Glory
i. the boy
Today is the day.
Oh Merlin oh Merlin oh Merlin oh Merlin what have I done?
He's young. He's too young. But if Draco can do it, so can he, right? Let them talk. Let them say that he's not smart enough, that he's not brave enough, that he's not good enough to serve the Dark Lord.
Oh, but he knows better. He's more faithful than any of them. And why is that?
"The Dark Lord will see you now," a young woman seems to glide out of and back into a door. He takes a deep breath.
The boy is the most faithful because he is all the boy has. He has been his life for as long as he can remember. Growing up, he heard wonderful stories about him. He was taught that he is everything, he is the commander and master and saviour of the world. He will cleanse the world and eliminate the filth, and his servants are privileged to help him do it. They have the honour of assisting him and the glory of following him.
And with those thoughts in mind, confident in his decision, the boy strolls into his chambers. "My Lord," he says, bowing and breathing deeply. The faint smell of blood reaches him, and he has to give everything he has not to tremble.
"And what is it you wish, Gregory? I seem to remember that your father visited me not long ago."
"I want to serve you, my Lord."
He smiles—no, he smirks. The Dark Lord does not smile. "Very well. I have configured a deal with your father. Hold out your arm."
Gregory is taken aback. "Now?"
"Unless you have qualms about your decision; then…"
"No!"
"Do you, Gregory Goyle, swear by your blood and the blood of your Pure descendants that you will assist me in any way possible, including by the sacrifice of your life, to purify the world and bring Lord Voldemort to his rightful reign?"
"I do."
"Do you swear by the Dark Mark that you will remain loyal to me until death?"
"I do."
"And do you swear by your own life that you will remain faithful to the cause?"
"I do."
Without warning, he touches his wand to the new servant's arm and it causes a searing pain that very nearly makes the poor boy's knees buckle. He stays standing, and he nods his approval.
"Very well," he says, pulling his wand away after an eternity. Gregory quietly glances down at his brand new tattoo, marking him for that glorified life of service. "You may go."
He bows deeply and exits the room, finally exhaling. He knows that he will be the greatest of servants.
ii. the lover
She lays in her room, looking out the small window to where the sun is setting. Of course, she knows what that means. Soon, any moment now, he could pay her a visit. She must always be ready, they told her. She is young. She is gullible. She has been allowed to believe that she is privileged, and with time, he might give her a role in his cause.
And he might even love her.
It is cruel, and the women know it. They enjoy toying with the new playthings before they break.
"Bellatrix?"
She sits up quickly and pats her dress and her hair flat. "Yes?"
"Our Lord has left on a trip this afternoon and will not be requiring your services."
"Oh."
The door shuts with a noise of finality and the woman falls back onto her bed to watch the sun sink below the horizon, taking her dreams with it.
Late into the night, she writes a letter to her mother about how much she is enjoying serving the cause (though she does not say in what capacity) and wishes her sister well in her new courtship. For a moment, she thinks about writing to her other sister, but decides not to risk the association.
"Stupid Andie," she whispers. "Why did you have to go and do a thing like that?"
After the moon is high in the sky, she finally turns out the light and flips over to stare at the ceiling in the dark. It is a lonely life, serving him. He gives hope and excitement and takes it away just as quickly. On more than one occasion, after he was done with her, he whispered all of her dreams in her ear and tore them apart.
"You can serve me," he says. "You can become my most trusted one."
"I will, my Lord," she will always answer. "I will serve you with my life."
"No," he replies, and she can always feel the absence of his cold hands as he glides towards the door. "You are a woman, and women have no place in the battle." He will pause. "Other than you. But for my, shall we say, personal needs. You have served me well tonight." And then, like an angel, he vanishes.
Bellatrix refuses to cry. "I want to serve you, my Lord!" she says to the empty room. "I want to…I want to give myself to this most noble cause. The house of Black wishes to serve you. I would be honoured to serve you." She turns over again and buries her face in her pillow.
"Do you?" he asks.
"My Lord! I was not aware…"
"I know."
After he leaves her that night with empty promises, she begins to wonder if this is the glory they spoke of, the life they promised her would be full of wonderful successes and culminate in the much longed for and rightful reign of the Dark Lord over the world.
And yet, she still loves him. She will serve him one day, and she will be the one to die for his name. She has to believe.
iii. the traitor
"How would I contact…your master?"
"The Dark Lord?"
"Yes."
A tall, blonde man scoffs. "Peter, what business would you have with the Dark Lord? He does not waste his time with insignificant wizards such as yourself."
"Well…w-what if I had excellent information for him?"
"Don't waste my time." He turns to go, but the much shorter man stops him.
"What if it was the location of…of…"
"Nothing you have would be of interest." He shakes his arm free and begins to walk away to avoid being seen with Peter.
"Of the Potters!" Peter blurts out.
The tall man whirls around and towers over the other. "You couldn't possibly know that."
"But what if I do, Lucius? Wouldn't your master be angry if you passed up a chance?"
Lucius is caught, and Peter knows it. "Very well."
And so Peter is brought, three days and a blindfold later, to the location of his best friend's most dangerous enemy. But Peter is seeking glory, something that stupid James Potter can never and will never be able to give him. James, Sirius, and Remus have belittled him for long enough. James only made him their Secret-Keeper as his last resort. What kind of friend is that? Peter is the last choice. Peter is the rejected one. Peter is the one who will never achieve anything on his own without the help of people who can do it for him.
James? Sirius? Remus? They can't, and they won't. They're too busy with their own lives, seeking their own power, seeking their own glorification in defeating the Dark Lord. Peter will see to it that they'll never accomplish that.
"Don't forget," Lucius hisses in his hear, before he pushes Peter into the room that holds his future. "You are honoured to be here. Act like it."
And so he bows and he stutters and he humbles himself, because Peter just wants to be the one who assists his Lord in his victory. He will be so grateful that he will make Peter his most trusted advisor, his right hand.
"They…"
"Tell me where they are, or your head will be the next to fall to this floor." His eyes stare straight into Peter's heart, and Peter gets the distinct feeling that he will find out whether or not he volunteers the information.
"Godric's Hollow, my Lord." Peter bows. "I can only hope that I have served you well. They will be in their house for the next week, my Lord, hiding."
"We go tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Is there a problem, Pettigrew?" He sneers. "Attached to your little friends? Wanted to warn them that I was coming?"
"N-no, my Lord." I just wanted to say goodbye.
"Good. You are privileged to become my newest Death Eater. Give him the Mark," he says, and dismisses Peter.
When Peter finds his new master's wand among the smoking rubble of his old friends' house, he can't help but wonder if it was worth it to lose it all for glory. There is no honour in betrayal. And now? Now he has no one. But he will wait until he rises again to reap the rewards. And then—then he will be Peter Pettigrew, the most favoured of all of the Dark Lord's servants.
One day.
iv. the black sheep
"Come on," a dark-haired boy whispers, trailing his fingers up and down his boyfriend's left arm. "It doesn't hurt. Not much, anyway."
"I know," the other boy replies. "I just…"
"Serving the Dark Lord is the best thing you can do. It's the only thing you should be worried about. Who needs Hogwarts when we have him?"
"We have each other, Barty."
Barty scoffs. "That's not what I mean, Reg, and you know it. He is everything. To me and to you. You just need to take the next step. Come on. He'll give you all the glory in the world. All the honour. You're a Black. He'll appreciate you for who you are."
Regulus grimaces and turns off the light. But in a whirlwind of days, he finds himself kneeling before the Dark Lord, receiving his Mark, and being told how privileged he is to be let into the inner circle. Being told of the glory of his new life and all of the great things he will help the Dark Lord achieve. It's a lot to place on this young boy's shoulders. He doesn't even know what he's getting himself into. Regulus throws himself into serving wholeheartedly.
But even the most beautiful of paintings cannot last forever. And Regulus's painting of how life is supposed to be with the Dark Lord smudges and tears and creases and gets trampled under mass murders and genocide and cruelty and torture. It's not what he thought this life would be like. It's not what he wants anymore. He can't.
"Barty." he says. "I have to get out. I have to leave."
Barty laughs. "Good one, Reg." There is silence as his laugh fades and is met with no reply. "Wait, are you serious?"
A downcast pair of eyes will not meet the other disapproving pair. "It doesn't change the fact that I love you. It just…"
"No, Reg. You take us together or not at all. The Dark Lord is everything to me, and you know that. Listen, I promised you a life of glory together. Has that not been true? Hasn't he been so good to you? Haven't you felt special, like someone cares about you?"
"I had that before him, Barty." Finally, Regulus meets his eyes. "I had you." Barty turns around and punches the wall without comment. He continues. "But now I have people's blood on my hands. I'm in too far, Barty. You are, too. We're both down a path and the last exit is coming up soon. If we don't take that chance, we're going to die. We're going to end up cold and soulless. Like him."
"We're going to be adored. We're going to be worshipped, Reg. You'd give that up because a few lousy Mudbloods died?"
Something inside Regulus breaks as he realizes that the boy he loves has been gone far longer than he thought. "I used to know who you were. But now I realize that the only person you ever loved was him," he spat. "I don't want this anymore."
"Regulus, don't you dare walk away. You're going to get killed."
"We're all going to die, Barty. And you can choose whether you want to die a martyr or a killer. I'm finished being the good child, the good servant, the loyal servant, the one who will do anything for his master. I'm done with it. And I'm done with this." As he turns and walks towards certain death in a cave far away, he makes one last remark. "I hope you find what you're looking for in him, Barty, because he won't find it in you. He doesn't care about anyone but himself."
"He trusts me, Reg! He believes in me! I'll be there for him and you won't! He'll find you! He'll kill you!" Barty's voice rang through the house until Regulus closed the door with a loud thump.
Glory wasn't all it was cracked up to be, anyway.
A/N: This is dedicated to the lovely and ever-beautiful Gamma, and my little stupidhead Paula for their respective ships being the inspiration for this fic. Gamma, obviously, inspired the unrequited!Bellamort and Paula inspired the voldemortseductive!Barty-BartyReg. (Is that a thing? It is now.)
Thanks to two very awesome people: Ali for being my perfect beta and Teddy for letting me use the theme of one of her BartyReg works.
Please drop a quick (or long) review on your way out :3 And have a lovely day!
Allie