A/N: For Big/Lil' Sis Team Prompt Competition Round 3 (Prompts-Word: Nightmare, Color: Black, Emotion: Distressed) and Camp Potter Week 4's Archery (Prompts- Mandatory: Write about loyalty; Optional: life-changing)
Section titles come from Aly and Aj's No One, which I do not own.
Huge thanks to Joanna who beta'd this for me. She's one of the most amazing people I know.
I own nothing you recognize.
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"I always wished for this, but it's almost turning into more of a nightmare than a dream." -Eminem
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i. do i wanna throw away the key and invent a whole new me?
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When you were young, you were told to listen and obey. You were taught from a young age that the Black name was one of respect and honour, and that you must live up to the expectations set. You were told that your status as Pureblood was vital, that those without blood purity were unfit to possess magic.
You did as you were told, and you saw the circumstances of misbehaviour when Sirius got in trouble. You liked Sirius, honestly. You didn't think he was a disgrace or a stain on the Black lineage, as he was so often told by your parents. There wasn't anything you could about it, though. Sirius wasn't very fond of the Black family and the beliefs of your parents, and your parents weren't very fond of Sirius and his contradictory perspective.
Sirius didn't belong in the Black family. He was a Gryffindor among Slytherins, a light among the darkness, a white sheep in the pasture full of black ones.
Sirius frequently tried to get you to see his side, to change the ways that were so deeply rooted in you from your parents.
"If you're fine with being raising as one of them, then I suppose I won't be able to convince you," Sirius said frankly one day, looking at you with pity and begging in his grey eyes.
"Sorry, Sirius, You've chosen your path, and I've chosen mine. I'm not a Gryffindor like you," you responded, trying to show the distaste in your final three words, but failing miserably. You both knew that if you had an ounce of bravery or courage at all, you would've be able to stand up for yourself, that you wouldn't have to depend on your parents to lead you in the direction of their choice.
"Look, Reg, I can't stay here forever. I'm trying to help you, you can leave now and be your own person! You don't need to hang onto them anymore. This life, here, it's a nightmare, honestly. I can't imagine why you'd want to stay, but I guess I can't change your mind," he said somewhat reluctantly. You nodded and sat down to show that you're not moving.
"I suppose this is goodbye then, Sirius? What am I supposed to tell Mum and Dad?" you asked, masking your emotions beneath a facade of cool indifference.
"Tell them I'm gone and I won't be returning. I tried to help you, Reg. You can't say I didn't make an attempt. Goodbye." Sirius took up his bag, put a hand on your shoulder for a brief moment, and disapparated.
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ii. your life plays out on the shadows of the wall
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You've spent your entire life trying to prove yourself: to your parents, your brother, your House, your friends. Your parents think you're the picture-perfect son; your brother gave up on you years ago. You wonder if he ever thinks about you, or if he's moved on; he's happy now, now that you're not in his life. You've proven yourself in Slytherin, making the House Quidditch team in your second year and earning House points when you can.
You had become friends with Barty Crouch recently. He was a year older than you, but he accepted you. You could turn to him with your problems and rely on him to have a solution. He was the first person you told when Sirius left home, the first one to go to when your parents started pressuring you to join the Dark Lord. Barty was your support, your life line. He was your one constant among the stress and anxiety that the world dumped on your shoulders.
These past few months, Barty had been acting differently than normal. He seemed to gain a new level of arrogance that he had lacked before the summer holidays. He could be rather jumpy at times, and gingerly held his left arm, avoiding using it when possible, as though it pained him to touch it.
About a week after you noticed these changes, he cornered you in the Common Room one day after classes, saying, "Meet me up in the dormitory, Reg. I've got something to tell you."
He rolled up a scroll of parchment on which he was writing a Charms essay. You wove your way around couches and tables in the Common Room, heading for the boys' dorms. You entered the sixth year boys dormitory, taking a seat on your bed, waiting for Barty to return. He only left you waiting for a few minutes before he came into the room, taking a seat next to you.
"Reg, I need to tell you something...important. Want a drink?" he asked, pulling a bottle of wine out from your bedside cabinet, uncorking it, and handing it to you.
"Thanks," you murmured, taking a sip.
"Regulus, I've... I joined the Dark Lord. Officially, that is." You had been noticing his unusually gentle care of his left arm lately, you should have expected this.
"Can... I mean, would you show me it?" you asked with a calm fascination.
He rolled up his sleeve, showing a blazing black skull-and-snake image. The vibrant darkness of colour on his pallid skin was a strong contrast. You let out a soft, "Ohh," that was barely audible. He nodded silently, rolling his sleeve back down to cover the Dark Mark emblazoned on his forearm.
Barty's face slackened slightly, his mouth frowning. "He... uh, well, he doesn't really trust me. Not yet, anyway."
"Why wouldn't he trust you, Barty?" you asked skeptically.
"I think he's under the impression that I'm working alongside my father to bring him down or something. I suppose he reckons that once I get in close enough, I'll try to attack him, with the might of the Ministry behind me," he scoffed. "But he is looking for more followers. He's desperate, I think that's why he let me on so easily. And I bet if I brought him more Death Eaters, he'd, I dunno, trust me a bit more." Barty shot you a look that was a combination of begging, desperation, and hope.
"What are you trying to say, Barty?" you asked him.
By the glazed look on his face, it appeared that Barty had forgotten that you were also in the room. "If I was the one to bring Regulus to the Dark Lord, he'd trust me. Now that his brother's gone, he's the heir to the Black family and everything that comes with it. If I was the one to bring him into the ranks as a Death Eater, I would be the Dark Lord's favourite..." His voice faded into nothingness, a dazed expression on his face.
"Barty!" You snapped, breaking him out of his reverie.
"Oh, Reg. Sorry about that, it's just... I don't want him to think I'm some sort of traitor that's working in the pocket of the Ministry." Barty's face fell as he looked at your firm mien.
"Fine," you stated plainly.
"Fine? Fine what?" Barty questioned in a confused undertone.
"I'll...I'll join. For you," you said almost half-heartedly. Barty's face lit up like a child's on Christmas morning.
"Really, Reg? You'd do that for me?" he asked, stunned.
"Yeah," you said, more to convince yourself than him. "But I can't just...walk up to the Dark Lord and ask to be a Death Eater. I mean, I don't even know where he is."
"Don't worry about that, Regulus. I can sort that out myself, just as long as you're absolutely positive that you want to do this." You nodded, though you were still unsure. You didn't know if you're ready for this kind of commitment yet, but it's Barty, and you wanted to make him happy, so you agreed without giving it anymore thought.
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iii. you wonder what it's like to not feel worthless
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"My Lord," he murmured, making a low bow. "I know of someone who is eager to join our ranks. He stands behind your mission and will prove to be a valuable follower." Barty tried to hide his fear, but he knows. He always does, though Lord Voldemort chose to ignore his Death Eater's fright and focus on his words.
"The name, Crouch." It was not a question, it's a command.
Barty hastened to answer for fear of keeping his master waiting. "Reg-Regulus Black, My Lord. The heir to the Black family, and a supporter of your quest."
"Ah, a Black. I see. Bellatrix," he called out into the crowd of his followers.
Bellatrix took a couple steps forward at the mention of her name. "My Lord," she cooed.
"It appears your cousin wishes to join us. What say you?" Voldemort inquired curiously.
Bellatrix merely raised her eyebrows in shock and said, "He could be a useful asset, My Lord."
"Is he here?" Voldemort asked, directing his question at Barty.
"Ye-yes, My Lord. He's in the other room, shall I bring him in?" he stuttered.
"Yes. Bring him in." Voldemort's tone was commanding, as though he was directing his troops into battle.
Barty exited the main room and hurried off to a chamber off the hall where he had told you to wait earlier. He approached you saying, "He's ready for you, Reg. Just, before you go in: don't speak unless you're spoken to, and address him as 'My Lord' or something similar; keep your head held high. I believe in you, Reg. Stay strong. Don't scream if you can help it," he finished somewhat vaguely.
You nodded, not having time to say much more, seeing as the door not two steps in front of you is the one that he was behind.
You followed Barty through the doorway, head held high, like he told you. Barty resumed his place among the ranks of Death Eaters, and watched you. He caught your eyes and moved his head down slightly, telling you without words to do the same. 'Not that high,' he seemed to say.
You followed suit, your gaze unsteadily upon Voldemort. He held his head tilted to the side ever-so-slightly, as though he was sizing you up, deciding whether or not you appeared worthy.
You tried to channel your inner pride, digging it up from among the rubble of your recent endeavours with fate that have buried everything else deep down inside you. You pulled your chin up a fraction of an inch and rolled your shoulders back so you're standing taller.
At this, Voldemort stated with an air of playfulness, "He needs to learn a lesson in humility. Crouch!" he snapped, raising his wand threatenly as he watched Barty stumble forwards. "Teach our new friend here a lesson. You know the spell, go on," he urged, noting Barty's reluctance. "Now."
"Cr-Crucio," Barty casted weakly, his wand arm shaking as much as his voice.
"Let me show you how it's done," Bellatrix said, leaping forward and facing her younger cousin. He attempted to plead with her with his eyes, though it was no use. "Crucio!" Bellatrix exclaimed, the surge of power that accompanied the curse was alight in her eyes.
The pain was unbearable, so very different from when Barty feebly attempted the curse mere seconds before. White-hot blades were piercing his joints, his bones were on fire, and his throat was growing hoarse from the vicious yelling unknowingly issuing from his mouth. At word from her master, Bellatrix let up on the spell, smirking down at Regulus' writhing figure.
"Get up, Black," Voldemort ordered lazily.
Regulus obeyed, rising to his feet as fast as he could in the pain that he was in.
"Now, you don't want that to happen again, do you?" he asked, putting the tone one used to explain two plus two to a young child. You swallowed hard, trying to force words to form on your lips but failing miserably. "I said, do you want that to happen to you again? Answer! Imperio!" he shouted, invading your mind with the Unforgivible Curse.
'Just say no. Go on, Regulus. Obey.'
"N-no," you stuttered.
"No," he repeated with childish mirth in his voice. Voldemort scoffed slightly before screeching, "Crucio!"
Again, you were tortured, put under unimaginable pain that was begging you to try and tear your limbs from your body to stop the agony. A small section of your brain that wasn't yet completely flooded with the searing pain caused by the illegal curse reminded you what Barty said earlier about not screaming if you could help it. You tried to help it and stay silent. You forced your fist into your mouth to muffle the anguished shouts. Eventually, the curse lifted, the blazing knives removed themselves from your body, leaving a numb, yet burning, tingling pain in place of the previous excruciating state you were in.
You could barely keep your mind on the present, but you know you must. "Very well. You, Black, may be just what I am looking for in a follower. Come forward," he dictated, and you obliged, still shaking violently from the curse.
"Hold out your arm." You did as you were told, rolling back your sleeve and turning your forearm upwards. The wand of yew met your pale skin and a black snake-in-skull image was seared into your flesh. It burned like white-hot irons being pressed against your arm, but it was a lasting sensation, as though with each second that passed, another iron was being pressed on your skin. Barty never told you it would hurt! But the pain won't last forever, you knew that. You pulled yourself together and stood tall, kneeling before Lord Voldemort, whispering a repeated, "Thank you, My Lord."
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iv. no one, no one but me
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When you were young, you were taught to listen and obey. You learned a lot of things in your life from simply listening and doing what you were told. Sometimes, you would be so set on complying with the rules that you wouldn't think to run anything by your conscience. This resulted in you making some decisions that weren't necessarily the 'right things' to do, but was it really your fault? Sometimes, lessons just stick with you, for better or for worse.
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A/N: I've never written anything quite like this before, so I'd really appreciate it if you left me a review telling me what you think! Thanks for reading!