Thanks for the comment thebookgirl20 :)

Chapter 11:

The All Time Loser

Mr. And Mrs. Potter escaped that night only with their lives. The day after the ball the Daily Prophet reported that a great fire burned down the Potter's Manor in the south of the country; No one had been hurt, except a thousand years of that Potter family's legacy that had been burned to dust. That Dark Mark that floated above the ruins made the message clear – Mr. Potter disparaged the history and honor of the pure- blood families, so his family's history and honor were burned to a cinder.

The Daily Prophet also reported that Lily Evans, James Potter's fiance, who had been staying at the Potter house that night, stated that she had seen the face of one of the Death Eaters. She recognized him as Augustus Rookwood, who had been in Slythrien two years above Regulus, and was known to be an enthusiastic supporter of the Dark Lord. An investigation had been opened against him.

Regulus' mother called the girl names. This father's face was unreadable, as always. Regulus was only glad the Dark Lord didn't kill all of them, and secretly hoped that Evans would soon understand who she's dealing with, and would withdraw her statement.

However, by the end of the first week of Regulus' seventh year, he realized he had bigger problems. Waiting in front of Madame Pince's counter as she carefully noted the names of the books he wanted to lend, he didn't miss the way her sharp little eyes disappeared under her brows. Regulus waited tensely for her to do or say something.

"What's your name?" She asked him.

"Regulus Black."

He watched her scribble his name in her notebook, in neat little letters, as she did for every student who lent a book. Yet he felt as if had been caught in the act.

"That would be all," she said, handing him his books. He took them and walked away, feeling like a fool.

He had to know that the staff would look at him suspiciously if he lent so many books about the purity of blood from the library. He could have made up an excuse – he could have told the librarian, casually, that it was for an essay for History of Magic, but for some reason, the lie came to him too late.

He was a terrible liar. If he wouldn't get better at it quickly, he would soon be in great trouble.

He pushed the books into his bag as he left the library and began to make his way to the west tower, which was filled with abandoned classrooms that were the refuge of the school's loners. He spent a lot of time there that past week, each time accompanied by a new heap of history books about the legacy of famous pure- blood wizards and the importance of pure wizard's blood. He swallowed them eagerly, his eyes running past the letters in search of a new detail he didn't know yet.

He had taken the task the Dark Lord gave him seriously. Whether he did it out of will or out of fear, it didn't matter. It was something he had to do, like attending family events and getting good grades. As simple as that.

He hadn't told his parents that he had met the Dark Lord twice already. He knew he had to do it, that they would be pleased when they discovered the Dark Lord's interest in their son and heir, but the right words never came to him. Like laying, it seemed so simple in his head, but in reality he couldn't pronounce the words. Perhaps he was afraid that if he spoke the words aloud, they would become unavoidable reality.

As he walked, he could see the Quidditch pitch outside the windows. It was a damp, rainy day, and the grass was green and fresh at the peak of autumn. In the center of the pitch was a gathering of students, and above them green figures flew around quickly...

Regulus halted with a terrible understanding. Then he turned on his heel and began to run desperately toward the grounds, cursing himself for his stupidity. His backpack swayed on his shoulder, hitting his side again and again, as he crossed corridors and flew down flights of stairs, his breath burning his throat. He almost bumped into someone as he ran across the second floor corridor. In a desperate attempt to avoid him he strayed aside. His bag was caught on a jagged spear of a nearby armor suit; With a ripping sound the fabric was torn, his books scattered on the floor, and the suit of armor tilted and crashed on the floor at his feet.

"Dear Merlin! Watch out, Mr. Black!" Professor McGonagall barked, straightening her glasses in astonishment.

Regulus muttered an apology and began to gather his books feverishly into his torn bag. One of the books fell at the Professor's feet, and she picked it up and studied its title carefully. Regulus sprang to his feet, his books sliding through the hole in his bag and falling back at his feet as he snatched Faust from her hand.

"Excuse me," he said stiffly, and bent over to resume his work with trembling hands.

McGonagall regarded him doubtfully. "Don't be silly," she said as another book fell through the rift. With a flick of her wand the bag was repaired, and so was the suit of armor. "You are a wizard, Mr. Black, or have you forgotten?"

He nodded shamefully and was about to leave.

"Stop right there! You've done enough damage, I can't let you keep running in the corridors like that."

Regulus gave her a desperate look. He never joined his housemates mockery of the Transifuartion Professor, he always thought she was a good and fair teacher. However, over the years he got the impression that his esteem wasn't mutual; He always felt that for some reason Professor McGonagall doesn't like him.

"Please, I'm late for Quidditch tryouts..."

Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Professor McGonagall didn't like Slytherin's Quidditch team.

"I'm not surprised," she said with a raised eyebrow. "I'm glad that at least you're late for other activities too, and not just for my class. Go on, but no running!"

Regulus nodded and walked away. Only when he was sure she was out of sight he started running the rest of the way to the Quidditch pitch.

By the time he arrived, the tryouts were already in progress, and he was completely breathless. He threw his backpack in the grass behind the waiting students and walked to the captain, ignoring the pain in his ribs where the corner of one of the books stabbed him during the run.

Acilles Blastrode was in Regulus' year, a very sturdy and tall boy who played Beater. They weren't friends, but Regulus always felt they shared a mutual respect for each other. On that day, however, there was no trace of that respect.

"Where the hell have you been?" The Captain demanded furiously, waving his broom handle. "I told everyone – all the team members have to be at the tryouts!"

"I know, I just – "

"You forgot, as always." All the students were watching them – the large Beater growling down at the little Seeker. Regulus felt his face redden. "I'm fed up with your behavior – we're all fed up. You can't come and go whenever you want, no matter what your name is!"

"I'm not – "

Regulus' feeble resistance was swallowed up by Blastrode's roar as he called out to the crowd of students, "Tryouts for Seeker in half an hour!"

A few of the younger students exchanged excited glances. The Keeper and Slytherin's second Beater exchanged high- fives in front of Regulus's face. He looked helplessly at Belstrode as he put on his Beater's gloves and prepared to get on his broom.

"You can't do that," was all he could say. He had no better argument, especially because he knew that the captain was right to kick him out of the team. He was a mediocre player, and he really was always late.

What will his parents say when they hear that he was kicked out of the team? His mother was so proud of his skills, she wouldn't be able to bear the disappointment. And his father – he had already lost hope that his son would get on the team in Regulus' fourth year. What would he say when he hears that he had played for only two seasons, and even then he couldn't bring Slytherin the victory?

"Yeah? Why?" The captain seemed pleased with the rest on the team's reaction, and it strengthened his decision.

Regulus didn't have an answer.

"Hey, give him a break, Balstrode," said Rabastan Lestrange, appearing beside them in his green uniform, his broom resting on his shoulder. "We're only looking for Chaser's, what does it matter if he's here or not?"

"Because I'm the captain, and I said so," Balstrode replied between his teeth.

Rabastan approached him and spoke in a low, dangerous voice so that the rest couldn't hear him. "This show doesn't give you any credit, my friend. Let Reg keep his place on the team, and apologize some other time... He's the heir of a respectable family..."

"Who do you think you are, Lestrange?!" Belstrode said aloud. "I don't care what family he's from – no one cares! I'm sick of this pure- blood shit! This is Quidditch!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way," said Rabastan, giving him a terrifying look. That look reminded Regulus of Bellatrix so much that he felt chills. "If you don't give Reg his place back, you'd better look for a third Chaser."

"You're threatening me!?"

"I'm not threatening, I'm doing it." In a gesture of farewell to the other team members, Rabastan turned and walked away. Regulus hurried after him, not wanting to see the teams reaction to the sudden act.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said uncertainly as they left the pitch.

"Of course I did. Did you hear how he was talking?" Rabastan didn't seem bothered by what had happened on the field just seconds before. He sent Regulus an easy smile. "And besides," he added. "We need to stick together, you and I. We're both Death Eaters, after all – hey, calm down, there's no one here."

"I'm not a Death Eater," Regulus said in a quiet voice, hugging his bag to his chest. If a teacher would hear him he could be expelled.

"Maybe not now, but you will be. The Lord has big plans for you, you know."

"How do you know that?" Asked Regulus, who, despite everything, was curious to hear what the Dark Lord thought of him.

"Everyone knows that. The Lord doesn't call anyone for private conversations unless he appreciates him very much. And it's not easy to get the Lord interested, I assure you." Rabastan winked at him.

Regulus didn't answer.

"You shouldn't let people like Belstrod bring you down," Rabastan told him, making his way lazily to the lake. "You're better than him. My brother says the Death Eaters are the highest and most respected league in Europe, if not in the world – what do you say about that, eh?"

Rabastan picked a piece of pebble- covered beach and lay on his back, stretching gracefully. Regulus sat down on a nearby rock, resting his elbows on his knees. The wind was blowing hard, the sky was gray, and the lake was dark as iron; It wasn't a nice day to spend outside.

"Rodolphus lied to Slughorn so I could go to Avery's party tomorrow," said Rabastan. "I wish you could come. It would be a lot nicer if there was someone my age among the Death Eaters. The rest are so old..."

As he chatted about the Death Eaters, Regulus thought of the plans the Dark Lord had for him. Their discussions were one thing, but to become a real Death Eater – that was something else entirely... He had never thought of that possibility. He never thought he would be good enough. He hadn't imagined that one day the Dark Lord himself would be interested in him. Of all the possible ways his life could go, he didn't take into account the route he had been walking for some time, without even noticing. It was frightening, yet encouraging. Maybe he was kicked out of the Quidditch team, but he had a place in a much more respectable team, one that would make his parents much more proud of him, when he finds the words to tell them about it.

"Does it hurt?" He asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Getting the Dark Mark, does it hurt?"

Rabastan smiled a mischievous, almost demonic smile, and rose gracefully on his elbows. "Very badly. Want to see it?"

Regulus nodded, mesmerized. Rabastan motioned him to approach. He crouched beside him on the pebbles, watching him roll his right sleeve.

The Dark Mark was black, opaque; Regulus had to touch the tanned skin to believe it was really tattooed into it. It was searing hot. He ran a finger over the body of the serpent crawling from the mouth of the skull, over beautifully elaborate and intricate decorations. The symbol was breathtaking.

"Nice, isn't it?"

Regulus drew his hand in a panic, suddenly aware of how he was touching Rabastan's arm.

"Yes, it's very... Impressive..." He turned to face the lake.

Rabastan sat up. He put his hand on Regulus' neck and thwarted his efforts not to look at him with a steady grip, forcing him gently towards him.

"It's not easy, being a Death Eater," he told him in a low voice. Regulus looked at every part of his face, just so he wouldn't have to look in his eyes. "Sometimes you have to do things you don't really want to do. But you have to trust the Lord, because he knows what he's doing. He's wise. He knows the right way, for all of us."

His words were comforting. Regulus felt his shoulders relaxing slightly. Maybe one day he wouldn't be so afraid of the Dark Lord, and of what he stood for.

"We should stick together, Regulus," Rabastan said for the second time. Then he pulled as the back of Regulus' neck and kissed him.

He was too shocked to reply. The new and strange gesture overwhelmed him. Only when he felt Rabastan's tongue in his mouth he realized what was happening to his body, and what they were doing. He pulled back forcefully, jumping to his feet. Rabastan was looking at him hungrily from the ground, eyes burning. He had green eyes – Regulus had never noticed that before.

"I quit the team for you," Rabastan said hoarsely, attempting to seem carefree. "Don't I at least get a kiss?"

Regulus grabbed his bag and started running, wiping his moist lips. He couldn't breath. He couldn't deal with that, too – it was just too much – he had to forget it ever happened.