(A/N) Okay, it's official. I've never once had a story that wanted to be written this much. Though I may not appear to need it in this case, feeding the author is still a Good Thing.
Regulus Black, age sixteen, stood as tall as he could before the Dark Lord, waiting with his yearmates for the honor of the Dark Mark. Even with his chin up and his back as straight as it could be, he still only came up to Evelyn Parkinson's shoulder. I am a Black, he reminded himself firmly. The Black. I don't need to prove myself, and I don't need to be taller because I know ten times more than that oaf about Old Magic and how to use it, and that's what He really needs.
Doubts surged behind the proud thoughts of the heir of the Black, but Regulus ruthlessly supressed them; forcing them below the level of consciousness, allowing his mind to run through the things Bella had said when she'd first met the Dark Lord, allowing her fanaticism to completely overwhelm his less certain faith. When the Dark Lord looked into his eyes, Regulus looked back, as proud and certain of his place as his cousin had been all those years before.
"Black," He hissed, eyes holding Regulus still. "Your cousin serves well, but your brother serves our enemies well. How will I know with you?"
"I have no brother," Regulus replied. "I am Regulus Black, son of Orion Black, and his only son and heir. I am here because I believe in the Old Magic, and the purity of our world. I am here to serve you, body and soul, in your quest."
Bella's words, almost exactly what she had said when Narcissa had asked why she, a Black, would follow this man. And because they were Bella's words, Regulus said them like she would have, clear and cutting, looking her Master in the eye. And because he didn't break the gaze, and because he'd felt his father sort through his thoughts before, Regulus knew the Dark Lord was in his head investigating his beliefs. Then it was over. The Dark Lord looked away speaking to the other candidates, demanding their credentials. Shivering a little, Regulus wondered how He hadn't murdered him on the spot. Couldn't He see the doubts and worries, fears and cowardice that filled his mind? But the memories Regulus had recognized as the Dark Lord had sorted through them had all been doubtless, fearless, submerged so far into Bella's fanaticism they didn't seem anything but fanatic.
"Regulus Black, son of Orion Black. Come here." The Dark Lord hissed as he spoke, and the light globe he had created glittered eerily off his eyes. Regulus came forward, extending his arm. An almost gleeful expression on his face, the Dark Lord touched His wand to Regulus's arm. Regulus recognized the expression half a second before the pain hit. The expression was Bellatrix's, just before she broke Narcissa's favorite doll, just before she slapped Andra so hard she screamed, just before she told Regulus's mother that he had sassed her. Before he had time to call out or pull his arm away, his world was pain, spreading in an instant from his forearm throughout his body. He collapsed at the Dark Lord's feet, nerves protesting so much he was unable to stand.
He didn't scream. It wasn't because he remembered where he was and how dangerous screaming would be, because he didn't. It wasn't because he knew Bella wouldn't scream, because she would have. Anyone would. It was his father's voice, his father's face behind the huge maghogony desk, the day after Sirius left. The coldness in his father eyes and voice when he said, "You are my heir. You will act accordingly or you will not be considered worthy. Be worthy of being a Black, Regulus. Be worthy. You know that you are nothing without a name." A proper Black wouldn't scream. Regulus admitted not a wimper, though he bit through his bottom lip.
It was Snape who came forward to pull him out of the Dark Lord's way. Regulus could tell by the faint scent of potions that clung to his mentor's clothes. "You did well." It was a whisper of a voice over his head as Snape slapped him to make sure he was conscious. Evelyn Parkingson began to scream.