I do not own Harry Potter.

I was still on call for battle as the schoolyear went on. The Edgar Bones murder only created more hatred of our organization. We had murdered his family-- his wife and son-- in cold blood, and his poor orphaned daughter Susan was pitied and held up on a pedestal as a symbol of the broken families Lord Voldemort's rule would create.

"Ignorant fools," I had spat when I saw the article explaining it in the Daily Prophet. "Our cause is to glorify the role of family. Pure family."

"Bella said it's not that simple," said Barty, his mouth full of a particularly heavily-buttered piece of toast. "It takes purity of mind and loyalty to cause as well as purity of and loyalty to blood to be a Death Eater."

"Oh, so are you allowed to call her Bella now?"

Barty grinned, leaking butter down his chin.

Barty's father went haywire. "AURORS GIVEN LICENSE TO KILL" was the headline the next day. Mr. Crouch was becoming radically opposed to us, as radically as we were opposed to him. It made Barty laugh. The army of the opposition, an official army of Aurors in the Order, were composed of strong people, including the revered Alastor Moody and Albus Dumbledore himself-- but also some smaller names I recognized from school. James Potter, Sirius's messed-haired friend, hero of the Quidditch pitch, now an Auror. Lily Evans, the Muggle-born girl Head Girl Sirius had talked about his first Christmas home, now Jame's wife, also an Auror. Remus Lupin, the boy who always looked weary and intimidated, now involved in research. Peter Pettigrew, the fat, worthless, sniggering one . . . involved somehow.

Sirius Black. Not an Auror, but an avid part of the opposition nonetheless.

The war was all-out now. No civilian stood safe. However, instead of the brutal, overt killings we had previously partaken in, things began to grow a little more silent. Caradoc Dearborn's body was hidden; the Order spent months tracking it. Warning missions were not performed by the men in cloaks, lest the Aurors-- who, unlike the average wizard civilian, who cowered in fear and stood back, useless-- were on site and could rush in and apprehend them. Things were always done in the dead dark of night, the traditional place for the Dark Arts. During the day, a few of our number conservatively advocated the pureblood family; at night, the same members killed those who did not comply for it. The Dark Mark was found hovering over a different place nearly every single night, sometimes accompanied by a Mudblood's, halfblood's, or even a Muggle's body.

Barty and I, still in the ivory tower of Hogwarts and itching to get out, had to sit by quietly as most of this went on. Yet we were given one of the hardest tasks just before our exams of 6th year.

"The Dark Mark in Hogwarts," Lucius Malfoy, given the task of relaying the plot, told me, "would be a sure sign that the movement has taken over everywhere. There is no need to kill-- you two would be caught, anyway, by illegal-curse tracking wizards-- but just the sign, in a prominent place. We're going to shake that old fool, Dumbledore."

So at midnight, Barty and I snuck down. We had a brief spat over who would keep and watch and who would perform it, and I won. "I'm more powerful; I got an O in Charms and you only got an A. Back off."

"This isn't Charms, idiot," Barty had snapped. Yet he obliged and stood just outside.

I stood in the center of the floor, gazing up at the ceiling, which was depicting a cool, clear, night. The stars were bright and had vivid clarity. Regulus was not out yet, at least not within the sphere the Great Hall depicted, but Bellatrix was there, and-- I noted with a sigh-- the Andromeda constellation and Sirius, both of which were always there.

"Morsmordre!" I said clearly, my voice echoing off the halls. A ghost of green, a vision of skull and snake, rose up into the night to float, lingering somewhere around Orion.

"Psssst!" Barty hissed from the side of the hall. "Hurry up and get out of there!"

I ran, taking no heed to stem the clicking of my shoes. We dashed back upstairs. However, we were caught. Our Head of House found us out of bed and took the due course of action-- a simple detention to be served the following night-- but little did he realize how much he had incriminated us.

"Sixth year, and still sneaking about out of bed like firsties," he had scolded. Then he had smirked, "I would have thought you'd have gained more skill in your escapades than that." Everyone knew everyone was out of bed nearly all of the time; it was only a matter of who got caught.

Barty and I had played along, at first feeling pleased and lucky that a curfew breach was the most trouble we had gotten into.

When the school rose the next morning and entered for breakfast to find the ominous symbol lingering overhead, there was an obvious panic. Some of the child had seen the Mark floating above their neighbors' houses-- or even their own-- and they brought to mind horrible memories of death and destruction. Families had been frightened into compliance, tortured, killed, ripped apart in all various meanings of the word.

"Who did this?" Dumbledore had thundered upon entrace, silencing everyone, from the most panic-stricken to the most giddy. The Heads of Houses were required to bring forward all parties caught out of bed that night.

We were led to the Headmaster's office. Just outside the door, around us stood only Hufflepuffs caught sneaking food in the kitchens and a party of mischeivous, pranking Gryffindors that rather reminded me of Sirius and his friends. There were no other Slytherins; we were not going to be put off the hook.

I remembered what Bella had said to me once, when I had suggested the idea of being caught, as I was led into the Headmaster's office. "Be proud, Regulus," she had said. "Be defiant. Admit what you did and shine with the glory of it all. Show them you are not ashamed. After all, you are not, are you?" She always carried herself that way; she always would. She was never ashamed of anything. Everything was always intended. If it wasn't, no one ever knew.

As Barty shivered beside me nervously, I stood straight-backed and proud. "Do you boys know anything of the occurrence in the Great Hall last night?" he asked us. "As you are the only Slytherins present, the circumstantial evidence stands against you.

I'm going to be martyred for the cause, I thought, just as Edgar Bones and his family was martyred for his.

"I did it," I said clearly. "Barty only helped me, sneaking down. It was me."

Barty stopped shaking and I think he was pleased he had let me do the Mark.

Dumbledore blinked, rather affronted, behind his half-moon spectacles. His clear blue eyes with their white swirls annoyed me.

"Well, Regulus," he sighed. "Mr. Crouch, I daresay you know who he is--" he turned with a funny half-smile to Barty, "-- has recently expressed concern of underground happenings within the school. He had just, as of last night, offerred to take disciplinary action on any and all students caught carrying allegiance to this terrorist group known as the Death Eaters. However, as you two did not know of this decree until this morning, after you performed the curse, I feel I will only apply the old rules. To speak truth, I do not approve of any censorship of this type. I want my students to be able to express whatever views they may hold, whether I agree with them or not."

My stomach tightened at this; if he was the leader of the Order, how could he not hold our Death Eater connections against us?

He went on, "Your parents will be contacted--" Barty made a squeaking noise in the back of his throat and Dumbledore gave him a sympathetic glance, "--I'm sorry, but it's rule under both the new and old codes-- and you will serve detentions. I can only hope that you will consider your standpoints, and how you choose to express them. Any act of violence will be dealt with much more severely."

The afternoon was a long one. Dumbledore owled our parents, and we sat, waiting, out of classes, until they arrived. My parents, having no work to inhibit them, arrived first. I was brought in with them.

Mummy's eyes scanned over me in a sort of shock, as if she was unsure how to react. Father, however, accosted Dumbledore immediately.

"What is it you're trying to get my son expelled for?" he demanded. "The incident was all over the bloody newspapers this morning. Everyone's appalled and convinced my son's some sort of terrorist."

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "The Dark Mark is associated with a certain group known to be involved in terrorist undertakings. They have performed murders, tortures, and countless acts against the law. However, I have a strong belief that within their ideals lies some of the more conservative types that act only on words and actions, not violence. By performing the Dark Mark in our school, in our public setting, Regulus, I believe, was only depicting his support and belief in what the Death Eaters deem their cause: pure blood, family, and blood loyalty-- all redeeming qualities and none too volatile to be considering dangerous. He performed no murders or destruction of property, and is therefore not culpable under the higher law. This is no proof that Regulus even belongs the organization; he may only be showing his support. And I am not expelling him."

My father blinked, "So you're saying there's nothing wrong? Merlin, man, what was the reason for calling me down here, then?"

"I want you to consider what your son is doing. You still have charge over him; he is not yet of age. As you saw in the papers, he could be labelled something much darker than he is. That could create prejudice in the reverse order."

At this moment, Barty's father dashed in, as red as a tomato in the face. "Where's Bartemius?" he shouted. "Where's--" he saw me and he drew in a great shuddering breath and pointed his finger accusingly at me, "YOU!"

Mr. Crouch turned to Dumbledore, shaking with rage. "Dumbledore, you saw my decree published late last night. I demand custody of this boy. He demonstrated the symbol of the Death Eaters and is therefore considered one of their number until trial. If he is of age-- is he of age?" he scanned me over, a hungry look in his eyes, "-- if he is of age, he can be locked in Azkaban pending decision of trial."

"He is not of age, Bartemius," said Dumbledore mildly. "He was also unaware of your decree at the time of his crime, and I am not taking that action."

"Well, just because he didn't know about it doesn't mean it doesn't exist!" Mr. Crouch snapped. "I know half the kids in this school have no idea about the Underage Wizardry Restriction-- they don't read that ruddy note you send home-- and yet they'll still be punished for it if they break it!"

"I don't want censorship in my school," Dumbledore said, his eyes growing suddenly steely. "And, Bartemius, I am putting the decision of punishment in the parents' hands. Instead of taking charge of the Black child, perhaps you would do well to look to your own."

Mr. Crouch blanched, and then turned out without a word.

"I'm sorry," said Dumbledore. "Now, that is all. Regulus, all I can do is caution you to be more careful about how you go about stating your political opinions. For the scandal you caused, you and Barty will both receive two weeks' detention. It's the least I can do to assuage those students who have been victims to the more radical undertakings of the Death Eaters."

He let us out. However, Mummy and Father did not leave right away.

"That Crouch! Scum! Bloodtraitor! Utter officious slimeball, looking to receive gains from the permissive Muggle-borns to rectify his dying line!" Mummy stormed. Then she gently swiped my cheek with her hand. "Accusing my Regulus of murder and torture."

Father scoffed. "What possessed you to do that, boy?" he snapped coldly, a foil to pitying Mummy.

I felt my stomach fall slightly and my heart pick up. His tone did not feel promising; it brought to mind memories of sore, painful sensations all along my skin.

"Regulus has always long been interested in politics," Mummy defended. "And his take quite matches your own. I should think you should be proud."

"Hmph. Of course he agrees with me; he's no bloodtraitor like your Sirius." Father sniffed. Mummy narrowed her eyes at the suggestion of the term "your." "But the problem is he's being too open and too radical," his cold eyes fell back on me. "Associating yourself with that group is going to lead to nothing but trouble, Regulus. Of course we agree with them, but they go about it entirely too violently. Change ought to be slow, for balance."

I swallowed hard. "But I'm already in it," I choked out. "Bellatrix had me join years ago. I thought-- I thought you knew. I thought you would have known by now."

Mummy folded her arms and looked to Father. "I told you I thought he would take the route of movement," she said in an I-told-you-so fashion. "He's young. Young people are idealistic like that. And look-- it's Regulus. The most he does is write essays and blast the Dark Mark once into the air. There are some realists in that group."

"Bella's violent," said Father shortly. "She could be out there doing the murders. I would not put it past her."

"Very well, she might," Mummy sighed. "But she's not Regulus. Regulus was the one caught, and Regulus is the one we have charge of. And if Regulus wants to become more radical like his cousin when the time comes, when he is of age in August, he may very well do so."

"He shan't stay in our house if he does. I won't have people thinking I'm a terrorist."

Mummy pushed him with one hand. "He will too stay in the house. He's the heir, and a right bloody better one than that abomination was."

"If you hadn't been so quick to disown him, we could have brought him back to--"

"We could not have!" she snapped. "He RAN AWAY. He was not going to come back-- and if he did, he would have put up a fuss and ruined us all."

I started backing away, fearful of a fight. So Mummy and Father were still fighting about Sirius. Father saw me, and whipped out his wand, pointing it right under my chin.

"All I'm saying, Regulus, is you'd better be careful what actions you take. I will not have our family disgraced as radicals, captured and locked up in Azkaban, when I don't advocate it. I of course am very pleased you have taken an interest in politics and the future of our society which seems to have gone to the dogs, but I want you to keep a cool head about it." He shook his wand threateningly and I cringed, worried a curse for good measure might come out of the end of it. However, none did. The two left, and I was unscathed.

It was a beautiful feeling. Dumbledore could do nothing to me, and he knew it. With my parents on my side, he was stuck. With the pureblood families, the Slytherin families, he needed the parents' backing or else the child would never learn. Detentions with disembowling frogs or scrubbing bedpans were nothing compared to standing under the wand of one's father. That absent in the background, Dumbledore held no power at all. It was something unavoidable, too. Gryffindors could feel remorse for their actions when they saw the piteous faces of their victims, Ravenclaws could be explained the errors of their ways by a trusted authority, and Hufflepuffs could be swayed by the simple approval or disapproval of their peers and loved ones, but Slytherins required brute treatment for discipline. We felt no pity or remorse naturally; we glorified our negative achievements. The only way to stop us was through physical gratification or punishment. Hence, within the old pureblood families, strict punishment of the sort was the rule in child-rearing. That, of course, was not allowed in the schools; Hogwarts had little affect in reshaping Slytherin students.

It was very lucky Father disagreed with Crouch-- and that Dumbledore let him. Barty, however, was not so lucky.

He came back to the dorms after his meeting with Dumbledore and his father looking extremely pale and nervous.

"He never gives a damn about me, ever," he said bitterly, "yet now suddenly he goes crazy because he thinks I'm going to ruin him. When I just sat nicely in the background while he carried on, being the good son, he didn't say more than a word to me on any given day. Now, when I'm undermining his own cause, being suspected of Dark behaviors, he goes berserk, and screams at me about how I'd better shape up and I was bringing shame on the entire family, and I swear, one minute longer in there and he would have hexed me badly, in front of Dumbledore and everything."

"I'm sorry," I said. "My dad agreed with me on everything-- except he said be careful about being too radical."

Barty shook his head, shocked and jealous of my opposite treatment. "He said you were a bad influence. He got mad at me all again for being Sorted into Slytherin, for feeding into their ways, and making friends with the wrong sort of people. He said he long suspected your entire family of being in the root of all of these problems-- and he's ruddy well right-- but he doesn't realize that I'm supporting all of them, too. He doesn't let me have my own damn opinions."

"My parents dictate mine," I whispered, "too, but at least I agree with theirs, naturally."

I wanted to tell Barty to break away from his family, his father, just as Sirius had done with his family, but that would be breaking one of the strongest rules of our cult: loyalty to family-- the first thing I had ever attempted to break and was severely punished for. With Father finally agreeing with me on all counts, there was never going to be a chance I would break any more of his rules.