Hy! I loved so much to work on this! please review :)
Thanks to my beta, adlertyprighter!
Disclaimer: I don't own HP
Warnin: graphic description of violence/ murder/ abuse
II-Winter
After an hour of watching over his cousin, Regulus knew he had to get down the stairs and tell the others what he knew. He had to announce… how could someone tell these things?
His heart was heavy and he put his foot on the first step. He could hear the worried whispers downstairs, along with a few words said louder under the stress and the emotion
But it was his duty.
He let his feet fall on each step of the too short yet never ending staircase.
He walked slowly- exhausted- going along the corridor living room where the family had gathered in some sort of primal instinct of protection. They needed to have the clan gathered close, to be sure that none of them was missing.
His eyes immediately caught Rodolphus, and he understood that the man knew of the horror he had to announce. He could see the light dimmed in his eyes in a second, his brow not even burrowed with worry as he had accepted his fate.
Regulus opened his mouth, but the words tasted like ashes against his tongue.
All the questions Regulus had, all the doubts his conscious had plagued his mind disappeared when he saw Rodolphus fell to the floor. When he had to tell him that his wife had lost their child and that she may never be able to have one again, as her magic had associated the trauma with the pregnancy.
The feeling of power he had had when he was marked turned into dread when he heard that three of the twenty-eight were now heirless. That five of his schoolmates had been murdered in their homes, trying to defend themselves against the Aurors and the Order's raids.
Anger swelled in his bones when he saw hundreds of inestimable books being burn because they had been classified as Dark.
Anger turned into rage when he learned that Sirius was part of the team that had wounded Bellatrix.
And rage turned into despair when he hears the minister in the radio, felicitation of her forces for the heavy shot against the Dark and the arrests of dozens of low-ranked Death Eaters.
The night was never-ending, and he stayed in an armchair next to the fire, apathetic, listening to all that was happening around him.
It was so cold in the room he was afraid that he would freeze if he moved…
He hadn't washed his hands, and they were still dripping with his cousin's blood. Everyone was active, trying to get news, to know where a friend, a son, a daughter was. Rodolphus was sitting at his wife's side, waiting for her to wake up, Rabastan had gone to help, warning the few that hadn't still yet be touched by the raids.
Narcissa and Andromeda were directing the elves to move the furniture, to hide the so precious heritage of the Black family. Lucius, after checking that his future wife was safe and sound and holding her for long, long minutes, Lucius had then run to Severus's place, and next to Gringotts to secure the war funds and his Lord's vaults.
But Regulus stayed here, looking into the fire.
He felt more than saw the sun rise, slowly, touching the earth and the floor of the Black's living room with its warm rays. The dark blue of the sky wept until it was totally faded into a cerulean pastel dotted with touches of purple, soft pink and gold. The suspended time of the darkness broke with the songs of the birds and the cool morning breeze.
As London awoke, Regulus kept glaring at the fire.
A cold but soft hand wrapped around his, dragging him out of his waking dream.
"The Dark Lord is coming," whispered Narcissa.
She knelt beside him to put herself on equal height, and her dress was spreading around her like the blooming petal of a pretty flower. But a dark bruise had formed under her eyes and wrinkles of worry marred her perfect forehead. Her blonde locks fell lifelessly around her face and her cheeks missed the delicate pink they usually wore.
Something warm spread in his chest. Even in the darkest times, he could still count on Narcissa to take care of her family. To have such a precious woman touching his hand gave him hope: maybe, one day, the war would be over and people like Narcissa would prosper.
He knew part of his thoughts were a symptom of the Black Curse talking. Making him desire his own. He wasn't stupid, he had seen it everywhere. How his mother had married her cousin, how Bella's first kiss had been Siri…
But he also knew that Narcissa loved her husband and that her attachment was genuine. It was so rare, in these troubled times.
He silently nodded, hoping that his eyes conveyed the affection he had for his cousin's soft gesture. He stood up with as much dignity as he could, propping himself up on the back of the armchair to hide the weakness of his exhausted body.
He wasn't the victim. He had to stand.
He had to be honorable for his master.
After only a few seconds, the green flames roared to life, announcing the Dark Lord's arrival.
Voldemort stepped out of the fire like a creature born from it, with a grace that was almost ridiculous considering the mundanity of it all. His obsidian hair was as perfectly trimmed as ever, and his red, red eyes scanned the room quickly.
A rush of anxiety, quickly crushed by a warm adoration surrounded Regulus. Even in these harsh circumstances, his Lord gleamed. If anything, his mourning attitude, perfectly formal for the occasion, gave him some sort of tragic beauty, added to his white skin (like the snow, the dead, the innocence) a dignified countenance that could only be found in death.
Voldemort greeted the Black patrician, who bowed swiftly despite not being a Death Eater; thus showing the complete support of the Black family, and his respect for the Lords.
"Rise up, Orion, rise up. The others will come in the hour. Where are the Lestranges and… I see that Bellatrix is missing too?"
Orion opened his mouth but then turned towards his son for help. No matter how much he respected the Dark Lord, it wasn't his place to report. He was, for all intents and purpose, a civilian.
"My Lord." Introduced Regulus with a slightly shaky bow - thinking how he should bow lower and not even put his eyes on the Dark Lord-, "Bellatrix was caught in the Auror raid, My Lord. She is heavily wounded, although her life isn't on the brink anymore. Her husband is watching over her, and Rabastan went to warn the few that hadn't yet been attacked, he should come quite quickly." He said diligently.
The Dark Lord nodded, then frowned. "Is Bellatrix condition worrisome, Regulus?"
Regulus took his time to answer. But it wasn't like he could hold any information from his Lord - anything could be important. "She is badly burnt on her torso and arms, that may scar for life despite my efforts to avoid it. Her legs were bruised, and I have not yet been able to check for any muscular injury. She had a concussion and a black eye - she may not recover all of her vision on the right side. She…"
He took a breath to steady his heart and allow his voice to calm down. He refused to have a shaky voice in front of his Lord, no matter how panicked, sad and tired he was. He lifted his eyes and met the unwavering gaze of Lord Voldemort. His face was absolutely blank, his features even, and Regulus had absolutely no idea of how angry he might be. "She lost her child and may not be able to be pregnant again." he finished.
The Lord's face didn't even twitch - if anything he looked bored- but his eyes were a blazing fury. Regulus could almost taste the restrained anger and the extreme control the Lord had put on his own magic. Suddenly, Regulus was afraid.
As if someone had ripped a veil as if someone had woke a monster. Even in his fury, the Dark Lord looked so divine. Such perfection could only come from something 's breath caught in his throat.
"I see."
Without another word, the Lord sat on the armchair Regulus had occupied a moment before. He joined his delicate hands in front of his face, palms together as if praying to the muggle god.
The armchair had become a throne.
He seemed so peaceful, so fixed and intensely still that if Regulus hadn't been careful, he would have mistaken him for a statue. His delicate features were immobiles but relaxed, softening the somehow cruel edge of his mouth. Eternal.
They all stayed here, immobile until the wards buzzed, before lowering to let the Death Eaters pass.
The all appeared in a dark, perfectly organized circle.
"My Lord," they said in chorus.
But Regulus, if he murmured the same greeting, couldn't put his heart into it. There were so many people missing. He could see it even more within the circle: empty places where his friends and colleagues - Merlin, his family- had been, not a day earlier.
"My friends."
The Dark Lord rose from his chair as fluidly as if he was made of water, his black robes slightly floating around him. He was silent, no noise being made even by his own movement, but all the Death Eaters present hold their breath.
"I once called us revolutionaries. I liked to think that our movement came from the wizarding people - tired of being chained, of being lowered again and again under the ministry's cowardice but…"
Voldemort cut himself, as if in thought. As if hurt by what had happened.
Was he?
Regulus shamefully crushed the doubt in the pit of his mind. It wasn't his place to doubt his Lord, and certainly not now.
"However, the… vicious attack with suffered tonight made me rethink this statement."
The Dark Lord marked a pause. All the attention was on him, with an unprecedented intensity. Regulus thought that had their Lord asked them to raid the ministry there and now, nobody would have even raised an eyebrow.
"Today, without any provocation on our part, our friends, our families were attacked. By doing so, the ministry, the Light, sent us a message."
Regulus felt his heart stop, but something could be seen on his face. The Dark Lord looked into the eyes of each and every one of them. His dark, dark gaze fell finally on Regulus like a bloody rain on his skin. His whole body was warm and yet an aftertaste of disgust and awe lingered in the back of his throat.
The air already tasted like ashes.
"This is no revolution, my friends. This is war."
"How long until she wakes?"
Rodolphus was leaning on the wall, his arms dangling as if he didn't know what to do with them. He didn't make a move to get closer, nor did he take his wife's hand. He hadn't paid any attention to her except the first night, when he had heard what had happened to her.
Apparently, the impossibility to conceive an heir had destroyed the fragile trail of care they had for each other. Regulus suspected that the only reason for Rodolphus not to ask for an annulment was his fear of Bella's revenge.
It made him quite sad.
But, well, that how things were. A pure-blooded woman was to make a child - to give her husband's name a continuation. Regulus knew that Bellatrix had never wanted children. She thought them weak and a distraction from battle. She was a warrior above everything, but, the same as everyone of her rank, she had obeyed the custom.
At least now she wouldn't be bothered with that.
"I think she will wake tonight or tomorrow. We had to put her in healing coma in order to-"
"I have no desire to know the technicalities, Regulus. Do call me when she wakes."
Rodolphus got out of the room, leaving a gaping healer behind.
But surprise quickly led to indignation, and then to red, raw anger. How dare Rodolphus talk about Bellatrix like that? How dare he talk to him like that? How dares he-
"And I thought this fucker would never go…"
Regulus's head snapped. He met Bella's gaze then a tension he didn't know was weighing on his shoulders lifted. "He's not the best husband," he whispered.
"No, he's not." She chuckled throatily and coughed.
In a second, he was next to her, helping her as the convulsions of her cough hurt the wounds on her abdomen.
"Fuck off, Reg, I don't need to be mollycoddled by a bloody child!" she spat half-heartedly.
He smiled. "C'mon, Bella, it's only me here. You can say that you want your mum, really. I'll even give you a candy."
"As soon as I'm out of this damn bed, I'm going to show you a bit a discipline, young man!"
"You hardly even grasp the concept of discipline yourself, cousin. I should know, your father was here, ranting about how he was going to murder everyone that dared to touch to his sweet baby girl..."
They didn't laugh, but somehow, it was just like when they were kids. When their worst crimes had been to steal a jar of cookies and accuse the house elf. Before they became bitter before they became warriors. Before…
"Do you know about…"
"The child? Yes, I can't feel it's not here anymore."
He nodded, not really knowing how to answer to that.
"Don't worry yourself, baby Reg. I'm fine. It doesn't matter."
Regulus was once again reduced to silence.
" Our Lord…?"
Regulus closed his eyes and sighed. "He was here a few days ago. We had a meeting about the attack." Regulus looked at her and saw how attentive she was."He declared war against the ministry. No prisoners are to be made." Regulus lowered his gaze to give her the time to collect herself. Surely, she would be terrified at the idea of an open war. Sad that she had lost her child - and maybe even her husband. Terrified to lose her life - to lose her family. He was. He was all that.
The tic of the ancestral clock sounded in the room.
After a few minutes, he dared look at her.
She was smiling. A big, toothy -sick, sick, oh so sick - smile addressed to the ceiling.
He shivered.
Yule was near, the next raid nearer. Everyone was preparing for one or the other. Narcissa had disappeared for days into the finest shops of Europe to find herself a proper dress. As the next marrying Black, she had to be perfect, and Lucius had conveniently disappeared for the time being. A wise man and a fast learner.
Andromeda was more anxious about her date, and truly, Regulus was about to ask her to go with him. She was after all his favourite cousin - even if the two of them had never been quite expressive about it. She was the one that made him cookies when he was a child. Bypassing the house elves to Walburga's greatest indignation. Plus she was soft, caring and sane.
It was so refreshing to have someone sane around. Someone whose hands weren't red and soul wasn't torn.
The memory of Bella's smile flashed into his mind, and he buried it as soon as it appeared. It had been hard for her to even start to walk again. But she never let go. Rodolphus was sent away as soon as he arrived with all the might of Walburga's wrath, and Bella had continued to train. For her Lord, for the Cause. Not even when her wound reopened, not even when she was in agonizing pain did she stop. It had taken Yaxley's intervention to convince her that hurting herself won't help anyone and wouldn't let her go to war earlier.
The Lord had no use for cripples in battle.
Regulus heard a crash upstairs and ran to its source. Bellatrix was lying on the floor, her wild curls all over her face. Regulus rushed to her side but found himself pushed away with surprising strength.
He fell on his back but was quickly sitting in a more dignified position.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked.
"I need to train!"
He was surprised by the lack of control in her voice. She really sounded like a child. In a full grown woman like her, it couldn't mean anything good. There was just enough desperation in her voice to put him on edge.
"You need to rest." He said sternly.
"No! no...I-" she panted "I'll train. I'll be good again. You have to tell our Lord. I'll be good again. I'll be useful. You will do that for me, Reg? You'll tell him?"
Regulus stared at her. "Bella… You need to rest. You're only hurting yourself." He said awkwardly. He was scared, so scared that she wouldn't listen.
She glared at him with all her might. It surely would have made him shiver if she hadn't learned that glare from his own mother.
Finally, Bella sighed and lowered her eyes. She crawled to the next wall and sat against it, her breath coming in pants from the effort- and the pain, no doubt.
Regulus tried to approach to check on her bandages, but she batted his hands away. Understanding that she didn't want to be touched right now, not in such a weakened state, he backed off.
He was furious. Of course, he didn't show it, but… Bellatrix was surely one of the most dignified people he knew. To see her reduced to - to that...
She was looking at him intently, tilting her head to the side. No. He refused to pity her. He refused to insult her in such a way. Wasn't it what they wanted? To degrade all the pureblood, until they were only some ramping low insects, begging to have a place in their own world?
She opened her arms. "Com'here." She whispered.
In other circumstances, he would have refused the embrace - too intimate, too close. But, he sat next to her and let her wrap her arms around his shoulders, her fingers playing with his hair.
"Tell me Regulus, do you love our Lord?"
"Of course," he said without hesitation. "We all must trust and love our Lord."
She giggled. Why was she giggling? "Oh baby Reg, I know that. But do you love him?"
He didn't answer. The question in itself, it felt… Sacrilegious. And it wasn't his place to think such things…
"I do..." whispered Bella in his ear, and he was suddenly very aware of the strength of her arms around him, of how he was trapped, of her breath againgst the flesh of his exposed neck.
He closed his eyes, fighting against the lingering anguish that was threatening to overthrow him.
Finally, the big day arrived. Everybody was invited to the Ministry to do an appearance in the afternoon, before going to the Black Manor, their winter residence, for the real thing.
As usual, the Ministry's party was boring. Nobody could talk, Aurors were sending dark glances towards the supposed Death Eaters, who ignored them superbly, the ministress did a speech on peace and brotherhood in these troubled times (hidden behind two ranks of soldiers because she wasn't that stupid), and everybody left. Regulus didn't even stay more than ten minutes - just enough to shake the minister's hand as the Black heir.
There were people here he didn't want to see.
He traveled to Grimmauld place to change and put something more… Black, waiting for Andromeda to show up.
He went to check on Bella. Who was peacefully in a potion induced sleep, and check on her vitals.
But, really, his mind was on how the evening with Andromeda would be refreshing.
She arrived right on time for their meeting, in a beautiful blue dress that fell on her ankles and let her back nude until her waist. She had beaded her hair in some sort of crown and add a few jewels into her well-combed locks. She truly was pretty.
She smiled at him. "Like what you see, cousin?"
"I would have to be blind not to," he answered, taking her hand to place a kiss above her knuckles. "And I'm sure dozens of young suitors will think the same."
Her smile faltered somewhat, and Regulus wondered what was it that she wasn't saying. "I'm sur dozen of pretty heiress will throw themselves at you, Regulus." She teased.
"If they could refrain, it would be better. My mother is in the assistance, for Merlin's sake!"
She burst out of laughter and took his arm as they apparated away.
The ballroom was… simply astonishing, even on the Blacks standards. The front gates shone with magically colored ice and a soft snow fell on the guests, disappearing just before touching their expensive outfits. Scents of peppermint and vanilla lingered in the air, mixed with the musky scents of the pureblood perfumes, some of them designed to change according to the light, or even the mood. The finest wines had been brought up from the Black cellar and were being presented around by waiters in golden and black uniforms, politely bowing, eliciting a light laugh and exclamation of admiration. All of that had only been created for one single night.
Black Manor's decadence knew no bounds.
Regulus wondered how people couldn't think that all of that, all that fast was hiding something. How his family was decaying, rotting in its own past glory. Would they care if they knew?
Regulus came down the main staircase, Andromeda on his arm, spotting all the interactions of the room at a glance.
Orion, as usual, had taken refuge in a dark corner - just enough to be forgotten during the most social part of the ball.
His wife greeted the guests with all the know-how that his education could give her, avoiding the inevitable question on her husband and first son with ease - some pureblood had the art to turn the knife in the wound in the most polite way.
Narcissa and her husband were showing off to a politician - probably Lucius's current boss. Regulus had to admit that Narcissa was particularly beautiful that evening, with a long golden dress and a white cape around her shoulders that perfectly matched her husband's outfit.
A bit further away, Barty and Severus were in their own little world as they discussed most passionately about something. Probably an academical nuance that nobody but them really cared about.
In another glance, he noticed every politician - was that the German ambassador? - that could further the Cause was here. They were probably invited by the Lord with that exact idea. The elder Lestrange was discussing with one of them, and if Blacks could frown, Regulus would have. It was never good to let the elder Lestrange manage politics alone.
Or anything for that matter.
Regulus arrived in front of his mother and kissed above her knuckles as it was the proper greeting.
"Good evening, my son. Andromeda." She saluted cooly. "Regulus, would you do me the favour of dragging your father from whatever hole he's hiding in?"
Regulus had stopped to expect warmth from her a long time ago. He simply nodded and let Andromeda's arm go - Walburga had to greet other guests.
The very moment his father caught his sight, he knew why Regulus was coming to him. It had become some sort of habit, to avoid a scandal during such a social event. Regulus could see him grow paler a he approached.
"I guess I'll have to go back, then?"
Orion's voice was faint. He really didn't look good these days - but Regulus couldn't comment as he was barely managing to cover the dark bruises under his own eyes.
He didn't have much time to think about his father's weaknesses either.
"Indeed."
There was no tone in Regulus's voice. His father looked at him sadly. He looked like he was about to say something but stopped himself when he crossed his wife's gaze, and walked passed Regulus instead.
Regulus swam from one politician to another with his usual ease. These men preferred to talk rather than to listen - and it suited Regulus very well. He had nothing to say to them. Old men, parasites, too rich for their own good. Nouveau riche, the lot of them, with no honour, no ideal, no blood, nothing to sit on.
Small fishes trying to go in the big pool.
"Of course,' said one of them between two mouthfuls of caviar, "you understand that my position allowed me such indulgence… There's nothing wrong for a man to admire the beauties of youth and-"
The music stopped.
He was there.
Standing on the top of the stairs like he had always been there- always belonged there. Between the marble columns, the crystals, the gold. He was wearing plain black robes, whose sobriety made him appear even more precious.
All the gold, all the splendor, it was nothing.
Nothing.
They were nothing.
Everything was silent. Time had stopped.
All would stay still until he said otherwise.
He stood like a towering silhouette, like a shadow against the white walls. His aura, his magic was crushing, burning, solar. And all of them, from the servants to the politicians, from the innocent children to the oldest warriors, they bathed their skin in it.
He moved down the stairs.
His robes were floating around him like two giant wings spreading around him. The echo of his footsteps against the floor was music, beating the rhythm of their fear, their awe.
His foot touched the marble floor of the ballroom, and the music started again.
And with it, the political game started.
An hour later, the ritual dances were over, and only the new couples were still in the middle, spinning and jumping to the soft music.
"Regulus."
Regulus turned his head, surprised that anyone managed to sneak up on him in such a way. But of course, it was Barty.
"Enjoying the evening?" asked Barty, licking his lips.
Regulus smirked. "You shouldn't be here." He said, the coolness of his tone barely masking his worry.
"Don't worry, Reg. The Lord himself placed a confidentiality charm at the door. If someone opens their big mouth, they'll die on their feet before having the time to say my name."
"That's a lot of precautions and risks for only one ball," whispered Regulus.
Was he doubting his Lord by saying such a thing? In all technicalities, yes, but-
"After what happened to Bella and the others, I'm not sure. I think he want us under his wing as much as he can." He sighed and gave Regulus a sad look, " Well, until the next raid. We can't afford to lose good soldiers before the battle."
They hadn't had the time to talk since the incident. Regulus had been too occupied with Bella, and he knew Barty had worked with the Lestranges brothers on their revenge. He should have taken the time to see if Barty was alright. After all, it was his father that had attacked them.
Regulus couldn't quite say he was sorry.
Even if it was true.
"That's true, my friend." He looked at Barty. The young man seemed tired, maybe more than Regulus. Concealing charms were badly masking bluish bruises on his cheeks and wrists.
Tentatively his fingers brushed against Barty's.
I'm sorry, they said.
The other boy's fingers answered the same way, barely lacing themselves around Regulus's, caressing the delicate skin with sweet hesitation.
It's ok, they answered.
The two young men stood a bit closer to each other, just like when they were in school, nervous before the sorting, or facing a group of Gryffindors. Regulus could feel the heat of Barty's shoulder against his, reassuring, familiar.
It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to say: I am here.
"I am sorry to interrupt."
They jumped and reflexively moved away from each other. It was not good to show your weakness in a ball filled with allies - that is, competitors. Narcissa looked at them with an air that might have seemed amused if it was not for the small gleam in the back of her eyes. Regulus knew her too well not to know that she had to record all the information in order to reuse it if she needed it.
She was, after all, a very intelligent woman.
"Regulus, can I talk to you a moment?"
The young man nodded, and after a quick glance to his friend followed Narcissa into one of the alcoves.
She looked him in the eyes for a moment, as if assessing something. Regulus waited patiently, unwavering. He was used to that his very usefulness was put in question.
"You arrived with Andromeda today," she said, raising an eyebrow.
"I did."
He didn't know where she was going with that, but the whole situation was starting to make him very uncomfortable. He was used to Bella' physical proximity - Narcissa, on the other hand, had always been untouchable, colder maybe.
She was really, really too close right now.
"I think she did something wrong, Reg. Something very wrong," she whispered somewhat urgently.
He frowned. If she was coming to him for that, it meant that it was something really ugly. He couldn't imagine what his softest cousin could do to provoke such a reaction...
"I was going to shopping, the other day - a woman thing," she said, blushing slightly, " But it doesn't matter. I had to pass by the Muggle London on my trip back because these idiots at the ministry had block the floo and I had to catch Lucius before heading home."
"Narcissa you know it's dangerous to-"
She rose her hand to interrupt him. "I know. That's why I couldn't talk to dad about it. Well, even if it wasn't the Muggle London, I wouldn't have talked to dad about this. You know how he is."
Regulus had indeed a very detailed image of Cygnus Black. The man had taught everything to Bellatrix when it came to cruelty and was fiercely protective of his three daughters. Regulus was amazed that two out of three had managed to marry out of the Black family, really. He had heard that Lucius was still under his father-in-law's probation. The man had successfully threatened a Malfoy.
He nodded. Yes, he knew how Cygnus was.
"Well, I saw Andromeda there. She was dressed… like them."
Regulus pursed his lips. To dress like a muggle wasn't a crime per say, but an indignity for sure. Why Had Andromeda-
"She was with a man. A muggle, Reg." Narcissa whispered hotly, hesitating between tears and anger," She was with a muggle, laughing and holding hands and-"
Regulus felt his heart fall.
A blood-traitor. No, no it was impossible. Andromeda would never have done that. She was the sweetest of the Blacks, but she was a Black. She wouldn't leave, not her too, she wouldn't abandon them in the middle of a war. She wouldn't have done that to them, to herself, to debase herself to do such a thing… with- with that!
Narcissa put her hand on his arm, ending his panicked train of thought.
"I'm sure he manipulated her. You know how muggles are. Please, talk to her before someone notice." Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "She's my baby sister, please, Reg, she doesn't know what she is doing!"
He gave her a tense nod and got out of the alcove before someone noticed that they had both suddenly disappeared from the ball.
The punishment for the blood traitors was the worst. What would happen to her if someone else knew...
He had a mission.
He had to attack a traitor - an ex Auror that had decided to help the muggle-lovers. Idiot.
A war, the Lord had said, but it looked more like guerrilla warfare. Not that Regulus was complaining - he had never been the one to throw himself into the battle. He wanted to live and to do so for a long, long time.
Here.
A dark wooden door in the middle of Muggle London -of course. They were so sure of their superiority that they hadn't even thought about raising decent wards around the house.
He pulled out a bottle that Severus had prepared for him, uncorked it carefully. The potion gave off a strong smell of turpentine, and he wanted away at once, his delicate nose aggrieved by the scent.
He poured the sticky liquid on the lock, taking all the precautions so that no drop touches his skin. Despite the fact that it was dark, and that his identity was hidden by his mask, his large black hood and the shadow of the building opposite. The members of the Order of the Phoenix were never far from the areas Sensitive- these idiots had nothing else to do, after all, most of them were unemployed. Thank Merlin for the new laws against magical creatures - really, a werewolf in the ministry... Next time they'll try to put one at Hogwarts!
With a slight whistle, the lock melted into large drops of molten metal that cooled as they fell into the snow, forming dark grotesque drops in the white cloak.
Click.
The lock broke, letting the door slightly ajar.
Not waiting for any other prompting, Regulus entered.
The house was silent, with that nightly atmosphere that gave the impression that every noise sounded across the land, that every corner of the room held a watchful monster.
The shape of the furniture, highlighted by the blue rays of the moon, could easily pass for human shapes, distorted, crooked, immobile. Regulus turned his eyes elsewhere.
He was the only monster here.
He swallowed the lump in his throat. It was the first time he had to do something like this. Without Bellatrix, the rate of the one-on-one assassinations had dropped substantially.
And the Lord needed his special gift.
Thus, Regulus was doing the good thing. Surely, the Lord knew what he was asking - what he was doing. The man- so much above humanity, could he really be still called a man? He was a genius and was doing everything necessary for The Cause. Regulus ought to do the same.
At the thought of his Lord, Regulus's chest warmed up and his determination became firm.
He was many things, but he wasn't a coward.
He walked on tiptoes across the hallway - the sound of his footsteps mercifully muffled on the carpet. He opened the first door he found; a kitchen. He took the second half way, and this time, it was his target.
Oh, Merlin…
Two small bumps deformed the blankets, rising and lowering slowly. Regulus wanted to run away, to say that he could not do it, that it was not for him. And then he remembered what Yaxley had told him during his first operation. The longer you wait, the more your hand shakes.
His breath was shaking - when did his breath start shaking?
He kept his eyes fixed on the small bumps, trying to imagine that it was only that, small bumps.
But he could not. For this spell, you had to know that you were going to kill. To fully take into consideration the fact that one was going to kill life, and to whom one was going to take it away, and decide to do it all the same. It was necessary to realize all the consequences.
It was not for nothing the Avada Kedavra was an unforgivable.
When he raised his wand, his hand didn't shake. He had been trained for this, he realized. It was like an euthanasia.
No bumps. Children.
Oh, Merlin.
Two. Blood traitors.
So young, so fucking young.
He was sparing them a worse fate.
It couldn't be avoided.
The words slipped on his tongue, and in a flash of green, one of the forms was pushed to the end of his bed and did not move at all. It would never move again.
It was strange. Regulus almost didn't hear his own spell under the rush of magic in his veins and the rush of blood in his ears.
Everything had returned to silence, but-
But the other child started to stir.
"Dad…? Dad are you home?"
A tuft of ruffled hair came out from beneath the blankets, followed by the sleepy face of the child, who was rubbing his little fist against his eye to drive off sleep.
Regulus stood frozen. Everything inside him was screaming against it, yet, he didn't lower his wand. It had to be done; he couldn't leave with half his task done. He couldn't let the child discover the corpse of his brother, knowing for the rest of his life that he had been just next to him, powerless. He would want revenge. He would try to destroy the Lord's plans.
It just couldn't happen.
There was a glimmer in the child's eyes, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, something pure, so, so pure.
"Da-"
"Avada Kedavra."
When the first syllable of the spell rolls on his tongue, he felt like he had eaten something sour, something metallic, it tasted like blood.
When the second syllable passes his lips, he thinks, finally, he is able to do what they asked him, he is a proper Death Eater, a proper man.
When the third syllable bangs against his teeth, he remembers where he saw this gleam in the depths of the child's eyes. It was a long time ago, in his house, alone, or with people he had played with in another life in the courtyard, outside, his face against the sun and his hair messed by the wind.
When the fourth syllable resounds in the air, a green, familiar, frightening light begins to radiate into the small room. Regulus, not the Death Eater, just Regulus, he is only Regulus in front of the child. Yes, Regulus wonders where all this will stop. Then he remembers that everything stops this evening. Because this horrible black hole, that void, that nothingness, the eternal silence of the blind cosmos, on which we put the simple word of death, it is what is coming for the child, and by his hand, by his own hand.
When the fifth syllable flows along his body to the end of his wand, he thinks that today, nothing will ever be the same again. Today, by killing this little child, this beautiful little boy. Because he had to be beautiful, they all were, the martyrs, he abandons forever what made him a human. He abandons something more, maybe, as he hears a crack inside himself.
When the sixth syllable triggers the spell, makes the stars resonate, invokes what he fears the most in the world. Regulus is alone, all alone, without a mother, a father, a brother, a Lord, and he looks at the green ray pointing to the child that resembles him so much.
The green light was reflected in the plastic eyes of the teddy bears, on the glitter on the letters of the child's name glued to the wall, on the glossy paper of the posters, on the window panes.
The child was propelled against the wall before falling back on the bed like a marionette whose strings was cut off. In his fall, the blanket he had held against his chest fell, revealing his face. His eyes were fixed, blind, with that atrocious glow that only a violent death can give, his features fixed forever in an expression of grotesque surprise.
Numb.
Regulus knew he should have screamed and maybe puked, and then cry. He had done so a few month before, but now… Now he was just numb. Oh, of course, he still felt the muzzled panic, somewhere, constricting his chest, the feeling that something was utterly wrong, that he could collapse at any second.
The feeling that he was weak.
Regulus turned and walked out of the room. It smelled like death, now.
He walked a bit further in the house. His task wasn't complete. He wanted to get out, but at this point, to what purpose? He had already committed the crime twice tonight, he could do it one last time.
He hoped.
He slowly opened the door and approached the bed. The woman's breathing was too fast for her to be asleep. He did not know why he had not killed her standing at the doorstep like her children. By the time he asked the question, he was already at the foot of the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed, right beside her. Her black robes were a dark task on the white sheets lit by the silvery ray of the moon. It was a beautiful night; cloudless. He crossed his hands on his legs, his wand out of sight.
She was staring at the sky.
Good.
At least she would see that terrifying mask in her last moments. He didn't quite pity her. He was still too numb for that, surely. Everything was calm, and still. It felt so wrong to intrude into this peacefulness, so wrong to bring the brutal violence of his very being.
She was shaking, he could see. But she kept gazing stubbornly on the night sky. Somehow, he knew he had to wait a moment.
"My children…?" she whispered, the words containing a sob.
He understood the question, and his silence spoke for him. She let out a shaky breath, almost a whimper. He could see her heart break in front of him, her life falling into shards by his hands. It didn't bring him any sense of power, or control.
No, he only felt… distantly sad.
"Did they…?"
"They didn't suffer," he said.
Through the mask, his voice was so impersonal, a faint whisper that could have been confused with the wind.
Maybe it was the reason she was so calm. He didn't quite look human like that. He was more like a spirit, coming to announce the truth.
"Good." she said faintly, "that's good."
He extended his arm, slowly, and passed his gloved hand over her hair. She looks so young like that, under the covers. Like a child herself. She looks at him with desperation and opened her mouth. For a moment, he thought she was about to beg, but no sound came out of it.
A small mercy.
He held his wand against her temple, and a second later, it was over.
Regulus was woken by his mother's screams downstairs.
He groaned and rubbed his eyes. He had forgotten to take off his gloves. In fact, he had not changed at all when he returned. He had just dropped on the bed and fell asleep instantly.
Regulus sighed and sat up painfully. He got up to change into more ordinary robes.
Knowing that his looks would be commented on, he looked at himself in the mirror, checking that his hair was in place, his robes smooth and his face blank, and certainly, certainly not thinking.
What was that?
Slowly, he rose a -not trembling- hand to his cheek.
He lowered it, struck by the dampness at the tips of his fingers. Why was he crying? He certainly didn't feel sad. He wasn't in distress, so why…
… why were there tears on his face?
His thoughts were interrupted by the voice of his mother screaming again. He jumped and, after a last look at the mirror, decided to go down. The longer he waited, the harder it would be to endure anything that was waiting for him downstairs.
"How can you doubt the mission our son is giving his life for?"
Regulus stopped in his tracks. He hid himself behind a wall, completely shocked by his mother's spiteful voice. Not that she hadn't always been spiteful, harsh, and full of hate. No, it was the hidden weakness in her voice that made him stop.
"I don't want to lose my last son, Walburga."
Regulus closed his eyes. So it was about that. About how his father thought him soft and weak, just like himself. How he couldn't really fight, the frail and delicate, soft spoken Regulus. He was to be a child, for all his life without a doubt
Not the good son.
Yet the last one.
"YOU FUCKIN-"
Walburga stopped her rant as her son entered the room. Regulus barely graced them with a glance and sat in his usual chair. On the table, there was the Daily Prophet.
"The Mckinnons slaughtered during the night- No survivors. What are the Aurors Doing?"
Regulus stared at the newspaper.
He wasn't hungry anymore.
Ignoring his parents, he rushed out to the bathroom. He needed- he had just forgotten to wash his hands. He would just wash his hands.
It could happen to Andromeda.
The hidden knowledge - the thing he had been trying to forget last night came back in full force: he could have had to do this to his own flesh and blood. He had to stop it. He had to talk to her. To do something - maybe, maybe he could save her.
His heart was beating its way out of his ribcage and his vision blurred.
He had to.
Yaxley was cutting a corpse open when Regulus entered their lab.
Immediately, Regulus made sure that no hair was out of their place, then removed his outer robes, rolled up his sleeves, and washed his hands at one of the rusty sinks that ran along the wall. The tiling was a bit yellowed by the years. Having had to recycle the room itself (in what Yaxley had called an exercise in humility), Regulus knew that there was probably no cleaner place in all of England.
Pushing away his disgust, his hands trembling, Regulus approached the corpse. He was a man in his fifties. Rather well preserved - in every sense of the word.
Yaxley was just finishing the Y-shaped incision that would allow him to examine the organs more closely - a mole, then. No one would abase a wizard, and the wizards who deserved it ended up in such a state that their corpses were … unusable.
Regulus stood in front of the examination table. He watched the droplets of blood running on the gaunt, grey skin. He knew he should look away, he felt in his stomach the uneasiness rising and the faintness of his breath.
Red.
The red was painting strange runes on the body, soiling it, even after death.
A wet sound made him move his eyes - he would have preferred to have refrained. He ignored the curious look Yaxley was giving him from under his eyebrows, pretending to be concentrated on his work. Yaxley's movements were precise, calm, always with purpose.
Almost elegant.
Yaxley was cutting the corpse as one could water the plants, without an afterthought, without even looking like he knew that what he was cutting into had been a human only a few hours before.
"Spill it."
Regulus almost jumped at the sudden command. "Don't look at me like that, young Black. Answer."
Regulus took a deep breath. It was a huge risk he was taking: to trust or not to trust Yaxley. Best not say anything incriminating.
"If let's say, someone, I know … frequented the wrong person. What should I do to stop it?"
"Ah."
Yaxley took an organ- the liver, Regulus's mind supplied - and put it in a box. Regulus kept his eyes firmly somewhere above the older man's shoulder, but his imagination was running rampant.
"Young Mister Black, why do you think you were sent to take care of the MacKinnons?"
"Because there wasn't any of the warriors ready," he answered automatically.
"No, that's what the Lord said to you. I do not need a parrot. Now, answer the question. And use your mind."
Regulus opened and closed his mouth. What did that have to do with anything? He really, really didn't want the think about them right now.
What he wanted had no importance. Yaxley wasn't even supposed to know who had ended the Mackinnons. If he did and was talking about it with Regulus, it meant that something was off.
Then it hit him. Like a blow to the chest - of course- how couldn't he have realized it? He was stupid, really, he should have make the connection when Narcissa had told him. He had made it, but not as he should have.
The mission had been a warning, an example. A test of his loyalty - that he had almost failed.
His Lord knew, of course, he did. Regulus had been foolish to even think - Oh, Merlin.
Yaxley caught him as his knees buckled. Two strong hands covered in blood helped him up, soiling his inner robes with long lines of dark red.
He knew - he knew Yaxley was trying to avoiding him to break his damn skull on the metallic table. All he could see were the bloody, pale fingers were gripping him, entering in his flesh as if to tear him apart. The dead were back again to make him pay and he screamed and fought for them to let him go.
He didn't want to die, not like that, even if he deserved it! In his head, Andromeda's face took the place of the woman in the moonlight, starring impassibly at the sky because she knew there was nothing to save her anymore, not even sad for her children because at least they hadn't suffered… He couldn't breathe anymore and black spots appeared in front of his eyes.
It took him a long time to understand that Yaxley was holding him on the floor to stop him from hurting himself.
Once Regulus's breathing evened out, Yaxley said softly: "It is the last time you create such a scene in my lab, kid. I am not your mother. Hold yourself together and do what you must, or I'll have to make a report to the Lord."
Regulus closed his eyes, ashamed of such a display. Blacks don't cry. Blacks don't scream in anguish. Blacks don't show their fears.
He had no right to feel that way - and even less to show it.
"Yes, Sir." He whispered.
"It is time, my friends!"
The Dark Lord raised his arms in the air among the cheers of the crowd of masked followers. He was standing slightly above them, like a shadow that would have risen on two legs. A beautiful, terrible shadow. His crimson stare loomed over his servants, dominating them without even a touch, by the simple power of a look, of his voice, of the air he breathed.
Regulus let the Lord's voice wash over him.
The fragility of genius was that it needs an audience, Regulus had read somewhere. And, when he saw the number of masked people standing around him, he thought that his master had nothing to fear from such a weakness.
And then, the words were said. Their mission.
To bring Terror.
Capture as many Order members as possible. Kill the rest of them. A joint attack on Diagon Alley and Godric's Hollow.
Barty cheered next to him, along with the rest of them, unrecognizable under their masks. Severus was more quiet, but contentment radiated from him. They had lost so much. The wounded were still in bed, their dead secretly buried in hurry and shame, with the exception of a few of the major families. Beyond suspicion for the well-being of the cause.
Regulus tried to harden his resolve. It had to be done. Someone had to purify their world before it collapsed. The Lord was talking with a deceiving calmness, his quiet hissing only tantalizing his men's anger. The best of that was that the Lord knew it. Everything done was made of a on purpose, calculated, studied to achieve the best results for their cause. And Regulus admired that.
For the fallen.
And then the raid began.
The raid was a mess. It should have been more organized, really, but everyone just wanted an outlet for their anger. As soon as the signal shone bright in the sky. As soon as the town was marked by the Dark Lords symbol. They all rushed on it, like some sort of starving animals.
Regulus almost sneered.
Regulus stayed back, at Yaxley's side. As a healer, before anything else, he had to wait and check on the wounded.
He much preferred this place to the one he had occupied during his first raid.
Later, he would think that it was fate that had made him wait. From the place he was, Regulus was the only one able to see the shiny Patronus descending on the town.
Dumbledore.
Immediately, Regulus rose his wand towards the sky and a red-blood line of sparkling magic cut it in half.
Regulus could hear the curses crash against the walls, the windows. The screams of the battle. The street strobed in red, white, green as the curses were shouted, and dark shadows ran from one cover to another.
Wand in hand, Regulus got closer to the battlefield.
A flash.
Regulus started to curse the order members, recognizable by their Auror's uniforms - no sense of discretion, really. He knelt near to an anonymous Death Eater, but the man was long dead, his white mask broken and showing the bloody remains of his face.
Regulus knew the Ministry had declared that they would show no mercy, but to see it... it was something else.
Regulus was angry. Too much magical blood was already being spilled.
"Experlliarmus!"
Regulus jumped just in time to avoid the spell. One of the Order's members- an Auror, pureblood, Longbottom - was standing at the other side of the street. He was holding his head proudly, and looking down at the young Death Eater. Pointing his wand toward him. Alone.
Regulus's spells flashed in seconds. The other man was powerful, truly, but nowhere as fast or dangerous as Regulus. He was fighting with Light spells only, of course.
Regulus didn't return the favour.
A spell flew above his shoulder, and he saw in the corner of his eye Yaxley standing next to him. Longbottom, his eyes widened - clearly not ready to take on two Death Eaters at the same time, but none of his opponents let him the time to process the situation.
A Bombarda exploded half a house on Longbottom's right, and Regulus immediately charmed the debris to throw themselves towards the young Auror. Longbottom ran fast enough to avoid most of the damages, but a rock hit him in his wand arm, extorting a shout out of him.
The muggles that had lived in the house, however, probably didn't survive.
Spells went flying - and Longbottom's shield started to weakened under the numerous blows. The man was panting, and half hidden behind a fallen wall.
He only tried to strengthen his shield, never to lower its surface… Not the brightest one, obviously.
A roaring light rushed towards him and Regulus threw himself on the ground.
He heard a heavy thud as Yaxley fell on the ground a few feet away from him, his head bent into an awkward angle.
Regulus wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.
He didn't.
He cast the strongest shield he knew and ran to the still warm corpse of his old master, slipping on the cold mud. With a trembling hand, he put a portkey in the corpse's palm and with a pop, Yaxley disappeared.
He refused to let them soil the corpse of such an honorable man.
"What is it, little Death Eater? Are you lost without your friend? Not strong enough to attack innocent muggles on your own, are you?" taunted the voice. A voice deep, strong, mocking.
A voice he knew far too well.
"Lumos," Regulus whispered.
The tip of his wand lightened the night, and what was only the sharp edge of a face became a wizard. Became Sirius.
Regulus's breath caught in his throat when the grey eyes of his elder brother looked at him with nothing but contempt. His mind was screaming: no, no no no no… And when Sirius threw a curse at him, Regulus blocked it only by reflex. His mind was blank with shock and horror.
It couldn't be, and yet it was. Black hair dampened by the rain, the blood, the mud, a grin on his lips, the shoulder squared. His face so much like Regulus's own, yet so much more beautiful, carefree. His brother.
A curse flew from his wand. When had he said the words? He didn't remember. He threw another curse, stronger, but still blocked back Sirius's.
Sirius. Sirius had killed. Betrayed. Left him, alone.
Curses bounced against each other, clicking and whistling in the air, against the walls, brushing the metallic structures with a low creaking that almost sounded like a voice, and Regulus wasn't sure who as attacking and who was defending.
Something hit him in the shoulder, sending sparks of pain along his left arm. He gasped before he could stop himself. Sirius was about to shout a curse but stopped, wand raised, eyes narrowed.
For a second, a dreadful, delicious second, Regulus thought that Sirius had recognized him, even under the mask, even under the uniform.
Maybe he had. The next spell he took from his brother slashed the skin under his ribs. His training kicked in and blasted the other man to the other side of the street.
He raised his wand.
Sirius's eyes were closed, his hair all over his face, shoulder length like he always had it, only to annoy mother.
He had to.
He looked like he was taking a nap, like when they were children, back at home...
He couldn't.
Regulus turned on his heels and ran away. A nasty curse flew just above his head.
"Coward!" Sirius screamed at Regulus's back. "Come back here, you coward!"
Regulus was sitting in the parlor, his hands clasped together to hide their tremors. He still couldn't believe it. He still couldn't wrap his mind around his own dishonor.
Sirius - a blood-traitor ( his brother, treacherous brother so joyful and proud and kind) had killed Yaxley, and Regulus had let him go. He had let him live.
Sirius was probably one of those who had attacked Bellatrix. Who had killed her unborn child - animals, the lot of them!
He had failed. Failed his Lord, failed his family, failed his master, failed his blood and himself.
He took his face in his hands. No one was here to see anyway. The shame felt heavy on his shoulders, and he couldn't quite place from which action, in particular, it came from. He felt like he was ashamed to be alive.
Weak.
No. He had to be strong. Stronger. He couldn't afford to lose anyone else.
"Kreacher!"
The little elf popped into existence in front of him. He looked worriedly at his master, but didn't say anything.
"Could you fetch Andromeda for me?"
The elf nodded stoically. "Yes, Lord Regulus, Sir. Kreacher will fetch Mistress Andromeda right away."
It took an hour for Andromeda to appear in the parlor - enough for her cousin to walk a hole in the carpet.
She gave him a piercing and somewhat suspicious look before sitting down.
Regulus stood next to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. He couldn't bear to look at her. He wasn't sure that he could keep his mind in the right place if he looked at her.
"Do you know why I asked for you, Andromeda?" he asked tonelessly.
"No."
Regulus could see the reflection of the young woman in the window whose edges were still covered with ice. Andromeda stood upright, proud, and her eyes pierced holes in his back. She was wearing that pretty muggle-cut, yellow dress Druella, her mother, had gotten Andromeda for her birthday. Sure, she was supposed to put herself under more traditional wizard robes, and give them a relaxed style, but Regulus could see she did not even bring her robes.
She had probably been to see him earlier in the afternoon.
"I think you do, 'Meda." He said softly, but his softness was deceiving, and they both knew it. "Narcissa reported to me that she saw you in… distasteful company, the other day in London."
He heard her take a deep breath, almost a gasp; but she didn't move. "I will have to ask you to stop this… relationship before it goes any further."
"I don't see how it is your problem." She replied defiantly.
Regulus passed his hand on his Mark, as if to appease his Lord in the distance. She paled.
"Narcissa asked me to help you. She knew I wouldn't kill you on the spot." He all but whispered.
"I sure hope so."
She would not let it go. She was stubborn, of course, she was a Black. But she would have to see reason, she would have to.
"Hope isn't worth much these days, cousin. Your father would have killed you, I have no doubt about it. "
Regulus was pretty sure that at this point, anyone but him would have killed her. She had debased herself to sleep with lesser humans, by all logic she was far worse than them. Muggles, at the very least, didn't know their own limitations.
She glared at him, and in her anger, she looked so much more like her elder sister… "I will not leave him, Reg."
"Surely you wouldn't abandon your family for a crush?" He drawled because surely, she didn't mean it? She wouldn't abandon him, abandon her sisters, her parents for some muggle?
"I love him!" She said, rising from her seat in anger, " I will not leave him and there is nothing you can do to change that!"
They were inches from each other's faces, hers reddened by emotion, his still hidden behind the blank expression he always carefully wore.
"You idiot," he said, " don't you think about the danger you are putting yourself, and all of us in for with your foolish actions?" Don't you think about what is going to happen to us? Don't you think about me? Don't you think about what is right?
She assessed him a moment and sighed, deflated. He hoped he had won. She took his hand, stopping the tremor by holding it tightly. He felt ashamed that she had found this weakness, but he couldn't quite stop it.
"I'm not the one putting you in danger. The man you dare call your Lord is."
The words rang in his ears and before he knew what he was doing, he had violently pushed her back on her seat.
"How dare you?" he hissed, looming over her.
She was terrified, he could see it. He knew the tell-tale signs, now. The paleness of her face, the wildness of her pupils, the sweat on her palms, the quickness of her breathing. She knew he could destroy her on the spot, kill her without consequences, and even receive an award for it. But her gaze was unwavering.
"He is wrong, Reg." She said firmly, straightening her back showing she refused to back down. They stared at each other for a moment, and finally, Regulus turned his eyes away. "I will go. I hope I will see you again, cousin."
He couldn't help the pang of betrayal, of sadness in his heart as she rose to leave. He caught her arm before she managed to pass the door.
"Don't do this, 'Meda. People died for far less…"
"Then I'll die, with a light heart and my head up."
She would not change her mind, he could tell it. He withdrew his hand, fighting with everything he had to hold back the hurt, to hold back the pain. "Then," he said coldly, " I wish you farewell, Miss."
He saw tears in her eyes as she left, but he couldn't bring himself to be compassionate. She had chosen her way.
"You pass far too much time with this boy!"
It was said like a growl, and Regulus already knew there was no way he could escape the next disaster. He looked up from his book - an advanced treaty of anatomy Yaxley had given him the last time they-
And his eyes met his mother's eyes.
Regulus immediately knew it was a mistake.
She was looming over him, her eyes like a furnace, her magic cracking all around her in anger. Regulus cowered by reflex, hiding behind the perfect pureblood posture, shoulders tensed, back straight and long neck, but her gaze remained pitiless.
She wasn't quite there in these moments.
She grabbed him with a claw-like hand and Regulus was sure that his shoulder would bruise. He swallowed a whimper - Blacks did not whimper. Blacks did not cry. Blacks did not scream. Blacks did not show other emotions than contempt, politeness, and haughtiness. Then, Blacks bottled up all the anger, the frustration, the hate- and Blacks became mad. But it didn't matter - what mattered was tradition.
"I WILL NOT HAVE A UNNATURAL FAIRY UNDER MY ROOF!" She screams at his face. "I DON'T WANT HIM HERE EVER AGAIN, TAINTING MY AIR WITH HIS DISEASE!"
Regulus didn't ask who 'he' was. Mother had probably heard about Barty and was reacting accordingly. Regulus let himself be manhandled for a while, before being pushed against the wall. He had to let it happen. She was his mother. He had to obey her. To show respect to her. To be a good son.
But when the first blow came and Regulus saw his father in the doorway, immobile, pale and almost unseeing. He couldn't help but wonder why.
Why was this happening to him?
Why was he letting it happen? Hadn't he done everything? Anything for them?
Why did he obey?
Quickly, he hid that thought as far away as he could.
He was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The room was cold around him but he didn't cast a heating charm. Yule wasn't far away - he would have to make an apparition. But the next rais was closer, and he would have to participate too. His chest hurt.
His room looked like everything one might imagine. Green canopy, expensive sheets, an overused desk of dark wood. Spacious. The wall was covered; with tracts in favor of the Cause, pictures of his with the Slytherin Quidditch team, with his friends, with the three Black sisters. Regulus's dear cousins, he enveloped between Narcissa and Andromeda's arms, Bellatrix just above them, her head on his, looking at the camera with a raised eyebrow, as if daring anyone to approach and touch to her family. A picture of him, Lucius, Barty, and Severus in a classroom. Taken during his fourth year - they had won the house cup.
On the desk, under the window, piles of books on the Dark Arts, Potions, Healing, Arithmancy. A few blackened parchments with his writing, sometimes Severus's, sometimes Yaxley's, and a quill. Bluish rays of light fell on the wooden floor. A broom was against the wall next to the door. It was a gift from his father. Behind the bed, a wardrobe. Behind the wardrobe, in a small hole in the wall, a picture of him and Sirius carefully hidden even from his view. Under his bed, a bottle of liquor, for the bad days.
His cheek was slowly darkening from the blow he had taken earlier. He let his hand drop under the mattress and grab the bottle. Today was a bad day.
When he was a child, Sirius would have taken the blow for him. Protected him. He would have look in their mother's eyes definitely, allowing Regulus the time to run to his room, and if he was lucky, into the arms of one of his cousins. But today, Sirius had been seen in Hogsmeade with Potter, and people had thought they were brothers.
Regulus knew he didn't have his brother's raw genius, nor Bella's bloodlust, not even Lucius's silver tongue or Severus's delicateness. He was weak. He was crushed. Now, everything was on his shoulders, and it was suffocating. He had to be perfect. He wasn't. To stand up to the rest of the world. He didn't. Then be a Death Eater. He-
The screams still echoed in his mind.
Since when had he slept?
He was alone.
He was all alone and there was no way out. Nothing that could be done. He was trapped.
Only his Lord could help him.
A pop sound in the air signaled that Kreacher had appeared next to the bed. Regulus didn't move to acknowledge the presence of the small creature. Silently, Kreacher put a vial on the bed table. Regulus rose a questioning eyebrow.
"A potion, Master Regulus, and a glass of water. For the bruise." Said the elf. Kreacher wasn't as squicky as most of the other elves, and he always talked slowly. Maybe because of his old age.
A warm feeling spread in Regulus chest.
"Thank you."
He didn't turn to see the elf looking at him with astonishment, but he did hear a gasp. He closed his eyes and smiled bitterly.
His Lord and his house elf.