#and the pathetic man is also a french noble and the older family member he has that is also a noble dies while looking for the pathetic man

[ofrionstage]

If I had a nickel for every time there was a classical noval(that was also later adapted into a musical) that had a pathetically in love man doing something pretty stupid because of his love for the leading lady and eventually he's reluctantly dragged into the sewers by the old man with the morals, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice.

[blue-analytic]

Project: Crossover

As soon as I’ve got some time, I’m going to work on my new project, which is a Crossover between the fandoms Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. The story will be centred around Nico di Angelo and his twofold mission:

1) collecting Death’s tools and giving them back to Thanatos as the latter no longer wants to be caught off guard by enemies 2) learning more about his family, a part of which seems to be connected to Death Eaters and Grindelwald. In so doing, he will understand their motives and forge his own path

Important characters:

Draco, Hermione

Minor characters whose POVs you will occasionnally see:

McGonagall, Snape, Lucius

Themes:

uncanny, grotesque, friendship, discrimination

General info / warnings:

(probably) no pairings, rate 16+, graphical descriptions / allusions to uncanny / grotesque elements

Autho’s Notes:

I’m not sure if people here or outside of this site are even interested in my ideas, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt to give a first impression and see if people are intriguied by it. Bear in mind, though, not much happens, and the first chapter is incomplete. It’s just a teaser, after all.

The Uncanny: The Man is a Portrait

His smile was straining, his eyes narrowed to slits. There was no hiding the sweat, nor the vein bulging out of his head. If people found him in this current state, news would spiral out of his control: How he no longer took care of his well-being. How he derived satisfaction from scaring people off with his stench and grimace. Or even more ludicrous: how he was turning into the next Bellatrix. The conclusion was obvious to even a troglodyte: The mighty had fallen from grace. That thought alone made his fist clenching and his stomach revolting. It only made him wish even more fervently he didn’t have breakfast this morning. 

Yes, he was a tragic man in a tragic situation for sure. And it was all thanks to the pathetic excuse of wizard in front of him. If only he had a knife, he would gladly ram it into the man’s eye. Just to see if he was dealing with a puppet or a person with good poker-face. Any kind of reaction would be welcome if it meant he could explore the victim’s weakness to the fullest potential. But if there was one aspect of his life he abhorred more than losing control, then it would be becoming as savage and as mindless as a muggle. Which is precisely what resorting to barbaric means would lead to. And so, he resumed his silent fury and reflected.

Torturing the man in front of him wasn’t as easy as he thought. He didn’t like dirtying his hands, and he certainly didn’t like wasting his time for something any servant or maniac could have done. Especially the latter who loved nothing more than the pathetic whimpering and the grotesquely distorted faces of their victims. Those psychos bathed in their fun, always excited at the prospect of having found ways to unravel new emotions and prolong the torture session. 

One person in particular was gifted in the art of mental affliction and always insisted everyone watch her treatment towards these sad excuses of a wizard. Why anyone would shower these traitors with attention was beyond him. Were it up to him, he would deal with this affair swiftly and efficiently. No need to make them feel worthy; they all deserved to be ignored, rotting alone like an old black widow in a broom closet. But of course, in their master’s absence, it was Bellatrix who called the shots, she whose eyes wandered over every member like a predator sorting their conspecifics from their prey. A beast, that was all what she was in his eyes, a savage beast. 

Although she came from a prestigious family, her lack of any sense of decorum didn’t really surprise him. It was, however, unbecoming to lower yourself to the level of a muggle. Ever since the start of the First Wizarding War, her greasy hair was hideous to his nose, and her moments of sweet affection made his skin crawl. I am no toy to be played with, he didn’t say whenever she would put an arm on his shoulders, purring like a cat. Were he to push her away, she would dig her nails only deeper into his arm while making a pouting face. He would never give her the satisfaction of knowing how her very presence irritated him, and he certainly would never submit to her however hard it was to keep his emotions under control. But of course, he wasn’t a public figure for nothing. Luckily enough, he didn’t have to deal with her; she was where she belonged, in prison.

Lucius quickly shook his head, then turned his attention to the man, his nose wrinkling. The man’s curly hair had a dark glamour, likely from spending all his time in this shabby department. The shady lines made his grey hair stand out as if he were proud to show this unfortunate mess to the world. How unfortunate indeed. In France, nobles used to wear a wig in public. Whoever went against the dressing code was considered eccentric, a deviance that was simply outrageous. Because to expose your hair to the public eye was like revealing an intimate part of your body. If the man’s hair was in such a horrendous condition, he didn’t want to imagine how the rest of his body was. With no sense of shame, the man was just one step away from turning into a pig, ready to be slaughtered by those simple-minded muggles. At least, that was what they were good at, to dispose scum. If only the British wizards shared the same sense of decorum and fashion as the French ones did. But alas, he belonged to a small minority.

Lucius sighed. Then, he eyed the man’s robe. It was covered in fuzz and emitted an unpleasant scent of perspiration. What was most insulting were those sleepy eyes, showing no care in the world. They did not budge when he used crucio on the man after having paralysed him. It was most unusual. Did he not mean it enough? Preposterous! He was once prefect at one of the most prestigious school in the world, later one of lord Voldemort’s most useful acolytes, and then proud chairman of Hogwarts’ Board of Governors. Every resistance he met, he nipped it in bud—sooner or later, at least. How hard could it be to subjugate a person’s will, let alone a shabby one at that? Bellatrix always made it seem so easy. There was no way he was inferior to her. His spell had to work, it simply had to. He would certainly not lose his lord’s favour and made a mockery by her. The success of their campaign depended on him. 

Unlike her, he could still move politically so long as no one suspected him of dubious actions. It was a great responsibility for sure, but his throat tightened and his heart grew heavy the more he thought about his situation. To this day, he could still recall that young girl, clutching a hand of what appeared to be her stepbrother, his body as motionless as her face. Lord Voldemort had made it his goal to erase out of existence any connection to muggles in the wizarding world, and he had started with the first pureblood family in his vicinity. As the girl didn’t have any choice who her family were, she had been left alone. Her father, on the other hand, had committed a great crime by marrying someone outside their community. In the name of justice, he, alongside his wife and stepson, had received the full brunt of the killing curse. Afterwards, it had been left to Bellatrix to disfigure their faces in order to make sure they were unrecognizable to the world. Not worthy to be remembered, she had argued, her smile a smug and her eyes shining like cat’s eyes at night. 

If her victims’ groans and contorted faces elicited feelings of thrill and desire from her—a desire for more painful reactions—, then this dehumanising process only managed to raise his eyebrows. It was simply revolting, an unnecessary display of barbarity he had quickly wanted to get away from, lest she might have forced him to partake in her follies. However, no matter how much he had tried to push the incident into the darkest corner of his mind, he still couldn’t help but recall from time to time what had been left of the stepbrother’s face: There weren’t any traces of eyes and mouth as if they had all been molten away. Where the nose should have been, only nose hair remained, trenched in blood. Bellatrix had been gaggling in light of these events as if proud of her art d’œuvre, but he, on the other hand, could only shake at the insult to his eyes.

When he had spotted the blond hair, the same colour that his son had, and taken notice of his size, he was now reminded of Draco and the gravity of the situation he found himself in. If he failed, he did not want to imagine the kind of punishment lord Voldemort would reserve for him and how his very absence would impact his family—a family he didn’t count Bellatrix in, he grimaced. That love-sick fool was utterly loyal to the dark lord and would not hesitate to abandon her own blood if it were to please him. Lucius was quite sure she would try to disgrace him to the best of her abilities. 

Then, there was her savageness and persistence which would overwhelm his wife and encourage his son’s rash behaviour. Already, Draco’s promotion to prefect required a lot of responsibility. Gone were the days where he had stormed into his office, demanding a new broom for his team like some monkey on tantrum and without coming up with a strategy in the first place. Such alacrity to back up his comrades, but also such foolishness and recklessness to not expect any resistance in his endeavour. Had he not realised how important it was to be able to adapt to any scenario if he wanted to succeed? Now that Draco was a bit older and, hopefully, more mature, Lucius only hoped his son was ready for the school’s position so that he could prove his readiness for more important missions. After all, it was only a matter of time until he was forced into his father’s business, for the dark lord demanded proof of loyalty from everyone. 

Until then, Lucius had to keep reminding his son of their family’s duty to lord Voldemort and giving him some small tasks that would groom him into a strong and respectable person, worthy of his name, just like his father. Most importantly, however, he had to keep him away from any silly lessons Bellatrix might impose on him as soon as she got out of prison. But first, Lucius had to deal with the man.

The sight of him drained his energy, left him with a headache. It still boggled his mind how well the man could resist his spells. The imperius curse that Lucius had used on the man in his last visit didn’t seem to work anymore. He couldn’t find any traces of outside influences that might have helped to dispel the curse. It was as if the man had never been hit by the spell to begin with. Did the man really manage to break it on his own? But as soon as the thought crossed Lucius’ mind, he dismissed it. There was no time to entertain some delusional ideas. Don’t be ridiculous. He would have been in danger if that were the case; the man would have notified the head of the Department of Mysteries or the security—if such a thing existed here at all.

Lucius turned around to take a good look at his surroundings, assuring himself no unauthorized parties were observing him. While he carefully examined the place, his eyes were soon drawn towards the wall. It was adorned with bronze mural paintings, glowing eerily in the dark corridor. In one of them, a corpse was trapped between two boats and exposed to the sun. From all sides of the boats, ants, ticks, and leeches were crawling towards the body while flies and wasps were descending on the face. There were so many of them, he could barely make out the facial features, just the empty eye sockets and the small mouth, open as if crying and from which insects were rising. 

Crying, when was the last time he had cried? He had felt immense joy at Narcissa’s smile the moment she had accepted his marriage proposal, then a sense of achievement when he had held their child in his arm, deeply breathing in the sweet air of their garden and enjoying the tranquillity. However, pitying an unknown person who more than likely had committed a crime? That was such a foreign concept, it was almost ludicrous. Right here, right now, he shouldn’t let his emotions run free in his mission; in fact, getting Potter’s prophecy was of utmost importance. For the sake of his family and for the betterment of the wizarding world, he had to get a hold of himself. 

But then, his eyes fell on the jelly, bubbling with thousands of eggs and worms. He shuddered. There was no mercy for the victim, and there would be no mercy for him the longer he remained in this place. Wherever he looked, each illustration showed a cruel scene: a woman sewn into a sack and torn apart by a monkey, rooster, snake, and wolf while drowning in the sea. Then, there was what seemed to be a big straw voodoo doll, hiding under a bed and clutching the head of a crying boy with its long fingers as if sucking his blood dry. Over him was a bleak image; it looked like as if a child was running away from a pale skinned man with eyeballs in the palms of his wrinkled hands. A look of utter horror appeared on the boy’s face when he was tripping over the remnants of newborn children. A few seconds later, his arm was ripped off like some feathers of a chicken, never to be seen again.

Lucius startled. As his heart was racing, a sense of foreboding overcame him. For a moment, he felt like a child, intruding on a private session he wasn’t privy to and about to face severe consequences. His mind was telling him again and again to run away. If he was caught, he didn’t want to imagine the kind of pain being inflicted on him and the grief his absence would cause to his family. It all reminded him of the Triwizard Tournament where Cedric Diggory just happened to die at the wrong time and at the wrong place. Did Lucius want to share a similar fate as him? He had already seen the devastating face of Amos Diggory, the red eyes and the shaking arms as if in shock or denial. While he did not approve of his friendship with Mr. Weasley, he, at least, understood why a parent would mourn the loss of an heir, no matter how foolish Cedric had been to help Harry Potter. After all, there weren’t many pureblood families left, and sons were prone to foolish acts. Lucius should know; he had a son quick to anger, after all. No doubt an unfortunate trait of his father as his wife loved to remind him. Hence why he was glad for Snape and her taking care of Draco and disciplining him in his absence.

Lucius sighed. All his planning and political dealings left him little time for his family. When was the last time he had enjoyed a cup of tea with Narcissa? When was the last time he had played chess with their son, lecturing him on the importance of planning moves in advance? He could have it all again. Yes, he could see himself passing through the exit and leaving behind that dreadful place of Ministry, then buying some fancy jewellery to please his wife and a new broom for his son to calm him down. It would be a good start to make it up to them. The most logical thing to do was to never bother the Unspeakable again and go home, fulfilling his duty as a husband and a father. There was no need to risk his life if the horrendous paintings here were anything to go by.

At the mention of immediate danger, he stopped, his eyebrows raising. He was no Gryffindor, true, but he had been once accepted into the great house of Salazar. Slytherins were not easily cowered when promised a high reward. Any threats they faced, they solved it with the cunning of a chess player. The grotesque drawings on the wall, however, they were just that, scaring people with splatter and cries. How utterly barbaric. How very, and here Lucius paused before spitting, muggle like. Didn’t they keep strange souvenirs at home: dead skulls of animals and people to boast of their cruel deeds and some creepy masks born straight out from a dark fairy tale? He still remembered from one of the forced muggle lessons at Hogwarts: a werewolf in disguise of a human simpleton, indulging itself in fornication with a sick grandmother. Then, as if it wasn’t scandalous enough, it even seduced some virgin before devouring her. Or was it her who wanted to explore her carnal needs? Mad. They were all mad.

Lucius could only shake his head. He had never understood the value of muggle studies. They merely filled heads with moths, just like how the scribbles at the wall tricked people into a false sense of fear when there was nothing to worry about. What did it matter if the owner of the paintings had a morbid sense of cruelty? They were just inanimate objects; they couldn’t do anything to him or report to their master. He snorted. Master? More like a weebie obsessing over satanism. 

Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t believe how poorly he had reacted to the pictures. It was illogical to expect any threat from them; it was downright ridiculous. There was nothing that might have excused his inappropriate reaction. He had been a fool if he was honest to himself. No, he thought. It was more like he had been played a fool. Under no circumstances would he have done any foolish acts. That might have been acceptable and even expected from a child like Draco; however, he had long since grown out of this phase. There had to be some kind of spell on the paintings to ward off any intruders, there simply had to be. 

Unfortunately enough, he didn’t have the expertise to detect any traces of magical defence mechanisms to appease his mind. On the other hand, he didn’t want to activate any traps. Who knew what mad ideas some employees of this department might have come up with to trick people like him. For what else could it be than the work of a sad bogeyman if the paintings were any indication? Those punishments and cries, it was Bellatrix all over again. Except, even she was not mad enough to satisfy her hunger and thirst in a way these misshapen figures did. One of them was slurping in a child’s head as if it was some cup of tea while the other one used fork and knife to eat some legs of a crying baby on a plate. The civilized manner with which these mindless beasts enjoyed their dinner and drink simply bewildered him, gave him goose-bumps. It was almost enough to vomit. Almost.

[unsqeakable]

The Black Heir

Regulus Black: A pureblood wizard. The Heir of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. A husband. A teenager. A Death Eater. Desire for revenge leads him right into the Dark Lord's arms, and allows him to cross the boundaries that once crossed cannot be undone. All actions have consequencs and now it's time for him to pay for his sins in order to achieve absolution.

Regulus Arcturus Black was everything – and so much more – an aristocratic, pureblood family could expect from its future Head of House. He was a charming young man of extraordinary beauty, an incomparably accomplished wizard, but most importantly – Regulus wholeheartedly cherished the belief of supremacy of pureblood wizards over anyone else. His deep-rooted prejudice resulted in him joining the ranks of Lord Voldemort and receiving his Dark Mark. That included accepting as much of the responsibilities as he could take without raising the suspicions of his Hogwarts’ professors. Regulus was barely sixteen years old when he was recruited, but he contented to everything with the greatest dignity. He wanted to protect his people from the threat the Muggles and Muggle-borns caused. No matter the cost.

His parents – and, naturally, his eldest cousin Bellatrix Lestrange who was already, despite her young age, the Dark Lord’s lieutenant and who took pride in introducing him to her Master – were so proud when he announced to them that he was welcomed among the wizard’s followers. His cousin told them many incredible and fascinating stories about Lord Voldemort, so the idea that their beloved heir was fighting for the right cause filled their hearts with immense pride. Especially since their other child was the cause of great sorrow.

Regulus used to have an older brother. Sirius, who was an exceptionally talented wizard in his own right and who was even more handsome than he was, was still very much alive. To Regulus though, he was already dead. The older Black boy was disowned by their mother as soon as he ran away from their family home. Sirius dared to disgrace their noble name by associating himself with Mudbloods as he believed that they were equal with purebloods and that blood purity was good for nothing. He had no reasons to be listed among the proper members of their family anymore. Regulus was also furious and regretted deeply that the older wizard was able to dodge his curse. A blood traitor like him simply didn’t deserve to live.

“You’re nothing but a bloody fool,” he recalled himself hissing the words as soon as his mother excused herself from the hall, watching with deep satisfaction and hatred as the teenager's name slowly disappeared from the tapestry. The woman was so mad and heartbroken that she went to grab a bottle of Firewhiskey and drown her sorrows into it, not even being able to observe the process of disownment of her first-born child. “Are you proud of yourself that you’ve managed to break Mother’s heart? How could you choose the blood traitors over your own family! You better pray the Potters treat you well because I’m going to make you pay for your betrayal!”

“And pay he indeed will,” agreed a familiar, albeit unexpected, female voice. He immediately turned his head and saw a beautiful young woman in her early twenties who was leaning against the door frame. She had messy black hair and her dark eyes were full of contempt. “If that makes you happy, I will personally deliver his head to Aunt Walburga.”

“No,” he snapped suddenly, and his pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment when his cousin raised her perfect eyebrow at him. Regulus averted his gaze as he was aware that Bellatrix didn’t approve of being spoken to in such a tone. “Sorry. I appreciate your offer as I want to see him dead. But… this blood traitor is mine. I want to be the one who’s going to end his life, though, I want to make him suffer before this happens. A pathetic piece of scum like him doesn’t deserve any mercy.”

“That’s the spirit, Reggie,” the witch chuckled darkly and closed the distance between them. Then she hugged him warmly from behind, put her chin on his right shoulder and looked at his ex-brother’s name with disgust before she focused on yet another burned face. Her younger sister Andromeda was disowned a few years ago because she married a Mudblood. “I know some very deliciously forbidden curses that we can use on these blood traitors to teach them a lesson. Trust me, dear cousin, that the Cruciatus Curse, albeit utterly incredible, is like the Tickling Charm in comparison to them.”

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Regulus shivered with excitement at Bellatrix’s husky voice. She had always been his favourite cousin. She was the eldest among their generation of the Blacks – she was ten years his senior – and the other children always looked up to her. She was a model daughter. She always held herself with grace. She was the best student in her year. She was an accomplished duellist and her wand movement was a pure art. The youngest Black adored watching her cast spells and curses as she reminded him of an artist creating their greatest masterpiece. He aspired to be just like her.

“Will you teach me, please?” he whispered and turned to face her, momentarily focusing his eyes on her left forearm. Bellatrix wore a black dress with long sleeves but they both knew what was hidden beneath it: the Dark Mark. The witch joined the man known as Lord Voldemort soon after her graduation from Hogwarts and he took her under his wings. He opened the doors that had previously been closed even to the dark families like theirs. “Teach me every dark curse and spell you know, and I promise you that when I’m old enough, I will join your Master and help him to get rid of all Mudbloods from our world.”

A small smirk began to form on his cousin’s full, red lips and Regulus held his breath when flames of madness made and appearance in her eyes. Besides, she bent over and almost pressed her mouth to his ear.

“I will teach you, baby cousin of mine, as long as you promise to be a good boy and do as I say without any complaints,” she started in a musical voice. He swallowed as such a tone never meant anything good. “Disobey me and there will be severe punishment. I’m not going to waste my time if you’re not serious about this. Understood?”

“Yes,” he responded hastily. He wanted her to be proud of him. “I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”

And so, she taught him.

He had spent the rest of the summer holiday training under Bellatrix’s firm hand. She was a tyrant and a perfectionist. She forced him to train day and night improving his skills, allowing him to take only three short breaks to grab something to eat. He once dared to complain that he was exhausted and she, in accordance with her promise, disciplined him for that. She put him under the Cruciatus Curse and didn’t release him until she became bored of his screams. He learned his lesson, though, and since then he was a perfect student.

When he returned to Hogwarts to begin his fourth year, he was a changed boy. He was more withdrawn and barely spoke with his friends. Everyone assumed that it was because of what happened between Sirius and his family and he didn’t bother to correct them, even though the truth was different. He spent every single moment in an abandoned classroom in the dungeons where he practiced what his cousin taught him. His traitor brother was still at school with him, so he imagined that he was using the curses on him.

When he turned sixteen, Bellatrix took him to her Master who welcomed him in his ranks with open arms. Lestrange was his most faithful and devoted Death Eater, so it was assumed that he would follow in her footsteps. That day Regulus had a feeling that all of his dreams had come true. Lord Voldemort was… he was unable to find the right words to describe him. The man was everything. He was incredibly powerful – the young Black dared to say that the man was even more powerful than Dumbledore himself – and he was handsome. He was inspiring. He was… Lord Voldemort simply was and that was enough for him. Even breathing seemed to be much simpler when he was in the presence of the wizard.

However, a few things have changed since he became a Death Eater.

During the summer holiday before his last year at Hogwarts, at the age of seventeen, he got married to a French pureblood witch. Charlotte Delacour was a member of a very influential French family and the union between their houses would be highly beneficial for both parties. The girl was born the same year as he was, but she had never attended Beauxbatons Academy of Magic as she was home-schooled her entire life.

His wife was an extremely intelligent and beautiful young woman, and he was aware that many wizards were jealous of him and considered him a lucky man. He, on the other hand, thought something else. For him, the marriage was a punishment for some crimes he had no idea he had ever committed.

Regulus had known Charlotte for years before they tied the knot and there was even a time when he was enchanted by her but… everything changed when Sirius was disowned. His wife was supposed to marry the first-born son of Orion Black – his father – and that would be his brother. He was required to take his place to honour the contract.

He was furious when he was informed what was expected from him. He bluntly expressed his disagreement and agreed on the marriage only because his grandfather Arcturus Black, Duke of Lancaster, who at that time was the Head of their family, took him aside and threatened to disown him if he dared to disobey his orders.  

Disown him!

He had always been a model son and a member of their noble family. He had never dared to do anything against his Patriarch’s wishes. And yet, he was threatened with disownment only because his traitor of a brother neglected his responsibilities and chose the Mudbloods over his flesh and blood. He wanted to scream into oblivion and curse everyone around him. Fortunately, he was approached by Bellatrix who shared with him her words of wisdom.

“You must show her who’s the boss in the relationship,” she informed him matter-of-factly as soon as he had finished his tirade and she then took a sip of her Firewhiskey. “You must set certain boundaries and let her know what she can and cannot do.”

“And how am I supposed to do this?” he asked with a scorn and grabbed his own glass. “Put her under the Imperius Curse? Grandfather would definitely notice it and then he would disown me for sure. He really cares about the union between the families.”

“Putting the daughter of a respected Lord of a foreign country under the Imperious Curse would indeed be a stupid move, yes,” the witch agreed, and a cruel smirk made an appearance on her lips. “However, what I meant was intimidation. You must show her your strength. You must let her know that she’s nobody without you. Dominate her mentally, physically and, of course – sexually.”

“Did you… do the same with Rodolphus?” he hesitantly asked. His cousin’s husband was a very formidable wizard, but when he was in the presence of his wife, he always reminded him of a harmless puppy.

“What else did you expect, Reggie?” she asked with amusement and gently patted his hand. “The House of Black is the most powerful house in Britain. Did you really think that I would allow such a weak man to control my life?”

He unconsciously shook his head. Bellatrix was absolutely right. She must have been a fool to let her husband tell her what to do. The Blacks were the elite of the elite and everyone was aware of that. While in some other noble families – the Malfoys and the Lestranges immediately came to his mind due to his cousins’ marriages – the Head of Houses were titled as Earls, commonly referred to as “Lords,” then the Head of the House of Black was known as the Duke of Lancaster. The Muggles lived under a false assumption that the title of the Duke of Lancaster was always held by the current ruler of the British Monarchy (especially since it was merged with the Crown in the 14th century) but it wasn’t true. The Duchy of Lancaster, since the dawn of times, belonged to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. The Black bloodline had always been present in the British Royal family, as when wizards were forced into hiding the family married their Squibs into royalty to protect their families assets. Serving the family was a sacred thing to the House of Black, therefore, to erase their stain on their honour, the Squibs provided the family with security against the Muggles. Of course, all security measures were taken to make sure that the unmagical blood wouldn’t affect the continuality of their pure blood – magical and social disownment among them.

Regulus rubbed his forehead. Even the Dark Lord seemed to know that the Blacks are untouchable. The wizard had no problems with punishing his followers whenever they annoyed him, but he had never done anything to his cousin. What else, he respected her opinions and confided in her!

“Do as I told you, dear baby cousin of mine, and I promise you that the chit won’t even breathe without your explicit permission,” she continued and emptied her glass. “But if you’re not able to do this, then I’ll gladly take care of her.”

Regulus cringed at that. He wasn’t exactly sure what Bellatrix was doing – even though he had his suspicions – but when the Dark Lord needed to extract information from an exceptionally uncooperative opponent, he would call his cousin and she would take the person with her, and a few minutes later she would have all of the information he wanted.

“I appreciate your offer but…” He took a deep breath and looked at his interlocutor. “I know she used to be in contact with Sirius – and I think that she still is – and most likely still has some feelings for him but… I want her to be obedient, not traumatized for life.”

The woman simply shrugged and looked at her well-groomed nails.

“Do as you please. Just remember that I’m more than willing to put her in her place if you’re unable to do it.”

The youngest Black listened to his cousin and did as she advised him. He never dared to hit his wife, but he let her know from the very beginning that in his eyes she was inferior. During the wedding night, since the marriage required consummation, Regulus claimed what was lawfully his and didn’t even bother to ask Charlotte if she was all right afterwards. He was everything but gentle and loving back then, but he didn’t even care that he had ruined her first time.

Or any other for that matter, as they were sharing the bed only when he wanted to relieve himself. He made it obvious that she knew that now she belonged to him and not to his traitorous brother as she was supposed to.

When the summer holiday came to an end, Regulus was pleased. It was his last year at school and he awaited graduation because it would mean that he could commit himself fully to the Dark Lord’s services. He was the youngest Death Eater in the ranks – his school friend Severus Snape was a year older than him and already graduated – so he was unable to do much as most of the time he was at Hogwarts. Also, because he recently got married, he was asked to spend as much of his free time with his wife so he could provide the next follower. Regulus had no clue what he did to offend his Master to be punished in such a cruel way, but he was truly sorry for whatever it was.

However, by the time he was ready to accomplish his education, Regulus’ life turned upside down.

Arcturus Black had perished unexpectedly in early October and his father became the new Head of House and the Duke of Lancaster, which meant that Regulus was next in line for the titles. Obviously, he was aware that sooner or later he would become the heir apparent – especially since Sirius was out of the picture – but he had never thought that it would happen so suddenly. His grandfather was a man of good health, so his death took everyone by surprise.

Nonetheless, the biggest change happened in December – he finally realised what kind of idiot he really was.

Lord Voldemort summoned his followers for a meeting. A Christmas celebration. The Black Heir was eager to attend the assembly because he desperately craved his Master's presence. He noticed during his Hogwarts days that the longer he was away from the wizard, the more he thought about him and about the many ways in which he could impress him. His wife, of course, wasn’t thrilled by such a turn of events but she knew more than well that it was pointless to say anything. He made it clear to her that she should never question his choices.

At the beginning of the meeting, the wizard asked for a house-elf, so he, unsurprisingly, offered his beloved one – Kreacher – without hesitation. He was as proud as a peacock when his Master decided to take his servant, especially when he noticed that other owners of the house-elves looked at him with envy. Still, the boy’s satisfaction was short-lived because a moment later the Dark Lord announced the other reason of their summon, he wanted to award his faithful Death Eaters by giving them something special.

This “something” turned out to be a person. A young pureblood witch by the name of Annabelle Shafiq. A Ravenclaw girl in his year at school. The Black Heir was flabbergasted when his cheerful cousin brought her inside the room because he had no idea what was going on. But one thing was certain: he was terrified to see the girl beaten and tied up.

“Thank you for your help, Bellatrix,” said Lord Voldemort and turned towards the rest of his followers as soon as his cousin approached him and threw the girl at his feet. “Gentlemen… let me introduce you to Miss Annabelle Shafiq. Her father recently refused to support our goal, so this young lady is going to pay for his insubordination… I hope you’re going to enjoy yourself with her. Regulus, my dear boy, you stay away from it. I have a different task for you this evening. Bella will explain it to you shortly.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” he answered and bowed slightly.

He didn’t want to admit it aloud, but he was relieved when he heard the order. Annabelle was his Herbology partner and even though she was a pretty witch, he had no desire to sleep with her. Especially since he didn't have the right to do that. Moreover, watching as the others decided amongst themselves who was going to take her first was something he would rather avoid.

Lucius Malfoy, the husband of his other cousin, Narcissa, was the one who won the inglorious lottery. Regulus was aware that it wasn’t the right moment to think about it, but he wondered if his wife was aware what her husband was doing when she wasn’t around. He glanced at Bellatrix who stood next to the Dark Lord’s throne and watched with an unpleasant smile as her brother-in-law forced himself on the already naked girl. Apparently, when the Malfoy man was unbuttoning his robes, his fellow companions took care of Annabelle’s clothes.

“You know what’s the most amusing part of it?” Regulus unexpectedly heard Bellatrix’s voice next to his ear and he almost had a heart attack when it happened. He had no idea when she approached him, as he was observing his cousin’s husband. “Lucius actually believes that he is the first one to be inside the girl.”

“What do you mean?” He used the chance that his eldest cousin talked with him to look away – he didn’t want to watch what the others were doing but he was too afraid to show weakness in their presence – and hoped that he sounded confident.

“Our Lord believes, and I, naturally, agree, that I deserve the best, so he allowed me to have some girl-to-girl fun with the brat when we were waiting for your arrival. Virgins are so prude, don’t you think, dear? Though, your wife's French so maybe you're luckier in that department than the rest of us,” she informed him with a chuckle and put her hands on his shoulders. “Now, Reggie, dear baby cousin of mine… our Master is merciful and wishes to spare the girl more suffering. You can only imagine how traumatised she would be if we released her after the meeting… that’s why, once the boys are done with the whore, you’re expected to end her misery.”

His immediate thought was to defy the Dark Lord’s order which was to kill his Herbology partner, as Annabelle was a proper pureblood witch and didn’t deserve to be punished for her father’s decision, but upon quick reflection he decided that to disobey the order of the most powerful Dark wizard in history would be very foolish indeed.

“I serve to please our Lord,” he responded instead and forced himself to smile. “I’m honoured.”

He knew he was a coward. He had chosen his life over Annabelle’s and he felt ashamed because of the choice he made. But he was aware that the Ravenclaw would die today anyway, so he saw no reason in risking his own neck. He was not a foolish Gryffindor. He had dreams to accomplish and dying at such a young age would intervene with them. He also tried to justify his horrendous actions by thinking that he was saving Bellatrix’s life as well, as she would be forced to protect him if anyone – Lord Voldemort included – dared to raise their wand at him.

There was a hierarchy in pureblood families. The most important person in the family was, obviously, the Head of House. The Head was responsible for representing the family in the Wizengamot and the Head’s decision considering any matters in the family was law. Other members were obligated to fulfil whatever the Head wanted: that was one of the reasons why he accepted Charlotte as his wife. Furthermore, the Head of House had the power to disown or bring back members of the family as they pleased. The current Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was his father.

The second most important person was the Heir (or the Heiress) apparent. The Heir was the future Head of the family and, after the Head, it was the person the other members were required to protect the most. If something happened to the Head, the Heir would become the leader of the family no matter their age. Currently, Regulus was the Heir, even though it was Sirius’ role before he was disowned. His disownment was crucial because if Orion died before his first-born child was disowned, Sirius would be untouchable and could change the family politics.

His cousin was a Lestrange now but since she has been a Black by blood, she was still obligated to protect him and his father.

“Regulus.” His Master’s voice unexpectedly brought him back down to earth. “It’s time.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he answered immediately, afraid that he could be punished for delay, and bowed slightly before he took his wand out of his sleeve and marched towards the deflowered witch. He cringed when his cousin offered him a wicked smile, imitating what she had done to his schoolmate.

He forced himself to return the gesture. He had no clue how much time had passed since Annabelle was brought to the room, as he was lost in his thoughts most of the time, but she looked terrible. Her body was covered in bruises, blood was running down her head, and she was curled up in the foetal position. She was crying, though no sounds dared to escape her bloodied mouth. Regulus assumed that she had previously been silenced.

The young Black Heir swallowed hard at the sight and anxiously licked his dry lips.

He was going to put her out of her misery. Soon, her unnecessary suffering would come to an end. She would be in a much better place. She would finally be safe. He was going to bring her salvation. He was the one who would save her.

Or so Regulus was trying to convince himself in order to silence his conscience.

He pointed his wand at his schoolmate. As soon as he did that, he could hear the excitement among his companions. He decided to ignore them.

He bit his bottom lip when he saw his hand shaking slightly. There was no time for weakness. Lord Voldemort could not see that he was scared! He was only bringing freedom. He should be confident!

He straightened up and took a deep breath to calm down his nerves, as he could hear his heart beating fast in his ears. He could do this. He would do this. He knew that failure was equal with severe punishment, or worse – death. He was too scared to die!

The incantation was easy to pronounce. He also knew how to properly cast the spell because his cousin made him practice it on the animals she had conjured up during their magic lessons. There would be no pain. He was not going to cause her any harm. He was going to stop the pain. The end would be quick. Faster than falling asleep.

He just had to say the curse aloud. Then everything would be over.

Annabelle, as if knowing that her death was near, lifted her bloodied head with difficulty. His grey eyes met her brown ones. Regulus’ heart stopped when he noticed that only emptiness was visible in them. Had she recognised him? He doubted it.

He closed his eyes. He was not able to look at her. But he had to finish it. Annabelle had suffered enough. It was time to release her from her misery. He re-opened his eyes.

“Avada Kedavra.”

The green light instantly escaped his wand and hit the girl’s body.

Regulus turned his gaze, as he was unable to look at his already dead friend. His companions, however, started cheering loudly the moment their Lord laughed cruelly. He stood quiet. He was shaking. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to disappear.

“I’m so proud of you, Reggie,” he heard Bellatrix’s joyful voice in his ear and a moment later her hands wrapped him in a familiar hug. But this time, he felt nothing. “You’re a good boy. You managed to pass your test. Our Lord is so proud of you.”

“Test?” he asked with confusion. Test? What test? He had no idea what was going on.

“Our Lord wished to find out if you’re ready to become a full member,” she informed him with a sincere smile. “Our Lord and I were aware that you knew the girl the moment she was taken. Everyone, but you, knew what was going to happen tonight, although the others had no clue who’s going to be present here this evening. They only knew that it’s someone you know. Lucius and some other guys thought that you would be too soft to kill your acquaintance. But I knew you were better than this. You won me a thousand galleons.”

Regulus inhaled sharply. He could refuse to kill and… he could live? They set him up? Did Annabelle’s father really reject Lord Voldemort's offer, or did they take her only because they knew each other? He had no idea what to think about it. He was still unable to comprehend what had just happened. He felt dizzy. He thought he was going to be sick.

He vomited as soon as he found himself at home. He didn’t even make it to the toilet. He just emptied his stomach in the living room the moment he left the fireplace. How he managed to stop himself from throwing up in front of everyone would forever stay an unsolved mystery.

Regulus went to the bathroom, paying attention to the fact that nobody else was at home. He wanted to take a shower as he felt dirty, but water didn't take his dirty feeling away. When he finally realised what he had gotten himself into, he couldn’t even look at himself. In absolute fury, he smashed the mirror in the bathroom because it reminded him of what kind of scum he was.

A murderer.

Ever since Sirius ran away from their family home, he used to think that he wanted to see him dead. That was a lie and he realised it just now. Sirius was his brother. He used to be his best friend. He wanted him to suffer as much as he did because he dared to abandon him. But now… when he finally killed his first victim… no. That was wrong. It felt wrong. He was wrong. He was not a murderer.

Unfortunately, he was. He murdered his Herbology partner. But he doubted he would be able to take another life. The problem was… being a Death Eater was a lifetime service. He simply couldn't hand over his resignation. Desertion meant death.

Regulus lowered his eyes. His hands were cut, and blood poured profusely from the wounds, but he did nothing to fix the damage. Instead, he turned on his heel and excused himself from the bathroom; broken glass was scattered on the ceramic tiles.

The next thing he did was to grab a bottle of Firewhiskey – for some reason, they had a lot of it in the house – and drown his sorrows into it. He naively believed that he would be able to forget what he did. But forget he could not.

The young Heir drank and drank and drank. The moment the current bottle was empty, he summoned another one and repeated the action every time there was nothing else at the bottom of it. He didn’t care that it was making him sick. He cared not that he and the sofa were covered in his vomit and blood. His capacity to care about himself was thoroughly exhausted.

One sip. Then another. His hand was raising at a steady pace, allowing him to empty the bottle. One sip after another, the Firewhiskey cascaded down his throat. Each sip an attempt to numb himself from the inside out. He wanted to forget. Maybe the next sip would make him feel better? Maybe the sip after that would allow him to forget his heinous crime?

Damn it.

It wasn’t working.

He was still a murderer.

Why was he denied the right to forget?

The dishevelled Heir yawned. He was tired. So very tired. He closed his eyes. Just for a brief moment.

And then there was only darkness.