I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. They are the copyright property of their owner(s).
Chapter 25 - The Dark Mark
Regulus was wide awake when his clock struck midnight, sitting at his desk at 12 Grimmauld Place. He was hunched over the Daily Prophet, reading the front page by wand light.
He-who-must-not-be-named strikes Puddlemere
In the late hours of Easter Sunday, He-who-must-not-be-named has launched a massacre against the village of Puddlemere, many citizens of which are wizards and witches. Thirty-three muggles were slaughtered, as well as seventeen wizards and witches, and over double that number were injured. Notable deaths include Leslie Michaels, a member of the British parliament; Beatrice Pucklemere, daughter of Gareth Pucklemere, the famous magical scholar who has been missing for months; and Professor Natalie Tropper, teacher of Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, who was visiting her family over the Easter holidays. The Dark Lord himself led the attack. Also present were Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, Stevron Despard, and as many as three other unknown Death Eaters. Despard was captured and is awaiting trial.
The goal of their mission is unclear; however, a Ministry of Magic spokeswoman told this reporter that had it not been for the bravery of four Aurors; Alastor Moody, Caradoc Dearborn and Frank and Alice Longbottom, it is quite possible that hundreds may have lost their lives. Moody managed to fight off the Lestranges while Dearborn stunned Dolohov and Despard, though Dolohov was enervated and evaded capture. Frank Longbottom guarded hordes of muggles while they fled to a safer location to await obliviation. His wife, the young, rising superstar in the Auror office, Alice Longbottom, dueled with He-who-must-not-be-named himself and suffered grievous injuries in the fight. She is on around-the-clock support in the critical condition ward of St. Mungo's; if she fights through her wounds, she will be the only person as of yet to have personally dueled with the Dark Lord and lived to tell the tale. Everybody here at the Prophet wishes Ms. Longbottom a speedy recovery.
For the final two months of the semester, the heads of houses will be taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for any students in first, second, third, and fourth years. Students studying for their OWL's will receive training from the new Professor of Arithmancy, Septima Vector, while NEWT students will be under the tutelage of Potions Professor and Deputy Headmaster, Professor Horace Slughorn.
Minister for Magic Harold Minchum declined to comment on the massacre to Prophet reporters, however he will be having a press conference this coming Friday. With fifty dead, this is the largest attack that He-who-must-not-be-named has launched thus far. Our thoughts are with the families of the victims and the injured.
Regulus put the paper down and used a cutting charm to trace the outside of the article and remove it. He used a permanent sticking charm to attach it to the wall just below his drawing of the dark mark. The Dark Lord is growing bolder, thought Regulus. Pucklemere is a large village to attack openly with a huge magical population.
The date was April 20th - Regulus's sixteenth birthday. He had been told by his cousin Narcissa to await them in the early hours of morning, for tonight, the Dark Lord had chosen him for a great honour. He walked downstairs and sat by facing his fireplace.
"Kreacher," he spoke to the darkness, and with a crack, the elf appeared before him. "Extinguish this fire. Then fetch me a cup of tea, if you would."
"Certainly," the elf groaned. "Would Master Regulus like biscuits with his tea?"
"No, that won't be necessary." He was too nervous to eat, but the tea helped to calm him. He ignited the candle on the coffee table next to his armchair and stared into the tiny flickering flame, sipping the tea in anticipation.
"Master Regulus should be sleeping," said Kreacher, "it is his birthday in the morning."
"It's my birthday now, Kreacher," he replied. "Did you buy me a present?"
"Master Regulus surely knows elves don't have gold to buy their masters gifts," he said. "Our gift is our loyalty and our servitude and-"
"I'm joking, Kreacher. I have a much greater gift coming than you could possibly give me."
"Master?"
"I'm going to succeed where Sirius failed, Kreacher. Tonight I join the Dark Lord."
Kreacher left him in silence. Regulus sat, and waited, and sat, and waited, staring at the clock all the while. Just before three in the morning, there was a flash of green.
"Happy birthday, cousin," said Bellatrix, stepping out of the fire.
Narcissa stepped out right behind her sister. "Robes? Wand?" She said.
"Yes," Regulus answered.
"Good," said Narcissa. "Get your broomstick."'
"Don't forget broomsticks for us!" said Bellatrix.
"Quiet, Bella!" Said Narcissa.
"Why? Don't want Sirius to hear us?" She mocked. "Oh wait, he's at the blood traitor Potter's now. The brat who saved your life, I heard."
"Broomsticks, Reg," said Narcissa, "now."
Regulus scowled at the elder cousin, before heading to the broom cupboard and taking out his own, a new Cleansweep Five, as well as the second fastest ones, a pair of Cleansweep Fours. He gave them to his cousins and they left the house. "Ready?" Narcissa asked. Regulus nodded.
"Stay close behind!" Bellatrix told him with a laugh, and she kicked off. The other two followed.
They didn't bother hiding from muggles. Drawing attention to themselves wasn't a good idea, but the more obliviation teams the ministry had to dispatch, the more thin they were run. The night was warm and slightly rainy which made the flight uncomfortable, and Regulus was annoyed they refused to apparate.
They made the landing not long after, over the south of London, on the pathway leading up to a large manor on the outskirts of Redhill. The gate was just ahead of them, at the end of a row of oak trees. Every tree had the letter S carved into it's trunk.
"What did the Dark Lord tell you, Bella?" Said Narcissa.
"To wait when we got to the Manor. Reg cannot enter until the secret-keeper is-"
"Ladies!" Said a low, warm voice. "I just watched you land. Welcome back."
Regulus turned and saw a large, black haired man approaching them from the side of the path. He wore a kind smile, though a large scar on his right cheek bone gave him the appearance of a madman. He was at least forty. "Regulus, this is Gorio Selwyn," Said Narcissa. "Gorio, this is my cousin Regulus."
"A pleasure," said Selwyn.
"Gorio," Bellatrix hissed, "pass the secret!"
"Of course," he added. "Regulus, this is my home, Selwyn Manor, Number one, Selwyn Lane, Redhill, Surrey." As the words were finished, the gate disappeared in a wisp of thick, black smoke. "Right this way."
He guided them down the rest of the pathway and up to the doors, which were carved from what Regulus thought was more oak. Inside, the home seemed mostly abandoned, but the sconces were all lit. Selwyn guided them down a corridor immediately to the right of the vestibule.
Regulus was calm with anticipation. He knew what was coming; he was ready.
They approached another ornate door, and Selwyn pushed it open. The room had a long, white marble table, with people sitting at every spot along its sides. He recognized many of them. Hendrick Mulciber Junior was sitting next to his father to his immediate left, and next to them was Gillian Travers, as well as Travers's parents. Hendrick and Gillian were the only two other than him who were still at Hogwarts. Regulus noticed the fathers of Avery and Nott at the table as well. Narcissa walked past him and took the spot on the left next to the tall, blonde figure that Regulus recognized to be Lucius Malfoy. Bellatrix went to sit next to her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, as well as his brother Rabastan. Selwyn took the seat farthest on the right, just next to the head of the table, which housed an empty chair.
There was dead silence, nobody said a thing. Regulus stood dumbstruck at the end of the table and examined the room, where nobody said a thing. He finally noticed, suspended above the table, a floating body of a middle-aged man, twirling in mid-air. Regulus looked into his eyes; he was alive, and conscious, but could not speak or move.
Regulus looked back at the empty chair at the end of the table, then over to Narcissa, then to Bellatrix. Bellatrix laughed. Regulus opened his mouth, but before anything audible came out, there was a hand on his shoulder, and he was frozen stiff.
"Young Regulus Black," said a high, cold voice. "Welcome."
For the first time, he felt fear.
The Dark Lord dropped his hand and strode past him. He walked the length of the table unnaturally slowly, flicked his wand, and the chair slid out. Everybody stood up. Then the Dark Lord took his seat, and everybody sat back down. Everyone except Regulus.
He was bald, and milky white. His nose was deformed and his skin looked alien; this was the first time Regulus had seen him in person. Bellatrix had told him that power tends to corrupt the appearance and that he was no longer the handsome man he was in his youth. Vanity is weakness, she told him.
"Welcome, welcome, Regulus," he said. "We're very delighted you could join us today on so special an occasion. Narcissa tells me today is your sixteenth birthday."
"Er... y-yes." He managed, with no more volume than a rat's squeak.
"Well than, happy birthday," The Dark Lord breathed eerily, hands outstretched. "As it happens, I have something special to share with you - The Dark Lord is generous, as I'm sure your cousins and your friends have informed you. But first - are you aware of our little endeavor - our impromptu Easter celebration - this past Sunday?"
He paused often to gauge the room. Regulus was acutely aware of the dozens and dozens of eyes on him. "Of course, My Lord," said Regulus. "A great victory for our cause, to be sure."
"Our cause, you say?"
"Yes - I mean to say, your cause, my Lord."
"We lost Stevron to the Aurors on Sunday. He will be dead by the morrow, to be sure."
"My Lord," said an unsure sounding voice, "surely they will keep him alive -"
"They will try, Lester," The Dark Lord replied, "but Lord Voldemort has servants in the ministry, as you should know. Now as to the matter at hand - Regulus, do you know why I myself left the confines of Gorio's hospitality?"
"No, my Lord," Regulus replied.
The Dark Lord whipped his wand around like a flash, and the suspended man fell to the table, wheezing and coughing. "This, Regulus, is Parien Prewett. He tried to defy me by claiming to be a man devoted to the purification of magical kind. He even offered to spy upon Albus Dumbledore for our cause." The Dark Lord paused. "This man thought he could fool Lord Voldemort!"
The table laughed, then the Dark Lord raised his wand again and snarled, "Crucio!"
A flash of red hit him square in the neck, and he keeled over and groaned in pain, every muscle in his body tense.
"Parien Prewett is a fool and has suffered greatly because of it. A pity, the Prewett family comes from good, pure-blood wizarding stock. But, in his foolishness, he has had his uses. Though he lost Stevron for us - a tragedy - he has informed Lord Voldemort of a great many things. He has two brothers and a sister in Dumbledore's closest circle."
"Don't touch them!" Prewett managed, in his weakness.
The table laughed again.
"It seems, unfortunately, that usefulness has come to an end. Crucio!"
More cries of agony. Regulus remembered his brother screaming like that under torture from Bellatrix, who seemed to be enjoying the display more than anyone.
"Regulus," said the Dark Lord, "it's time to end his suffering. Kill him."
His voice dropped and stiffened as he spoke the command. Regulus pulled his wand out as Prewett brought himself around to face him. The man had kind eyes. "You don't have to this, lad," he said.
He pulled his wand up and pointed it straight at the man's forehead. "Regulus," said Bellatrix forcefully, "do it. Do it now."
"Regulus," Prewett breathed, "please."
His hand begun to shake. Thirty something people, all waiting, the Dark Lord on the opposite side of the table, smiling, eyes scarlet red, sweat dripping off Regulus's nose, a teardrop dripping off Prewett's...
"Avada Kedavra."
Prewett's head hit the table with a thump. "Very good, Regulus," said the Dark Lord, "very, very good indeed." He didn't notice it happened but he was breathing heavily. He slouched over and put his hands on the table. The Dark Lord waved his wand and conjured another chair behind him, which he slumped into. "Killing takes quite a bit of energy. Frankly, we're all surprised the man is more than bruised."
More laughs.
"Bellatrix," said the Dark Lord, as he stood up and started walking. "If you wouldn't mind... your knife."
His cousin reached into her robe pocket, and pulled out a knife of silver and green. "My Lord... Licorus Black's own silver knife."
"Wonderful," he whispered. He moved back over to Regulus who was still leaning into the table and breathing. Then the Dark Lord flicked his wand, Regulus's left arm was forced onto the table, palm facing upwards. He flicked it again and the marbled deformed around his arm to bind his palm and elbow down. Another flick and the robes below his elbow disappeared. Regulus was sweating, terrified, he couldn't say a word...
The Dark Lord flicked his wand one more time and the knife floated slowly into his open hand. Then he pressed the blade into Regulus's wrist, cut him deep, and dragged the knife halfway up his arm. Blood was spilling out, he was breathing heavier, head feeling lighter by the moment from the blood loss. The Dark Lord set the knife down, put the tip of his wand straight into the bloody gash and whispered, "Morsmordre."
Then there was heat, as a black line crept out of the wound like an inky snake and began to stretch itself over his arm. It was getting hotter, soon his arm was nearly on fire, so much pain...
The Dark Lord pulled his wand out, and Regulus looked to the ceiling and screamed as the mark sealed itself to his skin.