The boat shook under him in something like a tide, a tide in an unnatural lake. Kreacher, pulling on his sleeve, begged him to sit, but Regulus knew this boat wouldn't tip over, capsize, no, drowning would come later. He stared over the boat into eerie, dark water. A farmer, his blue flannel shirt torn at one elbow, lay facedown, still in death. A wizard dressed in robes so destroyed by the water it was impossible to tell their color rested next to the farmer.
A baby, brown hair barely covering his or her head so he could see the ridges of bone that would never become a skull, slept on its side with one fist curled near the child's mouth.
A woman, appearing to be around twenty, face up, long blonde hair waving, swooping, gliding around her face forever, eyes covered with slightly translucent eyelids, pale skin like a seraphim.
"No," he whispered hoarsely, feeling as if his voice hadn't been used in ten thousand years. "Rocella. No." He felt too sick to scream. Even though it obviously wasn't her, his heart had momentarily stopped when he saw the corpse that looked so much like his wife.
And then he knew what he must do, to protect her.
On the little island's pebbly shore, he knelt at Kreacher's eye level; took one of the house-elf's gnarled hands in his.
"Kreacher. What I am about to tell you, you must never tell to anyone. If someone orders you to tell, I order you not to. There is a locket in that basin, and I want you to take it home to Grimmauld Place and destroy it. I am going to drink that potion.
"When I do, I think it shall drive me mad, but whatever I say, do not listen to me. You will have to give that potion to me to drink, I won't be able to do so myself. If I tell you to stop giving it to me, do not obey. Don't punish yourself, either.
"Now, Kreacher, you can never tell anyone in the family what happens here. If Rocella knows, one thing will lead to another, and they will most likely kill her. I want her to survive; I don't want my child to grow up an orphan. You can never tell the child, either, nor my brother," –his voice broke here like a winter's morning- "nor Bellatrix, nor Narcissa. No one, Kreacher, do you understand me?"
Kreacher paused, then looked up at his master.
"Kreacher wants to know- is Master Regulus coming home?"
"No, Kreacher. I'm going home for all eternity. Or to hell. I really don't know if there's a god anymore or if there's really a difference or if it could ever matter in a place like this. Maybe we're all in hell and we just don't know it because we're too self-obsessed to look beyond a first impression." He choked on fear. "If this is hell, I suppose it's that sort of way to die. Even Auschwitz sounds better now. Even Mauthausen. There I'd be remembered."
The elf bowed and nodded, confused, but he did not question Regulus. "Kreacher will do what Master Regulus wishes, because Master Regulus is good- and kind- and brave- and Kreacher respects the dignity of pure blood."
"Thank you," Regulus whispered, and together they walked to the island's center, where poison and souls and certain death waited.
"As its blood witnesses, may they shine forever, a glowing example to the followers of our movement."
-Mein Kampf, Adolf Hitler
He was eight years old and staring at Bellatrix's forearm. She was nineteen, already married to some pureblood whose name he could never remember, and she had murder written on her skin.
"Do you know what that is?" she asked, very quietly.
Regulus shook his head, black hair falling in his eyes.
She smiled thinly, proudly. "It's the Dark Mark. Do you know what that means?"
He shook his head again.
"It means I made the right choices. It means I'm not alone. It means I never will be alone; and neither will anyone else with this on their arm. You make the right choices too and someday- someday you'll be one of us, and you'll never be alone, and you'll live forever, because this is going to put the purebloods back where they belong. One simple choice, Regulus, Toujours pur, and there will always be others who'll be there with you, for you."
Now he was sixteen, kneeling on cold marble at the house of some Death Eater who wasn't receiving any suspicious glances from the Ministry yet, and that Mark was becoming part of him.
It burned. It really, really burned. Barty once showed him the Cruciatus Curse on a stray cat. Watching the animal in his mind's eye, he thought this must hurt more.
He wouldn't scream.
He wouldn't scream.
Finally the snake and skull emblem was complete; Regulus shakily rose to his feet. Nott poured out wine the color of blood into a shining silver goblet, and they all drank from it. It was the first time he had ever tasted wine; it was so bitter he had to force himself not to spit it back out.
Rocella would probably make some joke about First Communion that he wouldn't understand when school started again but Regulus didn't care, because now he was one of them. Barty was too. Barty hadn't even flinched at the Dark Mark. He was probably going to end up a better Death Eater than Regulus would ever be.
There was a knock at the door. All eyes turned to the Dark Lord, who nodded once at Nott. (It was his house, after all.)
Nott opened the door. His wife stood on the threshold.
"There's a man downstairs who says he's here for the meeting. Says his name is Lucius Malfoy."
"Send him up," said the Dark Lord. Nott left the door open and crossed to the opposite wall where he had stood. The room had the atmosphere that of slightly before a trial, waiting for the prisoner to walk in.
"My Lord," gasped Lucius Malfoy, out of breath, dropping to his knees.
The Dark Lord regarded him for a moment before speaking: "You are very late, Lucius. What reason have you?"
"I- My Lord- It's a boy-" he stammered. "It's- the baby- it's a boy- we've named him Aldebaran, after my grandfather- My Lord- forgive me-"
The Dark Lord stared into Malfoy's terrified grey eyes before finally nodding, as if he had searched for truth and found it there. "Very well. I see we shall not accomplish anything tonight. Stand up, Lucius. Don't stare at the floor like a coward." His voice dropped to a serpentine hiss on the last syllables; Malfoy stood up slowly and bowed.
The other Death Eaters gathered around Malfoy, congratulating him. Eventually he broke away, a glass of wine in his hand, and stood near Regulus.
"Congratulations."
"Thanks. Here, have a glass of wine."
"I'm sixteen, Mr. Malfoy."
"Lucius. We're- coworkers, in a word, now. You're old enough to have that"-he pointed to Regulus's left arm-"you're old enough to drink. Cissy says hello."
"How is she?"
"Good, good. I had to leave for this, but I think she's fine now."
"I think you got off lucky." Regulus meant in terms of the Dark Lord and they both knew it.
Lucius frowned slightly, concerned. "Do you think he's angry?"
"He doesn't look like he cares. Maybe he's in a good mood tonight." They both watched the Dark Lord for a few moments. Bellatrix stood in front of him, hanging on his every word, her eyes filled with awe. And fear, though she hid it well.
"You like her, don't you?" Lucius asked suddenly.
"For crissake, she's my cousin. Are you insane?"
"I wasn't talking about her, I meant my sister."
"Oh." Regulus had no idea how Lucius could tell, he doubted Rocella even noticed the way he looked at her. "I guess so. I mean, yeah. Yeah, I, I do."
Lucius smiled. "I thought so." He paused and turned minutely away from Regulus. "Look, Black- Regulus- oh, hell, I don't know how to say this. Just- she's my sister- you watch yourself. You don't- you don't do anything to my sister."
Regulus turned slightly red. "I know that. I didn't say anything to you when you married my cousin."
"You were eleven when I married Narcissa. If any eleven-year-old tried to tell me something like that I'd laugh my head off. Besides, that's different."
Barty walked over to the corner where they stood. "Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy." Then he whispered to Regulus, "See? I told you. We've got the world at our feet." He chuckled triumphantly.
Regulus felt sick.
He looked at the Dark Mark on his arm every few minutes on the walk home from Nott's place. It wasn't burning anymore but his arm was still sore.
Emerald-green eyes glinted, a ruby blood drop fell from the serpent's mouth. The skull was ash-black, not the slightly ashy grey of Rocella's eyes, a grey that was more the color of sky before winter sunrise, but like burnt bone: grey so deep and terrifying black becomes it.
He thought of crematoriums in Europe Rocella had told him of, discovered after the battles were over and the obstacles of the Final Solution almost obliterated.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.
A/N: Anyway, sorry it took me so long to update, I was on vacation and then getting my wisdom teeth pulled…. Ok, that was somewhat random cos I had to cram a bunch of stuff in there but too bad, deal with it.
No, I never read Mein Kampf; I have better things to do than read Nazi propaganda. I just saw the quote somewhere.
If you were wondering how old everyone is, Lucius and Narcissa are both six years older than Regulus, Bellatrix is eleven years older. This is according to the family tree JKR made.
I also invented Aldebaran(it's the name of a star in...thinking...Taurus) cos I felt like it. And Draco wouldn't be born yet.
Rocella is Lucius's younger sister, same year as Regulus, I completely invented her. Just in case you were wondering.
PREVIEW NEXT CHPTR: I get to quote Gone With the Wind. Mwhahaha. Don't ever bother watching the movie. It's idiotic, I'm dead serious. No pun inteneded... actually, pun intended.