Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
– The Hogwarts Express –
It had been an unbearably long and grueling month. Regulus remained cloistered in his room, only emerging when his father’s demands left him no choice but to attend those wretched meetings. The horrors of Nott Manor clung to him like a second skin, sinking into his very bones. Each time he returned home, the weight of it all made him sick—physically, utterly sick. Kreacher was the only one who tended to him, offering pepper-up potions to force strength back into his limbs and dreamless sleep to keep the nightmares at bay. But no potion could truly erase what he had seen. More than once, Regulus had considered obliviating himself—erasing it all, if only to free himself from their suffocating grasp.
The Dark Lord had bestowed upon him his first task. It was simple—deceptively so. There was no bloodshed, no torture, nothing that would stain his hands just yet. His duty was to seek out and secure loyalty, to gather as many devoted followers as he could. And once they left the halls of Hogwarts behind, they would be marked, bound to the cause in a way that left no room for escape.
He could do it. He had to do it.
Regulus had arrived at the platform, and from the corner of his eye he spotted a familiar messy dark-haired wizard. His— or at least he was his.
He wasn’t alone. The wizard in question was accompanied by his brother, both laughing at something. The mark stung on his left arm. It’s a perfect reminder of his brother’s hatred— was he being too mean? Ridiculous? He pondered the possibility of Sirius resenting his decision to stay.
He handed his luggage to the train conductor before proceeding to find Barty and Evan. The train corridor was congested, with an excessive number of individuals standing and engaging in conversation. As he advances, he inadvertently collides with a certain individual.
Regulus froze, his body stiffening as his eyes met the other’s, an unspoken tension settling between them.
“You're avoiding me.” Potter stated, obstructing his path. Regulus didn’t reply, he’s looking for a way to get past him.
“Why haven't you answered my letters? I owled you about a hundred times this summer!” Potter fixed his gaze on him, patiently awaiting an answer.
He observed as Potter tilted his head towards a compartment filled with first-year students and gestured for them to exit, which they did. Potter didn't take too long before he decided to pull Regulus towards the now empty compartment. With a flick of his wand he muttered privacy charm as well as a muffliato before facing Regulus again.
“Care to explain Reg?” He had his arm folded onto his chest, waiting for a response.
“There's nothing to explain.” He coldly said.
“That's bollocks! I know you want to say something! Just go ahead and say it!”
Regulus hesitated for a moment, though he knew this is the only way he can protect him. Besides, he is expected to be married by the end of the school year, anyway. “I believe it is best for us to bring this to an end and part ways in our relationship.”
“I– I don't understand?” James furrowed his brows, confusion flickering in his eyes.
“I am to be married, James, we can't be together anymore.” His face remains emotionless as he looks into James’ eyes. Pain had struck on James’ face when he said these five words in an icy tone. “I don't love you anymore.”
It was a lie—most of it, anyway—but the part about the marriage? That was the only truth buried in the mess of deception.
“You don't mean that.” He was shocked, tears threatened to pool down his face but James managed to suppress it. “Reg, don’t go.” He begged.
“Petrificus Totalus” He modified the hex to have a duration of approximately five minutes before he unfreezes and comes back to normal. It was honestly a dick move, but it was the only way he could walk away from him without breaking.
It was easier this way—better, even—for James to let his anger fester, to let resentment wrap around Regulus like chains, holding him at a distance. Hate was simple. Hate meant James didn’t have to worry, didn’t have to care. Because caring—truly caring—meant acknowledging that Regulus was already slipping through his fingers, that no matter how tightly he held on, he was bound to be left with nothing but ghosts.
I love you. He whispered in his mind
Three words. Just three simple words—left unspoken, left unheard. And now, he’ll never get the chance to say them to him again. Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime.
“We are done.” Regulus cast one last glance back at James, who remained motionless, before leaving the compartment.
He made his way down the extended corridor of the train and eventually located Barty and Evan snogging in their compartment. He plopped down across from them and wasn’t shocked they didn’t notice him walk into the compartment. They seem to be so absorbed in their own fantasies that they fail to notice anything else, let alone Regulus enter.
He retrieved a book from his bag to occupy himself during the lengthy train journey. After a few moments, the sounds of snogging cpame to an end, and Regulus raised his head as Evan began to speak to him. “Have you been with us the entire time while we were snogging?”
Regulus merely shrugged, offering them neither a yes nor a no.
“What's wrong with you?” Barty asked as he adjusted his button-up shirt.
“Nothing, pay no attention to me.” He murmured.
Barty dismissed the response and expressed his disdain towards it. “Clearly, it's not nothing.” He scoffed. “It’s like there are some sort of wanksprouts all over you or something; I can’t remember what Pands call those things.” He huffed and slung his arm over Evan's shoulder.
“Hang on, are those even real? The wanksputs or is your sister just insane? Looney if you coul— ow! Salazar’s arse.” Barty rambled on, as Evan and went to nudge him.
“Oi, shut it.” Evan gave a stern look at Barty.
Evan looked at Regulus. Make this make sense
Evan clearly understands the events that have transpired. He was present the day his best mate became betrothed to his sister, and the day the dark lord had extended an invite for rhim to join his ranks.
“You ended things with him, didn't you?” It was Evan who had asked.
Regulus nodded in agreement, confirming Evan's question.
“No.” He gasped, Barty's face displayed a look of surprise. “But you were both supposed to spawn cute arrogant nonchalant babies.” Barty teased.
Evan delivered a forceful nudge to Barty’s abdomen, causing him to wince slightly.
“Fucking hell babe,” Barty whined to Evan as he rubbed his abdomen, soothing his pain.
“The d-dark l-lord has chosen me to—” He grimaced. “Recruit slytherins to join the cause.”
“Are you mad!” It was Barty who raised his voice as he half-stood from his seat, but was stopped by Evan.
“My father has told me he's a madman, why on earth will you bow to him?” Mixed emotions traveled through Barty.
Barty's father held a position of power and was well-respected by his colleagues. He currently leads the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
“I don’t have much of a choice do I?” He yelled at Barty.
“Mate, calm down.” Evan was doing his utmost to soothe them both. Evan sighed gently, rubbing Barty's back in a soothing circular motion.
“His parents—” Evan stopped to look at him. It was not his place to tell his story, after all.
Regulus subtly nodded, signifying that Evan could inform Barty of what had happened.
“His parents, they practically serve him on a silver platter to the dark lord.” Evan sighed heavily, as if burdened by a weight.
“No.” Barty was in disbelief, though he knew he shouldn’t be. After all, Regulus' parents were staunch blood supremacists, firmly believing in the superiority of pureblood wizards. They viewed Muggle-borns—whom they derisively called ‘Mudbloods’—as little more than leeches, tainting the purity of ancient bloodlines. To them, the growing number of Muggle-borns was not a natural occurrence, but an alarming threat, a sign that their world was being corrupted by those who had no right to wield magic.
They clung to the belief that Muggles had somehow discovered a way to steal their magic, taking what had never belonged to them. The idea that a child born to non-magical parents could possess the same power as a pureblood was unthinkable. It was easier for them to believe that muggles had stolen the magic.
“Is this the reason as well as to why you’re engaged to Pands?” It was Evan who answered with a nod, while Regulus had stared outside the train window.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Barty muttered under his breath. “We’ll help you.”
It wasn't a question where he asked if they could help; it was more of a demand that Regulus can’t say no to.
“Barty, mate.” Regulus tried to protest, but it was two against one.
“It's two against one, mate. You won't be alone in this. I know that we aren't marked, but we won't let you suffer alone, alright.” Evan said, reaching out to pat his shoulders.
“But—”
“We’re not really taking a no for an answer here, mate.”
“Fine, have it your way.” Regulus slumped further to his seat, giving in to Barty and Evan who snickered at one another in triumph.
“Oh, by the way, I’ve gotten twelve outstanding O.W.Ls.” A subtle smile played on Barty's lips.
“You’re shitting.” Evan rolled his eyes. Barty handed him a piece of parchment; it was the result of the O.W.Ls they had taken last year.
“How in Salazar’s name did you even manage that?” Regulus snatched the piece of parchment from Evan.
“What can I say boys, I’m just too smart for this school.” He relaxed on his seat.
While Evan tries to interrogate Barty, his voice sharp with suspicion, Regulus remains silent, his gaze fixed on the scenery beyond the window. The world outside felt distant, almost serene, a stark contrast to the tension simmering in the room. Yet, no matter how much he wished to lose himself in the quiet stillness of the view, his mind refused to grant him peace.
He had a task to accomplish—one he never asked for, yet one he could not refuse. Recruiting his classmates to serve a cause he resented felt like shackles tightening around his wrists, each passing moment drawing him deeper into a fate he loathed. How could he persuade others to swear loyalty to something that left a bitter taste in his mouth? And more importantly, how could he do it without losing himself in the process?
His fingers curled slightly at his sides, the weight of expectation pressing down on him. He needed a plan—something clever, something subtle. But with each passing second, the walls seemed to close in, and the path ahead remained as uncertain as ever.
He might’ve earned the title as the Slytherin prince, though he barely indulges in a conversation outside his circle. How could he possibly persuade them to join?
Surely he can just waltz in and say. ‘Hello, how are you this fine morning? Are you perhaps interested in joining the cause of our dark lord? Surely you know his name, as everyone is starting to fear him.’
He would sound mad—perhaps completely unhinged—but that was a small price to pay. Better to be seen as a raving lunatic and locked away in Azkaban than to carry out the twisted orders of their wretched, noseless master. It’s Better to be in chains of iron than the invisible ones that bound the others, forcing them to obey without question. Well, not entirely invisible. The mark was there, etched into his skin—a skull with a serpent slithering from its mouth, a constant, inescapable reminder of the chains he wore. It burned like a brand, not just on his arm but in his very being, a silent testament to the choices he never truly made.