A/N: Harry Potter isn't mine, but you already knew that. Just enjoy the ride; there will be more chapters to follow.

Despite the sweltering heat of summer, Regulus Arcturus Black anxiously tugged at the sleeves of his jumper. Was it his imagination or was everyone who walked past staring at him? Surely, he didn't look so different. Surely, nobody could tell . . . right? He felt so conspicuous . . . partly because he was wearing a turtleneck in July, but mostly because of something hidden in his very skin. He wanted to scratch it out. It felt . . . foreign. Strange. His body wanted to reject the unnatural magic coursing through him. As with a tattoo, his skin felt . . . different. He had a slight scar, which the others assured him would fade, only burning bright black when the Dark Lord summoned him. In the meantime, he would simply have to wear long sleeves during the hottest part of the year.

He should have expected this anxiety. One couldn't go through a life-changing event and walk away like nothing had happened. He should have known what would happen after last night. The previous night, he had crept out of his parents' house, gone down to the designated rendezvous in the graveyard, and finally got the Dark Mark emblazoned on his left forearm in a quiet ceremony, witnessed by a handful of Death Eaters (most of whom were related to him).

He was now one of the fold, one of the Dark Lord's chosen followers. It was a great honour. Regulus could now defend his birthright of magic and a respectable place in society as a pureblood from the encroaching forces of inferior mudbloods and blood traitors. He got to stand up and defend that which his family thought important and had ingrained in him since birth. He had the opportunity to bring some dignity back to the Black name after the shameful actions of his older brother, Sirius. It was the right thing to do, not just for him but for the whole wizarding world . . . right? The weight of his decision seemed to be suffocating him.

Well, it was too late to have second thoughts. Regulus tried to stay in the moment. He should've been paying attention to his lunch partner, Barty Crouch Jr., who was currently sitting across the table from him as they grabbed a quick bite to eat at the Hog's Head. Crouch was going on and on about some attack he'd already participated in with some of the older Death Eaters. Barty Crouch was a good two years older than Regulus and was really enjoying life outside of Hogwarts by cursing the hell out of people. To be honest, Regulus could care less about Crouch's braggadocio.

At least he knew how to seem like he was involved in the conversation. Between bites of a particularly greasy pulled pork sandwich, he chimed in. "Mmhmm . . . Yeah . . . Uh-huh . . . You're absolutely right. . . . . Totally." It was a tactic he had picked up from his father at the dinner table; usually, it worked quite well with self-centered people, especially if the other speaker was caught up in what he or she was saying and not paying much attention to the other member of the conversation. Naturally, Crouch didn't notice.

An auror walked by the table where the young purebloods were sitting and made brief eye contact with Regulus, who all but choked. Did he know? Was it that obvious? Reggie couldn't go to jail just for being a member of the Death Eaters, could he? He was only a recruiter, an insider to snag a new generation of potential Death Eaters; he hadn't killed or tortured anyone! They couldn't prosecute him for a mark, could they?

The raw panic subsided as the auror walked away. Regulus let out an audible breath. "Do I look different?" he whispered to Crouch. "It feels like everyone is staring at me. . . ."

Crouch grinned. "All the difference is inside you. Can't you feel it?"

"Feel what?" Reggie asked, rubbing the affected forearm.

Crouch leaned in closer, ignoring as his corned beef slipped out of its bun and fell back onto the plate. "The power. The Dark Lord's favour runs in your veins now. You're chosen. That, my friend . . . that's everything."

Regulus nodded quietly. "Yeah, I - . . . I feel something." He definitely felt different.

Crouch licked his fingers and gestured for the bill. "You'll get used to it," he assured the fidgety young Slytherin. "I promise."