Part I: Vibrant Eyes
Most younger Death Eaters were recruited once they became become of age at seventeen, but Regulus had been a special exception. At the time, which seemed so long ago, he had been proud so much as he was nervous to be the only fourteen-year-old who bore the Dark mark. Albeit whether that happened in honor of his parent’s higher ranks as Death Eaters (Grimmauld had been their secret quarters after all back in the seventies) or to compensate his older brother’s absence from that wretched cult, Regulus supposed it was a little bit of both.
Much as the less qualified followers of the Dark lord when Regulus had first joined, he naturally didn’t have many, if any, interactions with the man his parents devoted their wealth and power to the service of. Givin Regulus’ lower position, any order issued to him had been delivered from another Death Eater, but never from the Dark lord himself; inexperienced Death Eaters like Regulus were not important enough for him to bother.
But still, Regulus had seen enough of him at Grimmauld Place to notice how different he looked now from the way he did back then. There was no denying that the Dark lord had been a very good-looking man, but now he only seemed like a shell of what he once was. Of course, Voldemort had always been exceptionally pale, but the skin that stretched over his now gaunt face was practically bone-white, or maybe it was just the hollowness that made it appear that way. All that aside, the detail that struck Regulus the most was the eyes.
He never recalled Voldemort’s eyes being so red at all times, as they were the first thing that drew Regulus’ attention for how off-putting and inhumane they felt. Before Azkaban, Regulus knew them to be reddish-brown that only seemed to glow pure scarlet when Voldemort was especially elated or angry about something. Now that the malicious spark was present at all times, Regulus couldn’t quite understand how Harry could feel any warmth from someone with eyes like that, but he supposed the kid must have gotten used to them and perhaps only saw them as a quirk.
Or maybe his eyes only appeared like that for how angry Regulus’ presence was making him.
“What are you two snickering about?” Voldemort said irritably (as he always was whenever Regulus and Harry were getting along.) He had walked in on the two during their study session.
Regulus had been Harry’s tutor since March. A part of him suspected—or rather knew for certain—that it was because Voldemort had killed Harry’s previous tutor, Severus Snape, for helping Regulus accumulate two more horcruxes and destroy them. For that reason, Regulus always felt a dismal mood during his and Harry’s sessions.
After the first several weeks had passed since Regulus was brought to this unfamiliar manor, Voldemort hadn’t been spending as much time in the residence with them, but that did not prevent him from stopping by at any hour of the day. Harry had told Regulus that it wasn’t usual for ‘Tom’ to drop by in the manor ever so often.
He seemed happy enough at having been receiving more attention from his guardian, and Regulus hadn’t the heart to tell Harry that it was because of Voldemort’s mistrust in him, Regulus, that warranted such plentiful visits.
“We’re covering WWII’s influence on the Wizarding World and the Rise and Fall of Grindelwald’s Regime.” Harry answered half-truthfully, trying and failing at concealing his childlike glee.
History of Magic was what they were supposed to be doing anyway. Before Voldemort ever so rudely barged into the room, Regulus had mentioned to Harry off-handedly that ‘Tom’ had been born before the war erupted, to which Harry found hard to believe. I know he’s old, but not that old! He’d said.
“What, pry tell, is so amusing about that?” Voldemort said, mildly appraising.
“Nothing at all. It’s mighty awful what’s happened.” Harry said quickly.
Voldemort was barely paying attention to Harry though, his sole focus was purely on shooting death glares at Regulus, but that didn’t stop him from humoring his ward. “To what side?”
“Hmm?”
“Which side you thought the war was so awful to?”
Regulus wished he could say he got used to the unnerving red eyes, but every time they were fixated on him with malicious intent like that, he found himself inching ever closer toward Harry, who might be the one thing the Dark lord held dear.
For all the resentment Regulus had toward Voldemort for the way he exploited Harry, there was no denying that the Dark lord truly grew to care for the Potter’s boy in his own twisted kind of way. Regulus being alive was proof enough of that.
“Does it matter?” Harry creased his brows. “The damages done weren’t limited to one side alone.”
Voldemort’s eyes finally lowered from Regulus to land on Harry. The former Death Eater could see plain as day how Voldemort’s harsh features had softened significantly, though his eyes didn’t lose the dangerous red flash, and probably never would. Voldemort had pursed his lips into a thin line and raised an eyebrow critically, making the thirteen-year-old fidget.
“Erm, everyone that got hurt and didn’t deserve it I suppose.” Harry corrected cautiously.
Voldemort tsked once, unimpressed by the general answer. When his eyes met Regulus’ again, not only did his expression harden once more, but his magic began radiating threateningly toward him.
Regulus knew that Voldemort meant to direct his magic sharply at only him because whereas Harry clearly hadn’t felt a thing, he flinched and quickly built up more walls inside his mind just in case.
It wasn’t the first time Voldemort had done that. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to be a bother to Regulus as he had been a bother to him, and Voldemort would always find a way to inflict harm on him, no matter how petty the attempt, without Harry’s knowledge. Regulus never wanted to dignify those attempts by giving away any reaction, so he tried to act indifferent. After all, he knew there was not much Voldemort could do to him.
“You are doing a poor job at teaching him basic historical facts.” Voldemort said flippantly, as though he wasn’t actively trying to violate the other with his magic right this instant.
“If you mean you want me to spout out a bunch of propaganda, then yes, I suppose I am doing a poor job at brainwashing him.” Regulus rolled his eyes. “I am teaching him history, and last time I checked, the subject should be taught objectively.”
Voldemort’s mouth curled with disdain, but he didn’t argue his point.
“Now, would you mind saying why you’re here? Because I doubt you came all this way to talk about Wizarding World’s involvements in muggle wars.” Regulus was aware of how he was walking on thin ice—but then again, why should he care about treading lightly? He knew he was more useful alive than dead.
Regulus might be Voldemort’s greatest threat, but he was also valuable to keep Harry from running away. That was the sole purpose of why Voldemort was stuck with him to begin with.
Instead of answering him directly, Voldemort turned to Harry. “You are nearly fourteen, which means you’ll have three years ahead until you become of age. It is high time that you accompanied me for important functions. Especially now that news of your existence has already reached the wrong sort. There’s no point in hiding anymore.”
Harry’s quick yet bashful glance at Regulus confirmed that the boy knew who the ‘wrong sort’ Voldemort was referring to.
Regulus smiled reassuringly at Harry to let him know he wasn’t offended. For all that Harry knew, Regulus was just another rebel. He had no idea of the real kind of danger Regulus posed to his guardian’s life, and Regulus wanted to keep things that way. Harry didn’t even know what a horcrux was, let alone be aware that he was one.
Harry tried returning Regulus’ smile, but his was more akin to a grimace.
The boy was nervous, and for good reason too. From what he’d told Regulus, whenever Voldemort took it upon himself to teach Harry an important life lesson, it was usually something that went against who he was. And Harry, who never missed a chance of gaining the approval of his tyrannical guardian, always struggled during those moments, which would often lead to Harry running away. But it wouldn’t be that simple now that Regulus was being used as leverage.
Voldemort sighed, seeming to have caught on to Harry’s discomfort. “It’s alright, Harry. You don’t have to do anything, is that clear? You need only stay by my side and watch and learn.”
Harry hesitated. He was about to turn to Regulus as though seeking guidance when Voldemort extended an inviting arm, fixing Harry with a soft look that made him appear almost human-like, and it was enough to encourage Harry to leave Regulus’ side.
Voldemort wrapped a possessive arm around his ward and ushered him through the study’s door. It wasn’t long before Regulus heard a loud CRACK sound that indicated the disapparating of the two. That left Regulus alone with Inigan, the humongous white snake with the red patterns and most acid-like toxins that would happily kill him given the chance.
Seeing Harry being treated by the Darkest wizards with gentleness that was most likely only reserved for him never really set right for Regulus. Anytime he would so much as think of Voldemort being capable of loving anyone at all, he would remember why it was that he kept Harry for himself for so long after having the world believe he’d been burnt alive, as that had been the case for Harry’s muggle relatives.
If Voldemort had the capability to love at all, it would be only himself, so any shadow of affection directed toward Harry was only because he saw the Potter’s boy as an extension of himself.
That alone jeopardized Regulus’ long goal of destroying all horcruxes. He often contemplated killing himself since his one purpose of staying alive in this dystopian world was to put an end to it, and, well, that had been greatly compromised.
Regulus had been torn between doing the right thing and doing what he believed was the right thing. The right thing would be to resume his main goal in destroying all horcruxes which meant killing Harry. After all, what’s one life in exchange for many others? One good life. The problem was that it never felt like the right choice! Even if Regulus hadn’t grown fond of the boy, he would still be obligated to look after him, it’s the least Regulus owed his soulless brother for saving him from a terrible fate.
Now that both Harry and Voldemort were gone, he was about to set up to find a way to destroy the piece of soul residing in the boy’s scar without destroying the vessel in the process. The only problem was that Inigan’s sharp eyes never drifted away from Regulus, preventing him from doing anything that might appear suspicious for her to report to her master.
Regulus sighed as he made his way to the guest room he’d been staying in. Finding an alternate way to destroy a horcrux would be a lot more challenging than he realized.
Part II: Defiance
Is there even another horcrux left?
There were times that Regulus couldn’t look at harry without his chest tightening with a pang of helplessness, but that only motivated his search for a better solution to save everyone, and to save Harry.
Regulus had later on learned that the forest of which surrounded the residence was a work of magic. Before the trees, the local surroundings of the manor were known as the affluent muggle village of Little Hangleton. Evidently, the only building that didn’t get replaced by trees was the manor itself. Everything else was transfigured into large plants, effectively obscuring the manor. When Regulus asked the house elf if she knew the significance of the building, she had told him that she didn’t know much about it other than it used to be called the Riddle Manor.
Given the possible connection this place had with Voldemort’s past, Regulus couldn’t help but wonder if there had ever been horcruxes hidden here before he had begun his quest to destroy them. He considered the unlikely possibility that if there were any horcruxes left aside form Harry, then Voldemort surely wouldn’t hide two in the same location. Hence, Regulus gave up his search of a hypothetical horcrux inside the manor.
On the rare occasions where Inigan would accompany Voldemort and Harry during their time away, Regulus would only have the company of Tinky, the house elf. And unlike Inigan, she was not apprehensive about Regulus in the slightest. She even went out of her way to treat him as a guest and not hover over him as though he were a prisoner (which he was.) So, it did not take long for her to leave Regulus’ sight before he hurried to where he had hidden the ancient scrolls about soul magic.
Hours had passed and evening eventually came. And still, Regulus was busy searching for a solution to Harry’s problem. He hadn’t realized how fast time had gone by when he heard a commotion downstairs indicating the fireplace lighting up, a fireplace that was monitored, and therefore could not simply be assessable without the Dark lord’s knowledge of who and what goes where. But with time, Regulus had found a loophole that allowed him to acquire those ancient scrolls without anyone’s knowledge of them. With that optimistic view, he could only hope that he would also discover a loophole that would help him mortalize Voldemort without killing Harry.
Regulus quickly hid away all his search in the tiny back that was much wider in the inside than it was on the outside. He made sure to set the charms that would obscure the items inside should anyone ever suspected to find anything dubious there.
“Hi, Tinky!” He heard Harry’s voice coming from the hearth downstairs. “Sorry about the mess.”
“Hello, young master.” A squeaky voice replied.
Regulus listened carefully and counted the number of footsteps. No Voldemort.
He allowed himself a sigh of relief that ultimately gave way to cautiousness. It was never a good idea to let one’s guard down. Regulus and very few others hadn’t made it this far by lacking severe vigilance.
When Harry came upstairs to greet him, Regulus was almost surprised by the absence of Harry’s personal bodyguard. He eyed the hallways in an attempt to spot the beast that was probably lurking somewhere close by, but it was to no avail.
“Oh, she’s with Tom. He needed her for something.” Harry answered the unasked question.
Regulus raised a brow but made no comment.
What was Voldemort playing at? Leaving Harry and Regulus alone without the slightest supervision, just like that? Was he relying on Tinky to spy on Regulus? But no, that couldn’t be it. Was there an invisible Death Eater watching his every move? Was Voldemort here himself?
Regulus shook away those paranoid thoughts when he noticed how the boy had a tense air about him. Harry tried to hide his troubled look by putting on a cheery smile that could even trick Regulus into thinking that everything was fine, but the hair was a dead giveaway.
He had a tell, Harry did. He would run his hands through his hair when restless. A habit he doubtlessly inherited from his father. Except, James Potter would often mess up his already unruly hair on purpose during school years to look as though he just got off a broom, whereas Harry’s was more of an unconscious act done out of worry.
Whenever he saw Harry anxious it was usually because of the pride his guardian took in heinous acts of violence, to which Regulus had always done his absolute best to comfort Harry of what he’d witnessed afterward.
“What’s wrong?” Regulus asked.
“Hmm? Nothing’s wrong.”
Despite having his face schooled, Harry was still a teenager. Ad those were naturally amateur liars.
“Harry,” Regulus used an authoritative voice that was cultivated from generations of an ancient House that was no longer a noble one. But his was meant to sound mildly rebuking, which he failed at spectacularly, because Harry looked startled by the sudden harsh tone. Cursing mentally, Regulus tried to push away the cold edge from his voice to sound more understanding than condescending. “If something is bothering you, you can tell me. Even if you don’t want me to help in whatever it is that is troubling you, at least let me be there for you by listening.”
Harry appeared to be considering his words carefully.
“I don’t know where to start.” He said at last.
“That’s okay, Harry. How about I ask you some questions, and. . . you can answer whatever you want from them.”
Harry’s brows furrowed before he gave a hesitant nod. He had never been reluctant around Regulus. The boy was always happy to tell him everything—no matter how big or small—that goes on in his life, including things that his guardian would have normally objected to.
“Is it Tom?” Regulus started. “Did he ask you to do something you wished to be no part of?”
“No.” Harry shook his head as though in surprise at Regulus suggesting such a thing. “He hasn’t been making me do anything at all.”
“Alright then. . . is it something he’s done?”
“Not exactly, no.” Harry frowned, then seemed to come to a decision. “You know what, it’s nothing. I’m just being a baby.”
“Well, it can’t be nothing if it’s bothering you so.”
“It’s silly! I think.” He ran his hand through his hair.
Regulus raised his eyebrows expectantly.
The two stared at each other silently for a moment, one hoping the other would either cave in or drop it.
Eventually, it was Harry that caved in.
He took a deep, ragged breath and sighed. “Okay. . . okay. . .”
Regulus waited patiently.
“Someone from Tom’s, er, work is bothering me. There that’s all.”
“One of the Death Eaters? Who?” Regulus pushed, trying and failing to keep a calm demeanor.
“Yeah—no—I mean, I’m not really certain if he’s a Death Eater because I don’t reckon he has the Mark. But he does work for Tom. . . sort of.”
Regulus’ mind had narrowed it down, but he would rather Harry just tell him than keep him guessing. Harry seemed to pick up on that.
“It’s Greyback.” He blurted.
Regulus blinked once, and for a second his mind went blank before alarms went off.
“Are you hurt? Were you bitten?” He pulled Harry closer to him and started inspecting him for signs of scratches and bites.
Harry shook his head forcefully. “It’s nothing like that—see, I told you it’s stupid. I mean, it could be a lot worse—but it’s not. . ."
"Breath, Harry." Regulus held the boy's shoulders firmly with gentle care. Once Harry seemed to calm down, he said: "Tell me what happened."
"Tom had to attend to some private business I wasn't allowed to attend, so I was free to roam the headquarters as usual." Harry averted his gaze when saying his next words, his voice low but steady. "But then, he was there lurking there. . . again. . . I didn’t realize who it was at first. It was dark, and the smell—” Harry shuddered, his face twisting in disgust. “It was like, wet dog and blood. He just stepped out from the shadows, like he was waiting for me. He was grinning, his teeth. . .” Harry trailed off, instinctively touching his neck as though he could feel the phantom sensation of Greyback’s rancid breath on his skin.
It made Regulus’ stomach crawl. Was Voldemort aware of this? If this was a repeated occurrence as Harry seemed to imply, then he must know about it.
“I think he was only trying to scare me,” Harry said bitterly, though his voice trembled just slightly. “To remind me how much he enjoys... hunting.”
Regulus did his best to keep his rising temper from surfacing. He silently encouraged Harry to continue.
“He talked about the full moon, about how he’d have loved to have gotten to me when I was younger.” Harry’s fists clenched tightly. “He called it ‘breaking me in,’ like I’m some sort of toy.”
Regulus said nothing for a long time.
“But that’s it,” Harry shrugged in embarrassment, “nothing really happened.”
Regulus’s mind raced as Harry’s words sank in. Nothing really happened? That’s what Harry thought, but it wasn’t true—not to Regulus. Greyback’s actions, the deliberate cruelty, the sick pleasure in tormenting a child, were intolerable. Worse, it showed that Harry’s safety was being toyed with, and that was a line Regulus wasn’t willing to let anyone cross.
The moment Harry finished speaking, Regulus stood abruptly, his expression cold and resolute.
“Where are you going?” Harry asked, startled.
Regulus looked down at him, his gray eyes sharp. “I need to have a word with Tom.”
Harry paled. “What? No, Regulus, it’s fine. Really—it’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Regulus said firmly. “You may not realize it, but Greyback’s games aren’t harmless. They’re calculated, Harry. He’s testing boundaries, seeing how far he can push you.”
“But—”
“Enough,” Regulus said, softening his tone slightly when Harry flinched. “You deserve to feel safe, Harry. And if Tom won’t see reason, then I’ll remind him.”
Without waiting for a response, Regulus swept out of the room. His mind was alight with a combination of fury and careful planning. Confronting Voldemort wasn’t a decision to be made lightly, but Regulus wasn’t about to let Greyback’s vile behavior go unchecked. Harry had been through enough already—far too much for someone his age.
The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint green glow of the ever-burning flames in the fireplace. Voldemort sat in his high-backed chair, poring over ancient tomes, when Regulus entered unannounced. His black robes swept the floor behind him, his shoulders square as he approached.
Voldemort didn’t look up immediately, but his voice was like ice. “I trust you have a reason for interrupting me, traitor.”
“I do,” Regulus said evenly, though his heart was pounding. “It’s about Greyback.”
The Dark Lord’s unimpressed crimson eyes flicked up to meet Regulus’s. “What of him?”
“He’s been harassing Harry.”
For a moment, there was silence. Then Voldemort closed his book with a deliberate motion, the sound echoing ominously in the room. “Harassing?”
“Toying with him,” Regulus clarified, his voice firm despite the weight of Voldemort’s gaze. “Cornering him, making threats. It’s unacceptable.”
Voldemort rose from his chair, his movements smooth but predatory. He stepped closer to Regulus, his expression unreadable. “And you presume to tell me this because...?”
“Because Harry’s safety should be paramount,” Regulus said, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. “And because I doubt you’d tolerate one of your subordinates overstepping their bounds in such a way.”
The corners of Voldemort’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smirk, though there was no humor in it. “Greyback is a tool, Regulus. One that serves a purpose. He understands fear better than most.”
“Then perhaps you should remind him,” Regulus pressed, his tone edged with quiet defiance. “Harry isn’t a pawn to be terrorized for his amusement. Whatever purpose Greyback serves, it doesn’t include this.”
Voldemort studied him for a long, tense moment, and Regulus fought to keep his breathing steady. Regulus wished he could know what was going on inside the other’s head.
Finally, Voldemort spoke, his voice low but filled with menace. “I will speak with Greyback.”
The tension on Regulus’ shoulders lifted, as it did on the rare occasions where he found himself and Voldemort seeing eye-to-eye. They two might wish for nothing more than to stick a dagger on the other’s eye, but the one common ground they had was their lov—care for Harry.
Regulus knew that he couldn’t always count on that to ensure he and the Dark lord remain on civil terms, but it was something. The former Death Eater nodded once, curtly, and turned to leave.
“Regulus,” Voldemort’s voice stopped him at the door.
He turned back, his hand hovering near his wand just in case.
“Your concern is noted,” Voldemort said, eyes fixing him gravely. “But remember your place.”
Regulus inclined his head just enough to be respectful without seeming subservient. “Of course.”
As he walked away, he could feel Voldemort’s gaze on his back like a physical weight. But he didn’t falter. For Harry, he’d risk more than Voldemort’s ire. He’d risk everything.
Part III: Interference
A long time had passed since Regulus had been brought here. A week from now was Harry's birthday, and Regulus had wanted to plan a surprise for him with Tinky's help.
It had been over four hours since Voldemort had kept Harry were inside that home office, Regulus knew it was time to intervene. He requested Tinky to make him a cuppa before heading to the study to bother Voldemort and save Harry from being brainwashed.
“. . . you can realize your true potential, wield power beyond imagination." He could hear Voldemort's voice as he ascended the stairs. "You mustn’t let others—” Voldemort glanced briefly at the door as it creaked open. “—poison your mind with doubts.”
Before Harry could respond, in strolled Regulus. He carried a steaming cup of tea in one hand, his expression one of casual indifference.
“Am I interrupting?” Regulus asked lightly, his gray eyes dancing between the two. Without waiting for an answer, he plopped down in the chair next to Harry, setting his tea on the scroll Voldemort was obviously showing Harry. Inside, he was relishing the moment as he knew full well there was nothing Voldemort would do.
Voldemort’s lips thinned. “As a matter of fact, you are.”
“Good,” Regulus said cheerfully, ignoring the tension in the room. He turned to Harry. “Have you eaten? Tinky made treacle tart earlier. You’ve been looking a bit peaky lately.”
Harry blinked, the discomfort on his face giving way to cautious gratitude. “Uh, no, I haven’t.”
“Then you should. No one makes treacle tart like Tinky does,” Regulus said, his tone pointed as he leaned back, clearly settling in. He picked up the scroll from beneath his cup and frowned dramatically. “This thing again? You’ve been showing this to him for weeks, Tom. Boring the poor kid to death, are we?”
Voldemort’s gaze burned into Regulus like a brand. “This conversation does not concern you, Regulus.”
“Oh, but it does,” Regulus countered smoothly, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Harry’s well-being is my business, seeing as I’m stuck here with him. Can’t have you filling his head with all this—what’s the word?—nonsense.”
Harry’s mouth twitched as if suppressing a laugh, while Voldemort’s knuckles whitened against the armrests of his chair.
“Harry and I were discussing matters beyond your comprehension,” Voldemort said coldly, his patience clearly fraying. “Do not presume to meddle.”
“Meddle?” Regulus’s eyebrows shot up as if offended, though the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just here for moral support. Isn’t that right, Harry?”
Harry nodded hesitantly, though his expression softened with relief. Regulus gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, as if Voldemort’s irritation weren’t thick enough to cut with a knife.
“You may leave us now, Regulus,” Voldemort said, his voice dangerously soft.
“Oh, but I’m so comfortable,” Regulus replied bolding, feeling extra brave today as he stretched his legs out. “And Harry here looks like he could use a break. Don’t you agree, Harry?”
“Uh… yeah, I guess,” Harry said uncertainly, glancing between the two wizards.
Voldemort’s gaze flicked between Harry and Regulus, his fingers twitching as if yearning for his wand. Finally, his icy veneer cracked. With a flick of his hand, the map rolled itself up and floated to the side table.
“This discussion will continue later, child.” Voldemort said, his voice clipped as he swept from the room, his robes billowing behind him like an ominous storm cloud.
The door slammed shut, and silence filled the space. Regulus took a long sip of his tea before turning to Harry with a grin.
“Well, that went well.”
Harry couldn’t help it—he laughed, the tension draining from his shoulders. “You really enjoy annoying him, don’t you?”
Regulus leaned back with a satisfied smirk. “Someone has to, don't you think?”
Harry’s laughter faded, replaced by something softer—a flicker of trust. “Thanks, Regulus. For... you know.”
“Anytime, Harry,” Regulus said, his tone genuine now. “But seriously, let’s get that treacle tart before Tinky eats it all. Priorities, you know.”
IV: Harry’s 14th Birthday
Harry sat on the threadbare sofa on the end of July, fiddling with the hem of his oversized sleeve. Across from him, Regulus leaned against the armrest of an adjacent chair, scrutinizing the boy with quiet concern.
The extravagant birthday cake Regulus asked Tinky to bake sat in the middle, untouched. Come to think of it, Harry refused to eat anything at all today.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Regulus remarked, breaking the silence. “I thought birthdays were supposed to be, I don’t know, happy?”
Harry shrugged, finding the cake interesting to look at only if it meant avoiding his gaze. “Birthdays aren’t that big of a deal for me, usually.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Not a big deal? You’re fourteen, Harry. That’s something worth celebrating.”
Harry’s lips twitched into a weak smile before fading. “Tom’s not big on celebrations. Every year, he…” Harry trailed off, his expression darkening. “Never mind.”
Regulus stiffened. “No, no, no. You don’t get to ‘never mind’ me.” Those usually meant to hide something big. He leaned forward. “What happened last year?”
Harry hesitated, then sighed, as though the words were being dragged from him. “Each year, a new house-elf is brought in. The one who’s been here the year before would have to leave. . . I know it's Tinky's turn this year to go." Harry focused very hard on the cake's frosting. "Tom, he. . . made me watch while he... you know.”
Regulus froze, his chest tightening. He forced himself to take a calming breath. "He kills them?"
Harry nodded, still refusing to meet his gaze.
"Why?"
Harry scoffed. "Why do you think?" He finally looked up at Regulus, his expression twisted into a bitter smile. "He thinks me get attached to them is a sign of weakness."
The heavy tension in the room was suffocating. Voldemort stood by the ornate fireplace; his pale features illuminated by the flickering flames. His crimson eyes narrowed as Regulus Black entered without the usual deference his followers displayed. The audacity of the younger man was galling, but then again, it always had been.
“Regulus,” Voldemort drawled, his tone silk and steel. “You seem... agitated.”
Regulus crossed the room with measured strides, his wand conspicuously absent from his hand but never far from reach. His jaw was tight, and his usually pale face was flushed with barely contained anger.
“I need to talk to you,” Regulus said through gritted teeth, “about Harry.”
The Dark Lord’s expression flickered with brief amusement. “Ah, my ward. Has the boy caused trouble? Or is this another of your tedious attempts to shield him from my ‘corrupting influence’?” His lips curled into a cruel smirk. “It’s growing tiresome.”
Regulus ignored the jab, his fists clenching at his sides. “It’s about the way you treat him. Specifically, what you’ve done to him on his birthdays.” You monster!
Every time Regulus thinks he's heard the worst of Harry's treatment, Voldemort manages to one up him on that. Honestly!
Voldemort’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You dare question me about my treatment of my ward?”
“Yes, I do,” Regulus shot back, the words sharp. “You think forcing him to watch innocent creatures die year after year is some twisted form of a gift? It’s abhorrent.”
A heavy silence followed, thick with the promise of violence. Voldemort’s gaze turned to fire and ice, his amusement dissolving into cold fury.
“You overstep, Black,” he hissed, his voice laced with menace. “Harry is mine to mold as I see fit. He must learn the truths of this world—the strong survive, and the weak are disposable.”
“And you think turning him into a mirror of yourself is the answer?” Regulus retorted, his voice rising. “He's just a boy! Not some pawn in your deluded games!”
Voldemort’s wand was in his hand in an instant, faster than a snake striking. “Crucio.”
Pain wracked Regulus’s body, sharp and all-consuming, but he didn’t scream. He had learned long ago how to endure. The curse lasted several agonizing seconds before Voldemort lifted it, his face impassive as he watched Regulus sag slightly, his breaths coming in shallow pants.
“You forget your place,” Voldemort said coldly. “You exist here on my sufferance.”
Regulus straightened with effort, defiance blazing in his eyes despite the tremor in his limbs. “And you forget that Harry isn’t just your pawn. He’s a person. You don’t own him.”
Voldemort’s lip curled upward in mocking cruelty. “Except I do. In more ways than it meets the eye.”
“No,” Regulus said while still panting from the pain, even though he knew what Voldemort had meant. “Just stop. Stop forcing him to witness death. Stop treating him like he’s only worth something if he’s as cruel as you. If you want his loyalty, try earning it without breaking him.”
Voldemort’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “You think me weak enough to heed your pathetic moralizing? The boy must learn. Pain is the best teacher.”
“And yet,” Regulus countered, stepping closer, “he already doubts you. He sees through your manipulation more than you realize. Keep pushing him like this, and you’ll lose him completely, I promise you.”
That struck a nerve. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, his wand raising slightly, but this time, he hesitated. The tension between them crackled like a live wire.
“I see,” Voldemort finally said, his voice soft but venomous. “You think you can sow rebellion in my house? That I would allow such insolence to go unpunished?”
“Harry isn’t rebelling against you,” Regulus said evenly. Not yet. “But if you keep this up, you’ll force him to. And when that happens, even your power won’t bring him back.”
The silence that followed was oppressive. Voldemort’s wand lowered fractionally, though his expression remained thunderous.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Black,” he murmured, his tone icy. “Leave my sight now.”
Taking that as a good sign, Regulus turned and left the room without a word, his back straight and his heart pounding. He knew it was a small victory, but in a house ruled by his shadows, even the smallest flicker of light was worth fighting for.