Disclaimer, The World of, the Characters in & the Adventures of Harry Potter belongs to JKR, I'll have to content myself with playing around with her things it seems.
Chapter 1Regulus Arcturus Black cursed under his breath and quickly placed his teacup back on the saucer in an attempt to avoid spilling the scolding beverage over his hands. The fiery pain in his arm had put an abrupt end to the companionable silence he had shared with his old friend Severus Snape, who arched his eyebrow quizzically at his outburst.
"Summon, I'm afraid you will have to show yourself out" he explained with a slight grimace as he sent a houself after his robe and mask.
"The Dark Lord rarely summons only one of us" Severus said as he rose from the table, frowning.
Regulus sighed worriedly as he donned his black robe and mask "I hope I have not displeased our Master" he gave his guest a small smile before he hurried outside and disapparated.
Severus stared for a moment at the spot his friend had occupied only seconds ago, as if the empty space could somehow provide him with an explanation. "So do I, Regulus" he softly whispered, before he to disappeared with a loud crack.
Regulus destination turned out to be the outskirts of a large forest clearing, where the trees loomed ominously over him and the starless sky did nothing to illuminate the darkness. There was a metallic smell in the air that could only be blood.
Though every instinct screamed at him to run away, or to at least make himself as small and unnoticeable as possible, Regulus refused to give in, instead making the most of his considerable height. He was of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, a pureblood wizard, and he was the one to be feared here.
That was what he told himself as he strengthened his Occlumency shields and proudly walked towards the center of the clearing, where a bonfire was lit.
The Dark Lord was standing in the middle of the glade, five masked Death Eaters at his side, watching what they probably considered the amusement of the evening – a bloody lump that vaguely resembled a man, his limbs twisted in unnatural angles and his features interrupted by long bloody gashes. As a smaller Death Eater almost lovingly traced the blade of a vicious looking knife along the man's collarbone, a low moan could be heard, alerting Regulus that the poor man was still alive. The sound pleased the knife wielder, who let out a mad giggle, identifying her as Bellatrix Lestrange, Regulus cousin.
As his steps brought him closer to the others, the Dark Lord turned around, a gleeful expression on his face, Regulus hid his disgust behind his occlumency shield and quickly went through the exercises Severus had taught him, coating his mental barriers with selected "safe" memories to avoid suspicion. He could feel Lord Voldemort's presence brush against his mind and hurriedly sank to his knees, kissing the hem of his Master's cloak to avoid as much eye contact as possible.
"Regulus, my faithful one," the Dark Lord hissed affectionately and patted him absentmindedly on the head, as one might pet his favourite dog.
"You called me, my Lord," Regulus answered evenly, in a successful attempt to keep the anger he felt at a member of the house Black groveling on the ground, even if it was for a Dark Lord, inside.
"Indeed I did." Voldemort took a step away, but Regulus continued kneeling, knowing better than to rise before the command was given. The Dark Lord had been almost as unstable as his most devoted follower, Bellatrix lately, severely punishing every slight; real or imaginary.
"I understand your house is in possession of a house elf" it was more a statement than a question, and Voldemort barely waited for an affirmative nod before continuing, "I will give you the honour of lending me that elf's service."
Regulus suppressed the urge to ask his master why, and once again nodded his head.
"Yes my lord." The Dark Lord motioned for him to stand up, and Regulus quickly complied, brushing off a few leaves that had stuck on his robes.
"Kreacher!" he called.
The house elf materialized in front of him moments later, his grumpy face taking in the surroundings before answering. "Yes, young master Black."
"The Dark Lord has use of your service, Kreacher, I need not explain to you what great honour this is to the house of Black."
"Yes, Master," the house elf had recognized the title of the Dark Lord his Mistress, the great Walburga Black, had spoke so reverently of, and would do anything to make her and his young master proud.
"You are to obey his every order. Return to me when your task is completed," Regulus said, earning a nod from the creature.
"Excellent" Voldemort hissed as he smiled a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. It gave Regulus a bad feeling, but questioning his Master was a bad idea, and only partly because of the pain Voldemort would no doubt hand out if displeased. Regulus and his family had pledged the Dark Lord their allegiance, and in return he had promised them power returned to the purebloods, and sworn to exile the Muggleborns' and half-breeds' from the magical community. This had long been the ancient and most noble House of Black's goal, and they supported it wholeheartedly, with the exception of Regulus' older brother Sirius.
Voldemort turned to Regulus.
"You may go," he stated, before he turned around and walked back to the others, where Bellatrix was making a futile attempt to heal the prisoner so she could start the torture again.
Regulus quickly apparated home, relieved that he had not been asked to join in with his cousin.
He had never enjoyed causing others pain like Bellatrix, nor had he the burning desire to terminate all but the purebloods. He simply did not care to mix with their sort, seeing as he was their better.
Pulling off his black robes and mask and throwing them in a corner of the room, he almost fell onto the bed. For a few moments he just lay there, breathing. Then he pulled up the covers to his chin, too tired to even think of brushing his teeth.
As exhausted as he was, sleep eluded him.
The covers were too warm, the pillows too hard and his mind just wouldn't let unwanted thoughts go, thoughts that if left unguarded would result in a Crucio by his Lord, and that was if he were lucky.
The Dark Lord had been Regulus' idol since he was a child; Walburga had told him stories of the Great Voldemort, who was going to save them all from the ever present threat of half bloods and worse - muggleborns.
Lord Voldemort had been described as a charming, charismatic and idealistic man, who wanted to make their world a better place. Regulus had never had any reason to second guess himself for joining his righteous army, not until now anyway.
When Regulus first met him a couple of years ago, he had been everything his mother had told him to be and more. He had befriended Regulus, taken interest in the young man and told him he could be among the highest ranked in Voldemort's circle. Regulus had taken his words to heart, doing his very best to please the Dark Lord.
He was no longer entirely sure it had been the right choice; Lord Voldemort had become more irate and cruel as time passed. Regulus could barely recognize the witty man he had been in the feared man he had become. Though Regulus didn't have any love for mudbloods, he could no longer write off the cruelty he had witnessed as just or fair.
He could not leave; he would be hunted down and killed, along with his family. To protect them, he would have to keep up his charade of content Death Eater. He mentally berated himself for getting into this sticky situation in the first place - he had thrown himself headfirst into the war without thinking it through, as many from the Black family were prone to do.
It was times like these that he really missed his brother. Though Sirius was even more impulsive than Regulus, his protective nature had always had a soothing effect on the younger brother. That was until three years ago, when one especially spectacular fight between Sirius and his mother had had him leaving number 12 Grimmauld place for good.
Not that the relationship between the brothers had been all that good at the end. Regulus had ended up in Slytherin, much to Sirius disappointment. And from that point on Walburga had called Regulus the "better son". Holding him up as a shining example of virtue in comparison to Sirius. Even though his brother had never consciously sought after his parents support, it was obvious that he could not help resent his brother for this.
A quick Tempus revealed it was almost three in the morning, and Regulus started to get desperate for some sleep, it took almost half an hour of Occlumency exercises to put his mind at rest, allowing him to relax enough to drift off.
As his young master disapparated, Voldemort motioned for Kreacher to follow, and quickly vanished from the clearing as well. The house elf wasn't happy about his assignment, but wouldn't ruin the Blacks' reputation by appearing hesitant.
Using his elf magic to follow Voldemort was easy, and Kreacher soon found himself in a damp, dark cave where the smell of rotting seaweed dominated. Behind him was a tunnel halfway filled with water, that most likely lead back out to the unsettled sea.
The Dark Lord was standing a few feet away facing a part of the wall that looked exactly like the rest of it; grey uneven rock.
He retrieved a beautiful sacrificial knife from a pocket of his robe and almost elegantly sliced a shallow gash along his left palm, then smeared the resulting blood across the rocky surface, causing a large part of the seemingly solid rock to faintly glow, before disappearing.
The Dark Lord stepped over the threshold without as much as a glance at the elf. Kreacher followed uneasily into a large cavern, where the only light was that of Voldemort's wand. With it, the elf could make out the shore of a lake, the black surface ominously calm.
A small wooden boat appeared in front of Voldemort, who effortlessly boarded. Kreacher quickly did the same, not wanting to anger the Dark Lord by making him wait for a lowly elf.
As they slowly made their way into the darkness, a pale, half rotted hand ascended from the depths of the water, it reached up, as if trying to grasp the elf, who had been sitting near the edge of the boat to make as much space as possible for Voldemort. With a flick of his wand, the Dark Lord scared the thing back below the surface with a fire spell.
Seeing the elf's terror, he laughed "Do my guardians unsettle you, elf?"
The boat arrived at a small island, a stone pillar rising from its center, and Voldemort climbed out of the boat without waiting for an answer. This was good enough for Kreacher, who didn't have a good reply anyway.
The Dark Lord handed him a simple cup, and pointed at the pillar "Your task is to drink every drop of liquid in the basin."
Kreacher had a very bad feeling about drinking anything presented to him by a Dark Lord, but could see no way out of it. Determined to get it over with as quickly as possible, he filled the cup with the liquid and gulped it all down; emptying two more cups of the liquid before he started to feel any effects.
A sense of dread so strong it overpowered everything gripped the house elf, causing him to stumble to his knees. If he had had any control over his magic he would have disappeared now, but it wasn't possible. Next came an intense pain that didn't seem anchored to anything physical, but instead seemed to emanate from his very being. A low wince escaped him, and he dropped the cup.
He could hear the Dark Lord laughing somewhere behind him, while filling the cup once more. "A rather nice defence, don't you think?" Voldemort said as he handed him the cup. As the elf seemed reluctant, Voldemort forced the cup to his lips. "Your master ordered you to drink, elf, obey!"
Kreacher had no choice but to do it, he emptied the cup only to have it refilled. The cycle continued until he lost count of how many cups he had drained, and all the while the Dark Lord bragged about the ingeniousness of his hiding place.
"You see, no one could ever drink it all by themselves, and Dumbledore's fools are too weak to sacrifice someone."
When the hollow was finally emptied, a devouring thirst for water filled Kreacher. His need for it was so desperate that he thought he would even consider accepting clothes, as long as some fluid accompanied them. Yet the large amount of poison coursing though his small body would not let him move, and so, he lay still on the ground.
Voldemort observed the elf curiously, but when he had not moved for twenty minutes, his breathing shallow and laboured, a smile of contempt appeared on the Dark Lord's face. "Well, it would seem my business here is concluded."
He walked the short distance to the boat, and began the slow journey across the lake, before he completely disappeared in the darkness he called out;
"Feel free to join the Inferi guarding this place, once you're done dying." His laughter faded into the distance, and then, there was only silence.
After a few more minutes a tiny voice, trembling with pain, could be heard muttering; "Task is done, Kreacher may return." The faint pop of house elf disapparition was the last sound in the cave for a long, long time.
It seemed like only minutes ago that Regulus had finally drifted off to sleep, when he was startled awake by the sound of house elf apparation. The house elves knew not to disturb their masters at night, so it must be Kreacher, returning to share urgent news from the Dark Lord.
Regulus looked around the dimly lit room, unable to locate the elf at their usual apparation spot by the door. A quick scan of the room revealed a dark shape, lying still on the carpet in a corner.
Regulus lept off the bed and knelt at Kreacher's side, a hand gently touching his shoulder, in search for a sign of life. When the elf failed to respond to his touch, he carefully shook him.
"Kreacher, what happened to you?" The elf's lips parted, but no sound came, for a moment Regulus thought he would not get an answer, then Kreacher gathered strength, and said "Poison, master" in a voice so low and hoarse, he almost didn't catch it.
Regulus wasted no time, immediately sprinting down the stairs to the Blacks' potions chamber. Rummaging through the contents of the ingredients cabinet, he pulled out a bezoar, and praying that it would be enough, he ran back to his room.
He shoved the stone like object down Kreacher's throat, and waited. Nothing seemed to happen at first, making Regulus believe he had been too late, and feeling utterly distressed, he cursed vehemently. Not only did he want to know what Voldemort had been up to, but he was also fond of the elf, probably more than appropriate for a wizard to be of a house elf, but Kreacher had taken care of him since he was born, his parents often too occupied with family business and events to take care of a child.
A few minutes later a shudder went though the elf's body; all his muscles tensed for a second, and then relaxed, his breathing appearing to be more even. Though the bezoar itself was not strong enough to counter the poison, it seemed to have neutralized enough of it for the house elf's resilient body to take care of the rest.
The remainder of the night, Regulus spent in his chair with a blanket around him, wondering what could have happened after he left the clearing.
Break of dawn found Regulus drowsing in the chair, the blanket slowly slipping to the floor. The cold air of the old house woke him up. He stared groggily around him, wondering why he was sitting in his chair, before it all came back to him. His eyes drifted to the corner, where the elf was still sleeping. Sighing deeply he settled back in the chair. He desperately wanted answers, but the elf needed the rest more at the moment.
Three hours and several attempts at reading later, Regulus finally spotted movement from the corner. The elf gingerly removed the blanket Regulus had put over him, and sat up, rubbing his still sleepy eyes. He stiffened as he took in his surroundings, realizing he had spent a night in his Master's chamber. His eyes widened when he noticed Regulus, sitting in the chair, still in his pyjamas.
Before he could start apologize or, if he considered the transgression too severe, hurt himself, Regulus signalled the elf to be quiet and listen.
"You did the right thing, coming to me, Kreacher." He kept his voice low, lest his mother overhear and come investigate.
Kreacher was still weak, but after a glass of water had been summoned from the kitchen, he seemed strong enough to talk. "I need you to tell me everything that happened last night, after I left" Regulus said with a calm he did not really feel.
It was fortunate that neither Walburga nor Orion were early risers on the weekends, as it was almost eleven o'clock when the elf was done explaining. Regulus had to fight the urge to bang his head against the wall, he felt like he was trapped.
Voldemort could not know that Kreacher had survived, or he would kill him and, if the secret was sensitive enough, the elf would be joined in death by everyone he suspected might have heard of it, which would be everyone living at 12 Grimmauld place.
Kreacher's house elf status would not allow him to simply vanish, without Walburga's and Orion's permission, and if they found out that Voldemort wanted the elf dead, they would not hesitate to kill him.
The easiest answer would be for Regulus to kill him himself, but looking at Kreacher's familiar face he knew he could not do it. All he really could do was order Kreacher not to mention the occurrence to his mother, and hope that his mother's growing unease around others would continue to keep her from inviting house guests.
The solution wasn't nearly good enough to ease Regulus nervousness, but it would have to do. With that, he sent down the elf down to the kitchen, praying no one had noticed his absence.
