Hy!
So, first, a small explanation on this work: I think Regulus is one of the most underrated and underused character in the HP series. I would have like soooo much to see how and why he finally decided to betray the Dark Lord! so... well I wrote it. This story is in four parts, a will describe the fall of Regulus during the war, and, all in all, the war from a young Death Eater point of view, to see Voldemort in the pick of his power, and how he manage to convince people to the point that some of them will choose Azkaban instead of renounce to him...
I had soo much fun writing this, and i took sooo much time! Be I quite like the result. This story is quite Dark in its themes. I think the four chapters will be posted before next month, but I can't promise as I must work at school and have other fanfics to work on.
Warning: There will be details descriptions of violence, murders (including on children), torture, mentions of rape (but no details), divers sorts of abuse. It's a war and I'm trying to stay realistic, so there is that.
I want to thanks my beta: adlertypewriter, for the implication in my work and the help!
Fanarts for this sery can be found in the LadyZombiedraws account on Deviantart! also, you can contact me on Tumblr here: blog/ladybraken
I- Fall
He was seventeen.
Young people are supposed to do a lot of things. First, to study well. To have good grades, and pass their N.E. , to have an idea of their future job. They are supposed to be joyful, happy, full of life. The world will be there, so many possibilities! They are supposed to be in love. Their head full of teenage drama, their heart all over some boy or some girl - sometimes both at the same time. They are supposed to experiment with their new and short freedom. To find what they like, to have passions! They are supposed to do what they like, to fall into one carving after another. Some read some write, some fly, some eat, make potions, sleep, play, scream, laugh, cry, socialize, make mistakes, make amends, live…
At just seventeen, Regulus Black did none of that.
At just seventeen, his face still round from childhood, long wavy locks framing it, his stormy grey eyes fixed on the ground before him, Regulus Black took the Dark Mark. He was kneeling at the feet of his new master, head down. The posture of utter submission. The white and untainted skin of Regulus's forearm was presented in front of him like a sacrificial lamb.
Regulus didn't move.
It was the end of summer, and heavy drops were falling against the windows, invisible against the darkened sky.
All his family was here with him. Well, all his family that wasn't banned from the ancestral tapestry. All the family that mattered, would have said his mother. His fierce cousin, Bellatrix, and her new husband Rodolphus. Rodolfus's younger brother was here too, holding his freshly marked arm with a mix of pain and pride. Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, his cousins. Aunt Druella. His mother, her eyes shimmering with the Black madness. Her husband - and cousins - shoulder tensed, but eyes downcast.
Regulus couldn't see what was happening around him. He kept repeating to himself that it was what he wanted. It was good, it had to be done. It was an honor, yes, an honor. Nothing short of continuing the legacy of the Blacks. Ensuring a future for his family - for his kind. The only way, the best way, the good way. It was freedom.
It was war.
He was anxious.
Who was he kidding, he was completely afraid, shaking like a fucking Hufflepuff girl, his heart hammering in his throat as if it wanted to beat its way out of the boy's skin.
He felt someone approaching him. This was it, the Dark Lord would take his wrist, marking him and it would be the turn of another boy. Its fate would be sealed for all eternity. He would scream - like most of them - because he was still too weak to grit his teeth.
A long, elegant finger touched his chin and tilted his head upward.
Red eyes. It was the first thing that struck Regulus. Of course, he knew that the Dark Lord had red eyes - he had already seen him even if from afar before, but it had never stricken him as it did now. The Dark Lord was leaning over him, against the light of the fireplace. It darkened his white - for it couldn't honestly be described as pale - but absolutely handsome face. And in the middle of these grey high cheekbones, perfect nose, thin and well-drawn lips, were these two little fires that devoured Regulus, as if boring into his very soul. Maybe they were. The moving golden light of the fireplace was illuminating his dark hair neatly combed in sophisticated waves (so, so different and much more perfect than Regulus own), creating a halo around him. A crown of fire.
The Dark Lord's hand was warm against the boy's skin. He could feel the heat of the fingertips printing their marks on him, on his very being. The Dark Lord's magic was surrounding him, dark, powerful. Absolute. Comforting. Surprisingly tender. It wasn't human. It was so much more. Those untouchable fingers were brushing his skin. No, his skin had dared touch this hand. His hand.
An angel , Regulus thought.
"Breathe." The Dark Lord whispered softly, and Regulus noticed that he wasn't indeed breathing. He parted his lips and took a deep breath. Perfect lips stretched in approbation. Regulus felt so proud to be at the receiving end of this emotion.
"Do you want to serve me and our cause, Young Black?" The Lord spoke after a few seconds of silence.
"Yes, my Lord." Answered the boy without missing a beat. His voice was smooth and there was no trace of his fear in it.
"Do you swear fidelity to me and our cause?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"Then you will never be afraid of anything but me."
A pause.
The boy had always been afraid. Afraid of the muggles and their incomprehensible weapons. Afraid of his mother, her fists and her wand and her screams, afraid of being alone and abandoned, afraid of being weak. Afraid to die .
Regulus's stare bored into his Lord's eyes, and whispered, as if afraid that his voice would break the sanctity of what he was in the presence of:
"Yes, my Lord."
Regulus was sure of it now. His mother was right, this was where he was meant to be. He buried the feeling of uneasiness, of his instincts screaming that something was wrong, and lowered his head again, this time in a swift consenting motion.
He felt a pressure where the wooden wand touched his skin and then-
A prick of raw magic pierced through his skin like a needle. Then another, and another and every centimeter of his forearm started to burn, to tear, to melt under the pressure.
For a second, Regulus thought that he would scream. But he didn't.
At seventeen, Regulus Black became a Death Eater.
Regulus barely had the time to pass through his door before he found himself with his arms full of an over-excited Bellatrix (and his mouth full of black wild curls). She hugged him tightly.
"I'm so proud of you Reggy!" She cried.
"Bella… Air…" he whispered. She cackled at that but let him go.
"Be careful, cousin…" drawled Rodolphus, smirking. "One might think that you are trying to steal my new wife."
"Shut up, you savage! He's just a baby!" Said Bella, throwing herself on the couch and patting it for Regulus to sit next to her.
Twelve Grimmauld Place was full ever since the marriage between Bellatrix and Rodolphus, well, as full as such a big place could be. It had been an arranged marriage, of course, but they seemed to make a good pair indeed. As the tradition asked, they all came to live in the bride's family for the firsts month, for Walburga's greatest delight.
She and Bellatrix always had some sort of strange connection, probably because they had the same kind of insanity.
They only lived there for a few months at a time anyway - they would join the main manor for winter, but a place in London was more convenient for political purposes and Regulus… had new extra activities.
Plus, they had their own non-ministry-controlled floo here, and enough wards to put Hogwarts to shame, which boded well with Walburga's lingering paranoïa.
At least, Narcissa's wedding would not be until next year. Regulus really didn't want to see the two sisters and their husband in his house. He had decided on principle to keep the war out of his living room.
"True, but not for long, my dear." Rodolphus chuckled "The next raid is in no more than three weeks, and you will probably participate, cousin."
Regulus puffed his chest. To participate in a raid so young was an honor, and he intended to make it worth it. He already saw himself next to his Lord, applying the greatest pureblood ways to these disgusting muggles… Putting them where they belonged. Finally having a place.
"Oh yes, yes, yes, little cousin! We will fight together!" Bellatrix said, clapping her hands and slightly bouncing on the couch. She grinned brightly, albeit a bit madly and patted Regulus on the head. "You'll do good, little cousin. You're a Black after all!"
"That he is."
Regulus startled at the cold voice behind him. Walburga Black was standing in the doorway, looking at him above her nose. She had been beautiful once upon a time, but years of instability had taken their toll on her. A dark shadow had spread under her eyes, her cheeks were hollow, but she still had this aura of haughtiness that only her niece had ever been able to reproduce. And her first son.
Regulus quickly hid the thought of his brother and the pang of jealousy at the back of his head. He was still here, he was the good son. He was better. The only one to uphold the name of Black.
"Good evening, mother." He greeted politely.
"Good evening, son . Your father and I expect you in the parlor in an hour. Take the time to celebrate, in the meantime. Don't be late; I shall not stand it." She said.
"Yes, mother," he answered, looking at the floor.
"Behave."
And with these words, she turned her heels ( comfortably trapped in the most expensive shoes) and went away.
"A charming lady." Muttered Rodolphus with a sympathetic look towards the younger man, who caught it with a mix of relief and anger.
It was true, yes, but nobody insulted his mother but him.
"She is, isn't she?" approved Bellatrix, completely missing the irony. "A real Black, and a fierce woman. I hope I'll become like her one day."
There was a sick glint in her eyes that Regulus knew only too well. He hoped the Lord would manage to channel her passion; otherwise, it would become dangerous.
Rodolphus paled, and this time it was Regulus's turn to shoot a sympathetic look.
"Come on, let's see you in these new robes!" Continued Bella. She grabbed the young man by his shoulder in a strong grip -one might not imagine that she was so strong under her frail body- and led him to his rooms. "Barty will be there quite soon - just the time for him to escape his ministry's functions, and I'm sure he will be delighted to see you in these!"
"I didn't know Barty would come this evening." Wondered Regulus while disregarding his outer robes on his bed. Bella sat next to it on the bed, disregarding any type of proper posture to stretch lasciviously on the covers.
"The Lord summoned him." She said with reverence. "And he surely prefers passing the evening with us than with the blood-traitors he is forced to call family. He's a good kid, even if he's a softy."
Regulus looked at her briefly through the mirror and got out of his common shoes and inner robes, throwing them with the rest of his clothes. He was only in his dark trousers, made out of the finest fabric, and a deep purple shirt.
Traditionally, he wasn't supposed to wear anything under his robes (It was very strange to trap oneself into so many layers of tight clothing when you could simply cast a heating charm), but considering that he had had to change after the meetings - sometimes quite quickly - it was accepted among the Death Eaters.
Alastor Moody had already arrested three of them that had to run away on their mission for the Lords - change clothes or anything to change into, and their poor transfiguration was easily spotted.
That day, self-preservation won over tradition.
"Surely. I don't know how he still stands to be around his father, knowing what he is doing too."
"And he has the same name!" She laugh. "Poor baby Barty, no way to escape his shame."
He made an agreeing noise and put his black inner robes on his back. He took some time to be sure there was no wrinkle anywhere passing his hand on the front of them to smooth the fabric.
"The Lord holds him in high esteem." He noted smoothly tilting his head to the side.
Regulus put on the dark-green, thicker outer-robes and clipped the large belt of fabric on his stomach, ignoring the glare Bellatrix sent him at the notion that she wasn't His favorite. Really, Regulus didn't know why she had married at all.
Of course, he knew the Lord wasn't interested in marrying - he had made it very clear after the demands had accumulated, but he couldn't imagine Bella giving the Lestranges an heir.
He couldn't imagine Bella weakening herself to and for anyone but the Dark Lord.
He prayed the Rabastan would marry and have a large progeniture - otherwise one of the purest lines of the wizard would disappear before the end of the next century.
The idea sent a pang in the young man's chest. It was intolerable that good wizarding lines could disappear like that. All of that because of these damn muggles and their little friends.
Disgusting.
With a wave of his wand, he combed his hair - shoulder-long as it had to be for the firstborn of every house, once they reached maturity.
How he wanted to cut it.
Suddenly he felt arms around him. Bella put her head on his shoulder, the wild locks of her hair falling around him. Her heavy eyes locked with his in the mirror and she tightened her arms around his waist.
"Don't worry, Reggy. You will do well. I'm sure you'll kill a lot of mudbloods, and you'll become a real Death Eater. It's beautiful, you'll see..." She said uncharacteristically softly. "If you don't, well…"
She didn't finish her sentenced and simply ruffled his hair. Sometimes, it was hard to remember what she truly was.
"Look at yourself, Reggy. You really look good in these." She pointed out.
And he did. His shoulders looked broader than under his school robes, and the belt circled his slim waist nicely. His already pale skin seemed made of marble in contrast with all that black, and his dark eyes, a shade of grey darker than his mother's, stood out. He looked even more pure-blooded than he already did - if possible. Gone was the child, insecure, angry and shy.
He took his skull-like mask and held it in front of his face. His features disappeared.
A shiver ran on his back and he hoped Bellatrix didn't feel it.
An hour later, Regulus was sitting in the parlor. His father was standing uneasily next to the big window (weak, weak man, but good, somehow), almost hiding in the overflowing and colorful vase, filled with the most expensive if not beautiful flowers and his mother had yet to show up.
The silence stretched heavily between the two.
Orion Black didn't talk if he didn't have to. He was a cold, proper man.
Fading.
The only time Regulus had really heard his voice was when his… Sirius had escaped the house. Orion had shouted to his servants for a week, ordering for them to find his heir. When his wife had locked herself in her room, he had never tried again to get his first son back home. After one unsuccessful week, he had stopped and went back to his old self, with only a bit more of shadows under his eyes, and something missing in his child.
It had scared Regulus.
A week was all they needed to find a replacement for their elder son. And from now on, he was the elder; it was his duty. He was the last remaining- almost the last alive.
One of his aunts -Bella's mother, Druella Rosier, had told Regulus that Orion was a joyful boy before his marriage, albeit a bit shy.
But living with Walburga did these things to people.
Strangely, Regulus didn't doubt for a moment that Orion loved his wife and children. He was just too weak to show it, to act, to speak. Sometimes, the boy wondered about the day Orion Black would be too weak to live.
Walburga stormed into the room and sat briskly in front of her son. She looked at him with a glint in the eyes.
"Show it to me." She ordered.
Regulus didn't ask what she was talking about and compiled. He didn't want to. It was very intimate somehow, but he knew better than to disobey. He didn't want to end as a black dot on the tapestry.
It was there. Of course, they both saw it during the ceremony, but it was different to see the result afterwards. More ... definitive. The ink snake slid against his skin, coming out of the skull with his mouth open and silently roaring.
He felt… so powerful. Part of something.
Walburga considered the Mark with pride and smiled at her son for the first time in years.
"You didn't disappoint me this time, son." She said. It was the closest to a congratulation that he would ever get. If this had been a few years back he would have relished in it, now, it only carved a cold pit in his chest.
He smiled at her either way.
Slowly, as if afraid of his running away, his father skirted him and patted him on the shoulder. Regulus looked up at him, and saw what he had sought for so long. And with that, the pressure he had felt building inside him since the day he had been told he had to be marked evaporated.
Because it was genuine. Awkward, positively uncharacteristic…
But genuine.
An elf popped in to announced the young mister Crouch. Regulus eagerly took the opportunity to simply get out of here, even if nothing on his face or in his movements ever show it.
Barty was waiting for him, dwarfed by the entrance of the manor. Not that Barty was particularly small, he was more of a too thin too tall kind of young man, with quick, nervous movements that screamed uncontrolled strength.
No, it was that the interior of Black Manor was one of art. Lined with expensive furniture, Grecian columns, and arches, enchanted chandeliers sparkling like diamonds and almost effectively blinding the guests. The windows of the great hall looked out onto the gardens and the nearby forest that encompassed the area.
Of course, as they had still to be at Grimmauld place for the rest of the season, it was only an illusion, and a lot of extension charms accumulated by years and years of too rich and too pompous Blacks.
"Reggy!" Barty opened his arms to welcome the young Slytherin, a rueful smile on his lips. "My my, you look good !"
Regulus turned on himself to show all the mightiness of his new attire. He motioned his friend to follow him in his room- the only place where mother would not enter - when guests were here anyway.
"I always do, my dear. Not everybody can forgo to shower one day out of two." He shot back.
Barty stuck out his tongue before passing it on his lips las a reflex. Regulus didn't know if it was a nervous gesture or a simple tick, but it went with the general nervousness of the young man. He sat at the place Bellatrix had been earlier. She had return to her husband in the living room, probably preparing their own little plans for the next raid.
"Well, you're officially in the crew, now. I wish I could have been there when He marked you."
Regulus smiled. "Family only, I'm afraid."
"I know."
Regulus immediately regretted his words. Of course, Barty had to be alone during his marking. "At least you had a one-on-one with the Dark Lord." He said lightly, sitting next to Barty on the bed. Proper etiquette would want that he sat on a chair, but proper etiquette never applied to Barty and Regulus. Well, mostly Barty truly, but the young Black didn't spit on a bit of comfort and relaxation -in private, of course.
Barty smiled shyly, a rare smile he kept only for his trusted. "I was a bit scared, but so…"
"Exhilarating?"
Barty snorted. "That."
Which meant that Barty probably had a hard time not to be too… clingy to the Dark Lord.
Regulus made a sound of agreement. "I felt so little when I was next to him…", he whispered. It seemed to him that talking louder about the Lord would be rude somehow. "It was like- I knew of his power before, of course, but to actually feel it…"
"He'll give us the world."
Regulus turned to look at his friend. He was staring at the wall with certainty and determination, his pointed nose upheld with pride. His lips slightly parted as if in ecstasy. Regulus could almost see the images of future power and glory in his brown eyes.
He could almost see the image of their Lord printed in his retina.
Barty took his hand, his skin was soft and cool against the other boy's.
"He will, my friend. He will."
Regulus was walking hard through the fog, his feet sinking in the damp soil mixed with decomposed leaves. Droplets of water were falling from his hair into his collar, against the warm skin of his neck, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake.
He had no idea who had dared to say that autumn was full of shimmering colors and soft sunsets. An idiot; probably muggle.
Shivering, he cast a warming spell and cleaned himself before entering his master's manor.
Regulus knocked at the door.
A servant - probably some unmarked Death Eater, opened the door, and led him to his master.
How strange that the Dark Lord didn't have house elves for this type of task...
"Come in." He heard from the other side of the wooden door. He opened it and found himself in a quite luxurious room, all in cherry wood and deep velvet. The luxury of the place doesn't surprise him, of course. But the simplicity did. The furniture wasn't carved in refined details, but functional, the room wasn't neat and clean -empty- as the proper etiquette would ask it to. Enormous books with a leather cover and old parchment are scattered across the wooden desk and on the shelves, among precious looking artifacts, maps, and papers of all sorts.
In the middle of that room, the Dark Lord is sitting in an armchair, legs crossed and a book in his hand. Nervousness washed over Regulus. How the Lord could look so elegant in such a trivial -almost domestic - scenery Regulus would never know. Next to him was Severus, a boy two years older than Regulus, standing proudly in his black robes, hands behind his back.
Severus' eyes seemed to bore into Regulus skull, and the young man suddenly felt very naked .
Regulus knew him well as the target for his brother's pranks and bullying and a genius in many aspects of the Dark Arts. A force to reckon with, obviously.
It has been a week since Regulus was marked. His arm still hurt, but not like in the firsts times. Now it was more of a lingering burn as if he had only a bruise on his skin. He wondered if Snape's mark still burnt.
"Ah, Regulus. Sit." the Dark Lord said, motioning to the armchair in front of him.
Regulus noticed that it was slightly closer to the floor than the one his Lord was sitting in, so much so that when he sat, he was two head shorter than him.
"Severus, leave us." Dismissed the Dark Lord.
The young man hurried to comply and slightly banged a globe that was resting on the Lord's desk in passing, but with a quick wand wave, the object barely moved; it's shiny side was now facing the Dark Lord, who didn't look up out of his book.
The Dark Lord closed his book and put it aside. He took a moment to consider his guest. Regulus didn't fidget under his gaze because Blacks didn't fidget, but it was a close call.
"My dear Regulus. It is a pleasure to welcome you amongst our ranks. Yes, yes, of course, you were marked a week ago, but I didn't have the occasion to personally congratulate you. You're a man now." He said. The Lord's voice was soft as silk, barely above a whisper. He didn't have to scream and shouted to be obeyed. Regulus took a moment to let the shiver down his back disappear.
"Thank you, my Lord, for accepting me among the ranks." Humbly answered the young heir; bowing his head at exactly forty-five degree, just enough to show respect, not enough to show desperation.
"But it's quite normal, for the heir to the most ancient and Noble house of Black. I received your mother, and she is quite proud of her second son."
Regulus looked at him with incredulity. "Oh, I know that your older brother was disowned, young Regulus. He chooses to be our enemy, and I approbate your mother's decision. There is no place in our new world for traitors. However, family ties are easy to break on paper, hard to break in the heart. And I'm afraid that on the battlefield, papers don't matter so much."
Regulus was a smart boy. Clearly smart enough to know when he was being tested. It was only words, after all.
"My family of heart, my Lord, is the one that holds the values of the Wizarding World, and the ones that are marked such as I am."
The Dark Lord quirked an eyebrow and smirked.
"Ah, yes. Yes, Regulus, I see that you will not disappoint me. I see potential in you, a lot of potential..."
Regulus had the decency to blush under the praise. "I do hope to fulfill your expectations, my Lord."
"I do too, Regulus. I do too." The Lord paused a second too long for there not to be a hidden threat and continued. "The next meeting will be tomorrow, and I expect you to attend."
Regulus paled a bit. An actual Death Eater meeting… he was excited, of course, and anxious. Nobody could talk about what was happening inside these, not even Severus. It was the great mystery finally unfolded.
"I heard you had competence in healing?"
Regulus shot back out of his thoughts and nodded slowly. The Dark Lord turned to take something in one of the desk's drawer. Regulus kept observing him in the reflexion of the golden globe that was reflected on the shield, unable to tear his eyes away from his Lord.
"It is… interesting. You see, at your age already I had a heavy interest in the arts of the body, the mind, and the soul… But the research wasn't that extensive at the time."
Regulus considered the Dark Lord words for a moment.
"If I am allowed, My Lord, how old are you?" He asked politely, succumbing to his curiosity and feeling his master quite inclined for a small chat.
Anger flashed across the beautiful features, distorting them into something atrocious. Regulus heart missed a beat and his palms started to sweat, but in a second it was gone, and the boy thought for a moment that he had imagined it.
He wouldn't have seen it without the reflexion.
"Ha, but my dear Regulus, immortality has no age" he answered smoothly, words flowing from his mouth with ease despite his previous - and unexplained- rage, "However, as you surely know, some dark magic… diminished the efficiency of other - more common - branches of magic. Healing, is one of them. This is why we need healers."
The Lord had appeared again, a fond expression firmly in place on his face, and Regulus blinked. He held up a parchment and the young man took it diligently.
"You will train under Yaxley for awhile; I want to see what you are able to do in this area. If you succeed, you will be a strong asset to our cause." He said almost warmly.
He put his hand on Regulus's shoulders and the young man shivered. "Anything to please you, My Lord."
"Indeed. You may go, Regulus." He said.
When he left, Regulus noted that there wasn't a trace of dust on the seemingly abandoned books, nor on the shelves.
Yaxley was standing behind a long metallic table. He was a big, tall man with a hard face and wise, cold brown eyes. His son had been at Hogwarts with Regulus – albéit some years above, but with his big white beard and long hair streaked with grey, falling in waves on his shoulders, he looked almost a hundred years old to the young man. He looked at Regulus with contempt, but no hostility.
Regulus bowed his head -not his body as that was reserved to the Dark Lord. "Good morning, Lord Yaxley. It is an honor to work with you and I hope-"
"Yes, yes, cut it there, pretty boy."
Regulus was in utter shock. How dare he-
Then, he noticed what Yaxley was actually doing.
The man's hand moved with dexterity and knowledge around instruments – metallic knives, and other unpleasantness from which Regulus quickly averted his eyes.
"Ah. Do you know what these things are, young Lord Black?"
Speechless, Regulus shook his head no. He had no idea – and truly he wasn't sure that he wanted to know. For the first time since he had received his mark, he wondered truly what he was doing here .
"I thought as much. You are here to learn the art of healing-" he raised his hand to stop Regulus who had opened his mouth to protest, " -Yes, yes I know you think you already studied it. You passed a month at St. Mungo's, didn't you? That's what they usually do."
He hummed on contentedly and continued to arrange the instruments who were making little metallic noises when they entered in contact with the table. Regulus gritted his teeth.
"However, being a healer under the Dark Lord is quite... different may I say."
The man looked him up and down. "You'll learn quickly", he continued, "you don't have any other choices. Healing means the life or death of the patient in your hands; Healing for the Dark Lord adds value to your's and your families as well."
His voice was low as if he feared something – or didn't consider Regulus worthy enough to speak louder, the young Death Eater wasn't quite sure.
Regulus was lost. Nobody had ever dared to speak to him that way – nobody worthy of interest anyway, or who wasn't a Black. But Yaxley just kept arranging his disgusting tools without a care in the world, insulting the richest and noblest heir of England like he was some misbehaving schoolboy.
Preposterous.
"How dare y-"
"Give me the potion, on the shelf, next to you." Interrupted Yaxley, holding his hand in the air expectantly. His eyes were still fixed on whatever he was doing.
Regulus swallowed back his anger and took the vial. It wasn't good to look for trouble on the first day with a new master – if ever. Especially considering that said master would give reports to the Dark Lord himself.
Regulus didn't want to disappoint the Dark Lord by acting like a spoiled child, something too many purebloods did and regretted quickly.
For the Dark Lord, he would keep his temper in check. He was a Black, after all. He was worth more than that.
His orders were to come here and learn, so he would stay, and learn. That's what he told himself while giving Yaxley the vial. Feeling the cold glass on his palm, the Healer looked up finally, with something like appreciation flickering in his eyes.
"Good." He said simply.
Regulus felt like he had won something, but he didn't know what or how.
All the youngest Death Eaters were gathered in the room. The second generation, they were called. They were sitting in the parlor, pretending to only be a group of friends talking politics - as expected for well-raised purebloods. Albeit for the presence of Severus and the content of some books displayed on the table, between tea and biscuits, they would almost look like mere schoolboys.
As usual, Lucius was holding court. Regulus, as the last heir of the oldest family, should have been in his place, but he was more of the shy kind and lacked the charisma of his blonde cousin. Or his brother's. It didn't stop him from taking part in the celebration.
No, Regulus was talking strategically. He greeted Rosier (the son) warmly. The boy's father had great financial interests and alliances with the Black industries. None of the boys had yet received their inheritance of course ("- and may we receive them as late as possible!" they exclaimed, laughing to hide the poison in their words), but to evaluate an ally is something that takes time, and effort.
The next raid was in two days, and the excitement was slowly rising.
"I certainly can't wait to try Severus's new curse on these muggles!" Exclaimed Barty, licking his lips with - too much - excitement.
"A new curse? Severus! Why is it that you didn't teach it to me?" Asked Regulus, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Because everything must be earned, Regulus." Taunted his friend.
And you think you know that better than me, don't you, Half-blood? Perhaps something you learned with your muggle of a father?
"And where did you earned the right to talk like that to a pure-blood, half-breed?" Snarled Bellatrix, looking down her nose at him. .
It was strange how she could bad mouth everyone though and still pass for the good servant.
"I'd say that the Lord gave it to me the day he allowed me to bear his Mark. Or are you questioning the Lord's judgment?"
Bella sputtered at his answer and looked at him furiously. Regulus was positively close to laughter, but the corners of his mouth barely curled at the glare Bella sent him. Behind him, Barty was mimicking an explosion with big movements of his arms.
A cup of tea flew but Severus ducked it with ease, and a Reparo later, it was like nothing had happened at all.
"Mark maybe, but it seems that you consider yourself not to be with us. Shall we reconsider your loyalty if you retain information, I wonder?" Asked Regulus with a mock-innocence. Severus glared at him, even paler than his gaunt complexion appeared usually.
What did he expect, for Regulus to side with him against his family?
No, it wasn't good to be on the bad side of a Black.
Regulus wondered. How was it that a Half-blood had climbed so high up the Death Eater's ranking-ladder. He was gifted, undoubtedly, -
But was it enough ? The Dark Lord used to be so strict about lineage, a normal revendication for the last heir of Slytherin.
Regulus looked at the young Snape. As always, he was working twice as much as everyone around him. Trying to show his worth.
He shouldn't even be able to do that.
Something didn't add up.
"Hey, listen to this!" Said Rabastan, waving The Daily Prophet he had opened earlier. "Our dear minister is talking about us in the newspapers!"
Silence fell on the room as the young man started to read, his lips twitching in amusement. Even Snape had raised his head above his enormous book and fixed his bottomless eyes on the piece of paper.
"This morning the Minister made a speech during the assembly of the Wizengamot, in presence of the Lords and Lady of the twenty-eight sacred, the ministry officials and the legal court:
"These are Dark times, my friends. I am here today to announce my final decision. We are at war against The Dark Lord and his troops - that's us!- that call themselves Death Eaters. These criminals raid villages, killing, torturing and raping anyone in their path. These people are a danger." He made a dramatic pose and smirked at the few laugh that rose at the notion of them being the danger. Yeah, as if it wasn't the mudbloods that were threatening them.
"These raids are not only atrocious but threatened to break the Status of Secrecy. Tragedies like the ones of Godric's Hollow, London Subway, and Heligton simply cannot happen again.
For almost ten years now we didn't do enough, and from all of the ministries employees and the Aurors, I apologize for it."
"Well at least they are noticing their own incompetence…" drawled, Lucius.
Regulus and Snape exchanged a look over their comrades heads. They didn't like where this was going.
"Therefore, for now on and until all of them are captured or dead, or rightfully imprisoned, I give all power to the head of the Auror department and the Head of the Justice department to take the necessary measures. Mr. Barty Crouch Sr. will from now on be addressed in case of arrest. No spell will be unused on the battlefield. We will do everything that is necessary to assure the security of all the wizards and witches of England.
Every person caught wearing, casting or propagating the Dark Mark by any means will be arrested and sentenced to Azkaban. Every person caught with Dark artifacts, practicing a Dark Ritual, or using his magic with nefarious intents against his fellow wizards, the wand carrier or the muggles will be sentenced to Azkaban.
I hope that our country will come out unscathed and glorious from this war."
This time, the silence in the room was deafening.
Regulus was standing on a hill. His black robes were flying in the wind. The air caressed his back and made his hair float. Nervousness radiated from him. He was tightly squeezing his wand in his right hand.
His first raid.
He couldn't help but to worry. What if he was a disappointment? What if he failed? What if he wasn't able to kill?
What if it was wrong? whispered a little voice in his head.
But no, it couldn't be. They didn't matter, these muggles. They were barely human. Dangerous, greedy things.
He would do his best.
A warm hand landed on his shoulders, and Regulus turned to see Severus staring at the village. His dark eyes were roaming across the streets, calculating, anticipating, like a bird of prey ready to fall on some poor rabbit. His face was blank, but there was a glint in his eyes… Regulus wondered if his eyes would have the same in a few years.
As if following a line, Severus' eyes passed from the village to Regulus. Regulus swallowed audibly. He knew at that moment that he was only another potential victim for the other man, that he barely had the chance to be safely on his side.
Slowly and carefully, the Dark Lord started to explain the movement they would do in the town (for the third time probably). He rose his long, slender hand and moved them as if cutting directly into the streets, in the lives of the unsuspecting people below them. He was a deadly maestro contemplating his symphony to be sung by a dozen of human throats.
The night was dark and cool. The leaves were already falling and colored the ground with decay. The silence rising, waiting, unnatural. No birds singing, no cars in the streets, no dog barkings. Everything was waiting.
A howling broke the night.
Regulus saw a dark form running down the main street. Another howling answered to the first one. And another. And another. Soon, a circle of howling pressed the air around them.
Regulus hand clenching on his wand tightened.
The first windows started to illuminate. The Dark Mark was shot in the sky, floodlighting everything in sick green. It seemed like the village was already dead, and when Regulus looked at Snape, it seemed like his comrade too was already dead.
But Regulus felt very much alive.
The water was running on his blood stained hands. He watched with fascination the black, then red, then pink drops falling in the white sink. They ran in circles and arabesques before falling into the drain in the middle.
He started to scrub them. Dirty, they were dirty. He could still see blood, feel it, smell it, taste it . He frantically rubbed his hands against each other. He cupped his hands and filled them with water and pressed it on his face. He was trembling because he was weak like mother had said, weak and pathetic. He put his hands under the water again and continued to scrub until his skin was raw and aching and his arms tired, but he didn't stop. Dirty. There was still a red dot here. Under his nails. On his wrist.
On his Mark.
The dark spot grew and moved and dug into his skin like worms on a corpse but it can't be stopped it is there forever. Make it stop, please, please please, it had to become clean again, please.
Water splashed everywhere, on the floor, on his clothes. His thoughts were in turmoil, he was shaking at each sound echoing against the pipes, and he couldn't even comprehend why he was like this why anything was like this, what was happening . His hair was damp and falling in front of his face, long enough to touch his chin. He had thrown his robes on the floor somewhere but didn't take the time to get out of the rest of his clothes.
He continued scrubbing, his breathing accelerating. Something was pressing on his chest, and he was suffocating. He was drowning. He panted but never stopped washing his hands, and arms, and face. He opened his mouth to try to breathe but he just couldn't. It felt like falling, he wasn't even sure that he had a floor under his feet. .
He gasped when his skin started to bleed and stopped. He considered his hand with horror and backed up against the wall. He let himself slide against it, his heart beating his way out of his chest, burning eyes still fixed on his hands. Before he knew it, he was sobbing uncontrollably, curled against the tiled wall. He put his hand on his face and felt the sticky blood spread onto his eyes and face.
He had to wash again. For hours, he stayed there, alternating between sobs and a bitter laugh.
Two days later, the first post-raid meeting took place. Regulus's Mark burned for the first time in his life. He was at dinner, with Mother and Father.
Regulus was holding his knife above the piece of meat.
His hair was neatly tied at the back of his head, and it was surely the reason for his chill.
He couldn't turn his gaze away from the bleeding meat.
Why was the knife shaking in his hand? It was unbecoming! He took a deep breath. He lowered his knife and pressed the soft flesh, then pulled it to the side with more pressure. Drops of cooked blood flowed out of the soft broken beef, torn in half. They sank on the white plate and inundated the porcelain, tainting it with the smell of cooked meat.
Tainting it with Red.
Regulus shivered. Then clenched his teeth. It wasn't right to show- feel- those type of things.
His mark burnt. Taken by surprise, he could barely manage to repress a cry.
Before even wondering what was happening, something slapped his cheek so hard his ears rang. Walburga looked at him coldly, the hand still in the air.
She didn't talk, but he could still hear her voice. Blacks don't cry.
Regulus kept his eyes firmly on the ground, not to see her, not to see his father looking at him with pity.
He stood up and went determinedly for his Death Eater robes. He applied a careful glamour on his cheek, so he could hide it turning purple in a few hours, and on the heavy blackish bags under his eyes, in the lines of sorrow on his face.
He dutifully checked his wand, straightened his back, cooled his features. He rose his occlumency shields slowly and with difficulty. It wouldn't last a direct attack, but casual checking would be ok.
He hoped so.
He left a note for Kreacher to have some food ready when he returned, got out of his ancestral home and apparated away.
He landed in front of an old manor - the Yaxley's. The meeting place had always to move for more security and safety. Too many death eaters in one place were doomed to be noticed, no matter the wards.
As he passed the doors, Regulus couldn't help but to wonder if such an amount of pain was necessary for their goal.
Regulus arrived in a large room, soberly furnished with a long, dark wooden table and about thirty chairs around him. Although the room, with its size and the carvings of the woodwork around the windows, spoke of luxury and a taste for the dapper, had obviously been cleared.
Regulus remembered what cousin Bella had told him: a death eater, in the early days of the organization, had wanted to impress the Dark Lord with his wealth. It had been a few days of luxurious food, sumptuous robes, plated in plain gold encrusted with emerald, diamonds, opals. Even dancers - he had heard - and slaves, exotics magical pets, all seeping vanity.
The poor man had finished in his own dungeons, to teach him humility. His last lesson, apparently. The message had been very well retained by the rest of his comrades.
War was not embroiled with gold.
Regulus stood in the room silently, watching the others talking softly in conversations that had layers above layers of meanings and that almost made them frown in concentration. Regulus rarely talked to his peers, even at school. He preferred to watch - and learn.
The Dark Lord had yet to arrive, and in his absence, Abraxas Malfoy ( A flash appeared in Regulus' mind, a little girl screaming "Please, no, no, no!"), Theseus Lestrange ("Spare my children", I'm begging you!") and Antonin Dolohov (Blood, so much blood, everywhere ) were in charge, as the three older and more influential Death Eaters, and Lords.
Regulus narrowed his eyes. As much as Dolohov was far too loyal to be a danger to the Dark Lord, and Abraxas too smart, Lestrange was another matter altogether. Rabastan, who always had a soft spot for his young cousin, had warned him, and now Regulus could see why.
The man was standing near the dark wooden throne at the end of the room. Worse, he was leaning on it like it was some common wall for his comfort. His two sons shot him some warning glances, even if the elder was more preoccupied with keeping an eye on his young wife (actively trying to murder Severus with a… spoon?)
Regulus shuddered. He couldn't erase from his memory the image of Bella, his sweet Bella with whom he had played as a kid, covered in blood and other fluids. It was smearing her robes and her skin and going into her mouth and she was laughing , laughing like a child at Yule. Her eyes had been a furnace.
They said battlefield changed people. Regulus thought that it mostly brought to light what they really were. Did it make a coward out of him?
But what he thought didn't really matter.
"Don't follow his example, kiddo." Whispered Yaxley in his ear, making him jump. He turned towards the man that he obviously hadn't heard arrive, cooling his features to pretend (to whom he didn't know) that he was completely in control of the situation.
Yaxley was obviously unimpressed but amused by the young man's pride and settled for keeping his eyes on the Lestranges.
"I won't, Sir. I value our Lord - and my life - too much." He whispered back.
"In that order?" The old Lord chuckled with a raised eyebrow, but his eyes stayed cold and fixed.
"Always, Sir. Just like you, may I guess?"
The old man's beginning of a smile fell completely.
"Of course, young Heir Black. Of course." He said gravely. Regulus wondered what his teacher had seen for his eyes to be haunted like that. He wondered if his own eyes had the same expression.
Of course not. Who was he to compare himself to Yaxley? The old man was at the Dark Lord's service since the very beginning - and as a healer, to top it all. He surely had seen many things that Regulus couldn't even imagine.
But like the others, Regulus hid behind a silver tongue and a rightful purpose.
Finally, the Dark Lord entered in all of his mighty glory. He walked across the room as if he was in his own home, knowing each and every stone of the carpet covered floor. Bellatrix followed him with adoring eyes, and somehow, Regulus surprised himself by doing the same. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, and clasped his hands together to steady their shaking.
The Dark Lord stood in front of his throne and observed the room like he took attendance of every person present. He opened his arms wides, his hand pointing towards each line of chairs, motioning them to approach.
"Please, my friends, sit." He whispered.
Somehow, it was like he had said it directly into Regulus's hear. Immediately, everyone went towards a chair, in function of one's ranking, which meant that Regulus was at the Dark Lord's right, around the middle of the table, between Lucius and Rosier. He sat proudly, face blank, trying to shove his emotions into the void.
"No, no, that will not do." chastised the Dark lLord.
Every head turned towards the Dark Lord with a mixture of fear and confusion, in which the man seemed to bask happily.
"Regulus, come, come and sit." The Dark Lord finally said, motioning for Lestrange to give up his place. He didn't even grace the Lestrange patriarch with a glance.
The silence was deafening. Everyone was holding his breath as Regulus rose slowly and went to sit at the older man's place. He didn't dare look at the man in the eyes, at first. But he was a Black. He raised his head, confronted the Death Eater with his stormy grey eyes and his gracious - but subtle - rise of an eyebrow before seating as graciously as he could on the chair.
"Very well. Now, today's meeting is about the reports of the last raid. Malfoy, report."
Said Lord rose from his seat and bowed towards his master, his long blond hair falling gracefully around his face, without actually hiding his eyes, that he kept firmly on the Dark Lord.
"The raid went well, my Lord. There was no desertion among the little ones. we captured two Aurors - they are still being interrogated according to your orders. The patrols indicate twenty dead muggles - and a family of mudbloods, but no losses on our side. Two wounded, however, still recovering, but nothing life-threatening. "
"Very well, Abraxas. Distribute a few galleons to the lowest Death Eaters who have shown themselves in action, with our congratulations. We must keep enthusiasm in our lower ranks."
"It will be done, My Lord," answered Malfoy before bowing again and sitting.
"I must say that I am very satisfied with the young ones. Bellatrix, especially, and of course, Severus, for your… delicious use of Legilimency. All of you shall be rewarded."
A chorus of "thank you My Lord" rang across the room, and Regulus had a hard time not to wince. Severus was a Legilimens. He was probably one of the more dangerous Death Eaters in the room, hidden under his frail stature and impassive crooked face.
"How is your progress in the art of healing, Regulus?"
Nobody missed the fact that the Dark Lord had asked the student and not the professor.
The young boy bowed his head humbly, to avoid having to look at the Dark Lord in the eyes. "Yaxley thinks I'm quite good at it, but I still need practice. However, I am already able to deal with non life-threatening wounds, My Lord." He said, putting all of his supposed pride in his words.
"Very good, very good. You are a fast learner indeed." Regulus tried not to overflow at the praise. The Dark Lord was considering him appreciatively. "Considering the pureness of your blood and the value of your person, you may achieve great things in our new world, Regulus." He continued smoothly. " I do hope to see you as a field healer in the next weeks, under Yaxley's tutoring. There is nothing much like the battlefield, is there?"
"Of course My Lord, it would be an honor." Regulus bowed again to hide his face.
He was a skilled liar, but no one could hide from the Dark Lord.
The Battlefield. The battlefield. He would see it again, he would do it again. He felt like crying. He had to strengthen himself. They were only muggles - muggleborns at best. They weren't worth the lives of the peace of mind of good real wizards. They weren't worth his worries. He had to pretend to take a close interest in one of the dark glittering objects presented on the shelves on the walls to avoid his Lord's eyes. It would not do for him to see his thoughts now.
It was fascinating how the Lord liked to accumulate shiny things. Soothing, in a way, to see a flaw in all of his perfection. Regulus lowered his gaze and it fell on the Lord's for less than a second.
"Ah, but I can tell you that they come very handy in numerous situations."
Regulus startled. He watched his Lord rase from his seat and caress one of the shining trinkets with the end of his fingertips, softly, slowly and with so much care, like one would touch the skin of a lover. Now Regulus could sense it, the pressure in the front of his mind, a swift caress on his thoughts...
And yet, the young man could feel the restraint the Dark Lord was putting on himself. The raw storm that was behind the breeze. The man couldcrush him here and now without even thinking about it.
But he didn't. He only used his powers for his enemies. For their enemies.
He didn't see the Lord smirk - but he felt it in the air.
Bella returned home late that evening. Nobody really worried - if anything, they would fear for everyone around Bellatrix, not for the young woman.
Rodolphus was smoking a cigar, talking quietly with Orion, probably about the Black estates he had won in his bride's dowry. Walburga was upstairs, pretending a headache, to rest until dinner. In her absence, the room was deliciously quiet and cool. Regulus allowed himself to relax for the first time in the last few weeks - since his marking, really. Since his first raid. Rabastan looked at him intently but didn't say a thing.
Regulus mused on how different the two brothers were. Where Rodolphus was responsible, paternal, with some sort of heavy poise that just asked for respect, his young brother was quicker, more excited, all wits and creativity. People would think that Rodolphus was the dangerous one, but it wasn't true. Of the little trio that they had created with Bellatrix, he was the one in control, the on that made sure that things didn't go too far - or that they wouldn't get caught.
If anything, Rabastan's glare made the young man tense again.
No, they did not worry.
Not until she came home.
Rodolphus was the first to react. He ran to catch her before she fell on the ground, and carried her bridal style to the first couch he found. Regulus was on his feet in an instant, kneeling beside his cousin. Bella was covered in blood.
After the first few seconds of shock, Regulus's training kicked in. He cast a diagnostic spell, and after checking that her spine or other internal organs weren't hurt, he sighed in relief.
"We have to take her into one of the bedrooms for me to take care of her." He said and in an instant, Rodolphus had levitated her to one of the guest bedrooms.
"Kreacher!"
As Bella's husband lowered her on the soft mattress, the elf popped into existence in front of Regulus.
"Kreacher, I need you to go get my med kit and bring it to me. After that, go to professor Yaxley and tell him that Bellatrix is hurt," he ordered. The elf nodded his head, his eyes watery at the sight of his mistress hurt and went to carry out his task.
Only a few seconds later, Regulus was at the wounded' side with all the necessary utensils for his task.
It horrified him to see the fierce Bellatrix in such a shape, but he shook off all the unuseful feelings to best help her.
He couldn't fail now, he couldn't .
The skin of her belly was red with a severe burn, and where the clothes had not been destroyed, they stuck to the skin and threatened to infect the wounds. Bella's arms were lacerated as if a beast had planted its claws into her flesh, and they were bleeding profusely. Her face was covered with bruises. Her left eye was swollen and slowly taking a worrying shade of blue, and her lips were deeply cut.
She was covered in dirt, blackening the edges of her face, her hands, and tainting the wounds.
Regulus rolled up his sleeves and made sure to tie back his hair.
"Everybody, out." He said more confidently than he felt, seeing Rodolphus almost bouncing in fear and frustration. The man was about to protest, but Regulus's glare stopped him and he obeyed reluctantly.
He didn't wait for the room to be empty to get to work. With an attentive move of the wand, he started cutting her clothes off. He avoided the part that had melted into the flesh; he knew if he took them now it would leave marks and scars for the rest of her life, and probably aggravate her condition.
He concentrated. Burns. Burns he had studied, he knew what to do...Bella was risking a severe loss of fluids. That was the first thing -infection came after the burn so the wound needed to stay sterile for at least twenty-four hours.
But he had to know how deep the burns were. Quickly.
The burns were blackened, some bleached and had clearly passed the... dermis, yes it was that, which meant that most of the skin that was left couldn't be saved…
First thing first.
He quickly transfigured a vase into a bowl in which he put a yellow powder. A small Agamenti charm and the powder turned into a yellow - and smelly - paste.
Bella's eyes rolled into her head and a strong smell of ammonia spread in the room. She was going into shock.
Regulus' hands were trembling.
He quickly banished the mess with a wave of his wand, took of her shoes as his unguent was forming.
Merlin, how could she go onto the battlefield with high heels?
He applied the unguent on her burns to hydrate and cool the edges of her wounds and started to take care of the clothed parts. As the wounds had been inflicted by magic, a simple Episkey wasn't enough.
They were too severe anyway. Taking a fiber between two fingers, he started to lift it slowly while casting Tergeo on each centimeter of flesh newly uncovered.
He pursed his lips together at the sight of the damages, fighting off the urge to puke.
He was so focused on his task that Bella's moan startled him. He looked up to see her slowly drift into consciousness. He had to give her a pain-relieving potion, but he couldn't let the piece of fabric fall back on the raw flesh.
The panic he had kept at bay until now started to creep back into his mind. Why wasn't Yaxley here already?
Why was he alone with this?
While his mind was in turmoil, Kreacher popped back in the room.
"Kreacher is sorry Master Black but Master Yaxley cannot come Master Yaxley is healing other wounded from the attack Master Black Sir!" He cried, scratching his face with his long nails in punishment.
"Kreacher!"
The shout stopped the elf in his self-flagellation immediately.
"I need you to go downstairs and find me Narcissa. Now!"
The elf widened his eyes and disappeared.
Bella's moan became cries and Regulus found himself unable to ignore them. Holding his work with his wand, he went to the head of the bed.
Bella's eyes were blank and her breath shaky. He passed his hand through her wild curls, stroking her scalp and checking at the same time for an eventual concussion, whispering soothing nonsense with desperation. She tried to grasp his arms, crushing to the last remains of her consciousness, but she didn't have enough strength for that and her hand fell pitifully on him.
A knock at the door relieved him from the dread that threatened to drown him.
"Enter!"
Narcissa entered. Her eyes widened at the sight of her sister before Regulus motioned her to come closer. Slightly shaking, she obeyed.
"Narcissa. Narcissa look at me."
Her eyes shot up from her elder sister. "I need you to give her pain a relieving portion. Can you do that for me?"
She pursed her lips in determination a gave him a sharp nod.
"Good." He went back to his work on Bellatrix's belly. "Take the potion in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Take every pain reliever and disinfectant you may find and bring them to me."
It took them both several hours to stabilize Bellatrix. It seemed to Regulus that with each wound healed, another curse was found somewhere. His outer robe had been abandoned somewhere in the room, and Narcissa had lost all her pompous composure.
Casting one last diagnostic spell, Regulus let himself fall on a chair. He was exhausted, and the fear and the anger the adrenaline had blocked were slowly starting to rise again.
He buried his face in his hands.
But his task wasn't over. He had to go and tell the news to the family. To go and ask: How many dead? How many wounded? How much magical blood spilled in vain?
What had happened?
He looked at the snow, slowly falling outside, leaving wet prints on the glass, blurring the street into fading colorful lights.
Winter was here.