Written for QLFC Round #6
Team: Wigtown Wanderers
Position: Beater 2
Prompt: Frankenstein
Additional Prompts: 3. (quote) For every problem there is one solution which is simple, neat, and wrong. — H. L. Mencken, 9. (word) incident, 14. (object) mirror
Words: 2190
Thanks to Carmen for betaing!
For every problem there is one solution which is simple, neat, and wrong. — H. L. Mencken
Regulus was still half-asleep when he stumbled into the Great Hall for breakfast. He didn't show it much, of course, but he was hardly focusing where he was going, and his robes were slightly crinkled. He'd overslept; it was a rare occurrence and wouldn't happen again—he could feel his mother's disapproval, even if she would never find out.
He sat next to some other sixth years, who didn't greet him, and got himself some porridge and pumpkin juice. He had finished the porridge and was helping himself to some eggs—now much more awake—when a small smile caught his eye.
No one was watching; Regulus returned the smile.
The boy was sitting with his fellow fifth years at the Slytherin table, not too far away from Regulus, but they rarely talked in public. It was secret smiles and hidden glances in public, no matter how much Regulus hated it.
He tore his gaze away from the young Barty Crouch and focused on his eggs, but was distracted by the sound of wings. Post had arrived, then.
A large midnight black owl was swooping down on the Slytherin table, landing gracefully in front of Regulus and waiting graciously for him to remove the letter tied to its leg.
It was the Black family owl, as haughty and unapproachable as the family itself. Even Regulus had trouble getting the owl to warm up to him. He took the letter off the owl's leg and it was quickly on its way, leaving Regulus holding the small envelope with the Black crest on it.
He didn't often get letters from home. Walburga Black had never believed in coddling her children or showing them affection—though Regulus often got her approval—while her husband was distant. So it was with slight trepidation that Regulus opened his letter.
It was his mother's handwriting.
Her handwriting, not the self-writing quill's, not the secretary's, not the House-Elf's. Whatever this was about, it was important enough for Walburga to handwrite it. Regulus folded the letter up and put it into his robes.
He had a free period after breakfast and Slughorn had freed the class that was before lunch because he was meeting with an old friend, so Regulus finished his breakfast at a leisurely pace, and made his way back to the Slytherin Common Room, giving Barty a small smile as he left the Great Hall.
Regulus was friendly with many people, but he didn't have many friends, so he chose to walk alone. Once he made it to the Common Room, Regulus cast his eye around; he was the only one there, as most of the sixth years with free periods were outside, enjoying the cool April air, or finishing up homework in the library.
The Common Room was always faintly chilly, but Regulus made his way over to the fire. He looked at the brick walls and ornate fireplace, at the dark mirror above the fireplace that helped reflect the light around the Common Room. He was reflected in it, too, pale and visibly nervous about the letter.
Regulus scoffed and sat in a plush armchair in front of the roaring fire and was instantly much more comfortable. Again, Regulus made sure that he was alone; one could never be too careful.
He took the letter out of his robes and unfolded it.
.oOo.
"Reg, what are you doing here?"
"What?… Oh, I… sorry." Regulus cleared his throat and got up from the bed, brushing his robes smooth. "Just wanted to go somewhere where I knew no one would come. What are you doing here?"
"It's my dorm." Barty laughed lightly. "Fifth year, remember? Your dorm's next door."
"I know. I mean… you have class, don't you?"
"Not right now. Free period, remember? Right before lunch. You're the one that has class right now. What are you doing here?"
"Slughorn cancelled class," Regulus said, ignoring the question. "I thought it was still… must have lost track of time, I guess."
"Yeah, I guess. What are you doing here?" Barty crossed his hands over his chest. He looked around. "What's this?"
"That's—"
But too late. Barty had picked up his mother's letter and was reading it. "…Walburga Black. What's the matter, then? This is why you're hiding in here, right? I thought it would be good news."
"No, it… it is good news. I just needed a bit of time. To think about it. To… I don't know."
"What's the matter?" Barty looked over the letter again. "I thought you wanted to join the Dark Lord."
"I do!" Regulus said loudly. He sighed and sank back onto Barty's bed. "I think I do."
Barty sat down next to him, still holding the letter. Regulus watched him think, then finally say, "Well, you either do or you don't."
Regulus snorted. "Thanks."
"I don't mean it that way!"
"What way?"
"In an unsupportive way, or whatever." Barty pointed his wand at the dormitory door and locked it. "But you've never doubted this before—not that I know of—and it's good that your mother's supporting you, right? That shouldn't make you hesitate… right? Not unless you've been having doubts before."
"No!" Regulus said immediately. He knew he was as sure of his convictions as before, but it was a big step, and once he began thinking about it, he couldn't stop. "No doubts. I have firm convictions, you know that. I believe in what the Dark Lord is doing, in how he's doing it."
"Then what?"
Regulus's cousin Bellatrix had already taken the Dark Mark, had been showing it off for several years now. He was sure that Lucius Malfoy had it; that Macnair and Yaxley had it; that Severus Snape in the year above him had it. He rubbed at his left forearm.
"Do you want to?"
"Become a Death Eater?"
"Yes."
"Oh…" Barty's brow furrowed for a minute, then, "Yes."
"Just like that?"
"The Muggle population is increasing more rapidly than ever before. More and more wizards are interbreeding with them." Barty sneered. "Honorable wizard blood is being tainted. Muggle-loving blood traitors, like those Weasleys… we're all distantly related, I can't stand it! The Ministry is passing Muggle Protection Acts; my own father is signing them! Our society is falling apart… Reg, your own brother…"
"The incident concerning my brother is just… it's a singular…" Regulus trailed off. His cousin Andromeda had married a Mudblood two years previously. He swallowed. "And you believe that the Dark Lord is our only hope to stop things like that? Not only to put the Muggles in their place, but to put down Mudbloods and blood traitors?"
"Yes. Who was the last person brave enough to stand up to these changes?" Regulus gave no answer, and Barty nodded. "Exactly. The problem persists because no one's trying to fix it. Within our own families, sure, we try to maintain purity. But I'm ashamed to say that the Crouch family is… My father is not the patriarch we need. I merely wish to counter his actions."
Regulus laughed hollowly. "You make it sound so easy!"
"Isn't it?"
"I thought it would be." Regulus flopped backwards onto the bed, wanting more space to think, but not wanting to leave Barty. "I believe in his cause. I want to do something! But now that my mother's given me such direct approval to join the Dark Lord, I… it almost feels like an order."
"No one's going to make you become a Death Eater, Reg…"
"My mother could, if she wanted to." Regulus knew that. "If she wants me to serve the Dark Lord, I won't have a choice. I don't have a choice. Not in this, not in anything."
Regulus closed his eyes, feeling lost. That was the cause of his uncertainty, but Barty would never understand… Regulus himself didn't fully understand it, but he couldn't help but have doubts.
Barty silently lay down next to him, not too close, but close enough to touch, should Regulus want to. "Tell me, Reg, please?"
"I don't feel like I'm me."
"What?"
"I know it doesn't make sense, but I got the letter from my mother, and she said that I could—over Easter—the Death Eaters—that I could… well, you get the idea. And I was excited, but she was the one that wrote to me, and she sounded proud, and I was excited, but then I just started thinking." Regulus forced himself to stop. He wasn't making any sense and he knew it, so he took a deep breath. "That's what my brother did. He thought. He wasn't correct, but he started thinking for himself and used his own experiences to make his choices—he told her that, before he left—and I'm scared that none of my choices are my choices."
Barty looked at him questioningly. "How can they not be?"
"I've always been so sure of everything, and I still am. I think I still am. Everything you said, Barty, about the Mudbloods and blood traitors, about how things need to change—I believe in all of it. But my beliefs are the same as my family's and they've always been. However much I agree with them, they're not mine.
"All I've done my whole life is what others tell me to. The professors, my mother, my father when he's around, my brother when we were small. I look back, and I can't think of any choice that was mine."
"That… that can't be true, Reg!" There was a thought as Barty thought. "Sure, your parents had a big say in choosing your classes, but what about Quidditch? Or the Slug Club?"
Regulus scoffed. "You know the Club is just for connections and Slughorn's favor. It's the same for everyone who goes. No one actually enjoys it…. And I never thought to say 'no' to Slughorn."
"Oh. What about Quidditch? You love Seeking!"
Regulus laughed. "I do. But I can't say it was my choice; my mother wrote and told me to do it."
"I'm afraid I still don't quite follow." And Barty did indeed sound sympathetic. "Don't we all rely on our families for our beliefs? To learn from, to build upon. And to guide us… don't we?"
"Yes." Regulus turned so he and Barty were face to face. "But there's a difference between becoming your own person with outside influence and being a puppet. I don't feel like a person, not like you, or my brother, or anyone else! I don't feel like myself, I feel like I was molded into this… I'm just a creation for others to play with and command, and I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's what I feel like and I can't help it."
Barty sighed. Regulus saw pity in his eyes before he closed them. Then Barty opened his eyes. "What about me?"
"What about you?"
"Are you here because I'm making you?"
"No!" Tentatively, Regulus took his hand. Almost desperately; he couldn't lose this. "Barty, you're probably the only part of my life that I have no doubts about!"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." Regulus gave a mirthless chuckle. "Funny, that. The only thing in my life that I'm completely sure about is the one that's forbidden. If my parents find out…" He laughed again and shook his head. "If they don't, the Black line stops with me."
"And the Crouch line with me." Barty smiled weakly. "Thank you. For making this your own choice."
Regulus returned the smile. For a moment, the torrent of thoughts stopped, and he looked at the boy he'd so suddenly developed feelings for a year ago. He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Barty's cheek.
Barty wrapped an arm around Regulus's waist, seeing his increased comfort with touch. "You are a person, Reg. The fact that others shaped your choices and beliefs to such an extent doesn't change that. So stop doubting yourself—because there is nothing to doubt—and tell me: do you want to become a Death Eater?"
"I've idolized the Dark Lord for as long as I can remember, but…"
"No 'but's. Do you want to serve the Dark Lord? Do you want to take the bravest step a person can take to fix the Wizarding World?"
Regulus looked up at that, meeting Barty's eyes. He sounded so sincere, so gentle, so supportive. There was nothing but concern and care in Barty's face; however Regulus would respond, he would understand.
He still had a shadow of a doubt, but…
Regulus smiled at Barty as he nodded. "Yeah, I think I do."
Barty grinned back at him, and their embrace tightened. He leaned over and kissed Barty lightly.
"Thank you." He kissed Barty again.
They had no classes, and then lunch. Regulus didn't know if they'd make it to lunch, or just lie there, together. His worries were at the back of his mind again; they were unimportant and unfounded.
Thinking about it, Regulus was aware of his left forearm, of the skin tingling as if he'd touched it—he would meet the Dark Lord over Easter break, his mother had written.