Chapter 3
Holy fuck.
Regulus Black sat in the library at Grimmauld place with a sickly looking kreacher on the couch opposite him, and cradled a disintegrating dark tome. The dark lord was making horcruxes, the darkest magic known to man, and Regulus had figured out his secret.
Without a thought, he flew out of his seat. His thoughts silent, repeating one sentence. A whisper. A snarl. A threat. As the imperious that had lay dormant for so long, took him over and carried him up the stairs.
You find out anything, you tell me. I’m the only one you can trust, you trust me don’t you, Regulus?
As he flew up the stairs his feet carried him somewhere he definitely didn’t want to go. His fathers office.
He knocked on the door and squeezed his eyes shut. Please don’t be here.
“Come in,”
He exhaled shakily and opened the door. His father looked up at him with disinterest. He never cared for Regulus, not like he did for Sirius, not unless he cared enough to visit him in the night. Not unless he cared enough to call him into his office after a particularly difficult day at work. He shivered as he shuffled into the room with his eyes down, “What do you want?”
Regulus lifted his head, trying to change the words he felt coming out of his mouth, creeping up his throat, “I found something father.”
“Go on, I’m very busy.”
“The dark lord, he has been making horcruxes, Father,” he said, the words escaping him.
“So?” His father sighed, taking his glasses off and levelling him with a tired look.
Regulus was horrified from where he clawed at the walls of his mind. So? He thought they should, but they must- and oh no, because this was what he thought, this blasphemy, and he felt it cutting at his throat as it burst out, “I- I thought you ought to know, the dark lord you aligned us with is making horcruxes, father, the dark lord you made me pledge my allegiance to. The darkest form of magic and all for power, we have to do something.”
His father stood up and strode over to him, Regulus instinctively tensed and shut his eyes.
He felt a hand bury itself tightly in the hair at the back of his head, “what have I said? look at me.”
He opened his eyes to see his father’s furious face, “you listen to me, this family are aligned with the dark lord because he is doing what needs to be done to save Wizarding Britain.” His fathers face was red with fury and the vein in his head bulged, “I never want to hear you question his intentions or mine with this family. You will obey and serve the dark lord for as long as I say, do you understand?”
He stayed silent, he willed his mouth to move but I wouldn’t. A thick paste had been shoved down his throat and he couldn’t get the words past.
“I said, do you understand?” His father’s voice was dangerously low, grip tightening as his face came down, lips brushing Regulus’ ear.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shivered, his mouth opened to reply but all that came was a shout of pain when his legs were kicked out from beneath him. He felt his father’s boot in his stomach and face but felt no cuts or bruises blossoming as he reeled. He didn’t have time to gather himself before he was being crucioed.
Yes. Yes and he wouldn’t be here. Yes and he would have gotten off lucky. He never said yes, and this time he payed for his silence. In the end it was the dark lords disgusting secret, a secret that would ruin and end so many lives, he couldn’t say yes. So he said nothing. He stayed silent, like he was so good at, but look where it got him.
He never says yes. He always thinks no. And when he stays silent?
He always stays under his fathers control, writhing on the floor under an unforgivable, looking for mental reprieve before the world goes black.