On a Wing and a Prayer."
"Because for starters," Regulus said patiently, leaning against the largest armchair in the Black library as he gazed up at Phineas' portrait, "this will keep your other great-great-grandson alive."
Phineas glared at Regulus. "I do not particularly relish the thought of losing either of you."
"I don't particularly relish the thought of losing me either," muttered Regulus in a husky voice. He swallowed, and tried to speak normally. "If you can think of any method that will leave both Sirius and me alive at the end of all this, I would be extraordinarily grateful."
"I did not say that I found fault with your logic. I merely said that I do not wish to lose you. Or your thoroughly impossible brother."
Phineas never, ever admits that he loves his great-great-grandsons. He'd be shocked to know that it comes through. One of these days I'm going to write a scene in which Phineas is blisteringly snarky and snobbish and arrogant and proud to the nth power…and have Regulus respond with a smile and a, "Yeah. I love you too, Phineas."
So Phineas would mourn. Regulus was oddly pleased by this. At least someone would regret his death, even though Sirius and his parents would not.
I think, in an odd sort of way, that Phineas and Regulus do have a grandfather-grandson relationship, despite Phineas being a painting. It's clear that Regulus relates to Phineas as a person, not as a thing.
"Just the recipe, Phineas," he said quietly. " We don't have much time. And I still have to brew the blasted thing."
Phineas stroked his black goatee for a few moments in silence. "Very well. Two ounces of powdered root of asphodel. Three tablespoons of frozen Ashwinder eggs. Six ounces of Devil's Snare, finely chopped. Three ounces of dragon's blood. And one raw dragon's heart."
All magical ingredients listed in the Harry Potter Lexicon.
Regulus scribbled down the ingredients on a piece of parchment. "Right. Thanks."
"The potion will not affect the power of the sacrifice, you know," said Phineas softly. "It will merely increase your body's production of blood--while simultaneously binding you to life and to sanity--until you draw the last rune of protection." He paused for a moment, then spoke in an even gentler voice. "The pain may be well nigh unbearable."
I didn't want anyone to think that once Reg took the potion, everything would be fine. That's why I specified what the potion does--and doesn't do.
Regulus' mind supplied the sentence Phineas refused to say: And you have always been a coward about pain, Regulus.
He shivered.
"I--" He began to say, then stopped, uncertain of what he was about to say. I hate this? I wish there were another way? I don't know what else to do? I'm scared?
He bit his lower lip and closed his eyes. He was not going to cry, damn it. He would never be able to do what needed to be done if he started crying. He was eighteen and he was a man and he was going to face this like a man. He was.
This is one of the paragraphs that still breaks my heart. Regulus sounds terribly young and vulnerable here.
He clenched his fists, took several deep breaths and made an effort to speak in a calm and level tone. "I wonder if you would tell me how you knew that spell," he said, gratified to note that his voice scarcely trembled at all.
Phineas favoured him with a probing glance, but did not comment on the non sequitur. "Dark Lords arise periodically. Voldemort is merely the latest. There were others who deserved the sobriquet, but who called themselves something different. You wouldn't have heard of them, of course. The wizarding world likes to pretend that corruption doesn't happen, or that it only happens to a select few. Our historians do all they can to reinforce that image. You've heard of Grindelwald, I suppose?"
"Yes," said Regulus, scratching his head in perplexity. "He was the Dark Lord during the nineteen-forties."
"Correct. Do you know what house he was in at Hogwarts?"
Regulus frowned. "Slytherin, but--"
Phineas crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. "Wrong."
Hey, why should smirks be the exclusive property of the Malfoys?
"That's ridiculous!" Regulus snapped. "Everyone knows Grindelwald was a Slytherin, it's in all the history books--"
"And a million history books can't be wrong, can they?" Phineas surveyed Regulus sternly. "You really must learn to stop believing what everyone knows is true.
It doesn't actually matter at this point whether Regulus stops believing what everyone knows is true or not. Phineas knows that. That's why he's trying to behave as if everything were normal.
Grindelwald was a Ravenclaw, boy.
The part about Grindelwald being a Ravenclaw came from a Marauder-era RPG with which I was involved at the time. I think that the person who came up with the idea just got sick of Slytherin being the source of all evil, and decided that brilliance without conscience was just as potentially evil, if not more so.
I knew him well. I should have, considering that he spent three years paying court to my granddaughter Taygete."
"Taygete." Regulus thought for a moment. "One of the Pleiades."
Regulus grew up in a family where most of the people are named after stars or constellations. It stands to reason that he'd recognise the names of stars, I think.
Phineas nodded soberly. "I was still alive then. I cannot say that I liked Grindelwald overmuch. Why, I cannot tell. He was bright, clever, independent, shrewd. He was creating his own spells from fourth year on. His family was not illustrious--he came of a minor German house of purebloods on his father's side and a respectable pureblood English yeoman family on his mother's--but I could not fault his bloodline. He simply had the mentality of a shopkeeper, eager to lay his grubby hands on whatever power and authority he could get." Phineas cocked his head at his great-great-grandson. "Remind you of anyone, boy?"
Regulus winced, for the description did sound uncomfortably close that of Voldemort. "But he was courting Taygete. Didn't she see what he was like?"
Phineas shot Regulus a tired glance. "For pity's sake, boy, she was no older than you. Younger, in fact, when he started paying her court."
Regulus licked his lips, which had suddenly gone cold. " She didn't know what she was getting into."
"Most assuredly not."
"What happened?" Regulus asked, trying to ignore the icy lump that seemed to have settled in his stomach.
"They eloped."
"What!"
"Eloped. Wed. Got married. Call it what you will, Taygete became his wife." Phineas snorted, as if to say what he thought of that. "And in case--just in case--you were thinking of this being true love, rest assure that it was not. Taygete was besotted with Grindelwald, yes, and why not? He looked regal, all wavy blond hair and soldier blue eyes and imperial bearing."
"Taygete..."
Phineas shrugged. "She looked like a Black. Dark hair. Heavy-lidded grey eyes. An eagle's nose, which I fear she got from me. She was not pretty. She might have been called handsome, but only by a pathological liar.
And that line is completely ripped off from Terry Pratchett's description of Granny Weatherwax.
The one thing she did have was intelligence. A pity that she did not have any sense to go with it. He treated her with the neglectful kindness one would bestow on a rather stupid dog, and she worshipped him for it."
Regulus squirmed uncomfortably. Taygete sounded a bit too...familiar. "I never heard any mention of her in the history books," he said lamely.
"She was not particularly important, in the eyes of historians," said Phineas. "She bore Grindelwald one child--a stillborn boy--and lost another before it was born. He became more vicious after each child perished, as if he wanted vengeance on the whole world for those deaths. Starting with the death of his wife."
"He killed her?"
The word rang out, hollow and chill, in the library.
"Yes."
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"Why didn't she do anything?"
"She did," said Phineas, looking away from Regulus for the first time. "But not when she was threatened. When his vengeance threatened others as well--her kin, some friends--then she used her ingenuity, and, after a number of false starts, created that formula you hold in your hand. Very Dark Magic---it has to be, to bind body and soul together, despite lethal wounds, and to compel sanity on a mind that would otherwise shatter--but it does protect those that the caster wishes it to." Phineas stopped and stared off into space, looking, as much as a living portrait could, drained, ill and exhausted.
"Lionheart" was written for the Blackficathon. The challenge I had to do was to write about Regulus looking back at the moment of his death. I also incorporated another challenge for another Regulus ficathon--that Regulus should find out something new, juicy, interesting about his family from a dead person, probably a ghost. I have to admit that I fudged a little by making Phineas the dead person. Even if he did die, physically, some time ago.
"How well does it protect?" Regulus asked, after waiting what felt like an extraordinarily long time for Phineas to speak again.
"It protects against the Killing Curse, and the other Unforgivables," said Phineas in a weary, grey voice, as he fiddled with his silk gloves. "It provides an immunity to poisonous or lethal potions, such as the Draught of Living Death. Spells cast in malice and spite can injure, but cannot bring about death."
I was leaving a loophole to allow for Bella's Stunning Spell to knock Sirius through the Veil--and a way for Sirius to come back, if I wanted to write about it.
"Provided--"
"Yes. Provided."
"Always a catch." Regulus tried to smile; the best he could manage was a tense rictus.
"You can't cast this spell expecting something for nothing," retorted Phineas. "Something for everything...perhaps."
Another awkward silence reigned.
"Are you sure she used the potion?" Regulus asked at last. "After all, you were in England and she was in Germany, and you didn't see her d-…"
"No," said Phineas, his face tense and taut. "I didn't. But she sent me the formula, along with a coded letter. She told me what she was going to do--though of course by the time I received the message, she was long dead. My son Corvus never forgave her for contacting me instead of him and his wife. I never forgave her for not talking to me beforehand." He glanced at Regulus. "Have you spoken to your brother yet?"
Phineas isn't changing the subject. If Regulus is going to do this, Phineas wants him to say his goodbyes and make his peace with Sirius.
Regulus shook his head. Talking to Sirius would be futility itself; his brother had long since convinced himself that Regulus hated him, and regarded him as an enemy. At this point, Sirius would find something suspicious in a statement like, "Hello."
A bit of foreshadowing here. I hadn't realised that.
He thought of asking Phineas to tell his brother someday. Yet what good would that do? Sirius would never go back to Twelve Grimmauld Place, not voluntarily.
Definitely foreshadowing here. This was conscious and deliberate.
And Sirius had never managed to befriend the crotchety old portrait, anyway.
His loss.
"Thank you," he said instead. "I-I guess I'd best be going...brew up the potion..."
"When do you expect to use it?" inquired Phineas, in the same offhand tone he might have used to request that Regulus pass him the table salt.
"Tonight. There's a meeting." Regulus marvelled at how calm his voice was. Then he drew a long, shuddering breath, and his shoulders started to shake. He could almost feel a helpless wail building up in his throat.
He would not disgrace himself. He would not.
He bolted for the door.
"Regulus."
Startled by the use of his name--Phineas normally addressed him as "boy" if he called Regulus anything at all--Regulus turned around, making an indescribable sound of acknowledgement that was something between a grunt and a sob.
Phineas looked at Regulus with a very serious expression. "I'd like to give you a piece of advice, if I may."
Regulus shrugged, as if to say it made no difference to him.
"Never take a deep breath when you're trying not to cry."
This is about the closest that Phineas can come to saying that he's sorry, that he loves Regulus and that he understands. I think that Phineas was reared with the belief that it isn't proper to be too emotional.
***