The dark mark
The sitting room was quiet save for the rhythmic sound of a ball hitting the wall and flying back into Sirius’ outstretched hands.
It was the summer break of 1974 and Regulus was sitting upright in a large wingback chair trying to read a book spread across his lap. After his fifth attempt to comprehend the sentence he slammed it shut, a cloud of dust jumping from the edges of the old pages.
“Are you incapable of sitting still?” He snapped.
Sirius didn’t look up. He was sprawled across the ancient sofa, his feet dangling off the edge and the little red ball clenched between his fingertips. He tossed it out and it sailed through the air before bouncing off the wall and back into his hands.
Regulus rolled his eyes “idiot” he muttered and then glanced nervously at the door hoping his mother wouldn’t come in and see Sirius laying like that playing with some muggle toy. He could feel a headache pressing against the corners of his temples and he didn’t think that listening to another screaming match between Sirius and Walburga would help it at all.
He glanced down at his brother's outfit and the nervousness only increased. Dinner was in half an hour and he could already tell it would be a tense affair. “Must you dress like that?” He asked, tapping his fingers anxiously on the plush velvet arm of the chair.
Sirius tugged at the sleeve of his leather jacket and shrugged “I like this jacket.”
“It’s a muggle jacket, Sirius.”
Sirius rolled his eyes “oh really? He quipped “hadn’t noticed.”
“You’ll only make mother angry, I’m trying to help you -“
“Then do me a favour and shut up.”
A flicker of hurt flashed across Regulus’ face and Sirius looked pained as he pulled himself into a sitting position.
“Look Reg” he ran a hand through his long black hair, smoothing out the edges “do yourself a favour and stop living your life to please them.”
Regulus sat up straight his shoulders stiffening “I am a Black, Sirius, there are expectations and -“
“Oh fuck expectations. They don’t give a single damn about your happiness Regulus and if you have any sense you’ll stop giving a damn about theirs.”
They stared at each other for a moment but it was broken by the shout of Orion calling Regulus to his office.
“Don’t go,” Sirius whispered, sitting up suddenly. “We could leave, we could go somewhere, in muggle London. Have some fun - as, as brothers.”
Regulus hesitated and his hand twitched on the armchair towards his brother.
“Sirius I-“
“REGULUS” came Orion’s shout and he jumped, swallowing thickly.
“I can’t” he said finally and he stood up and began to hurry out of the room towards his father.
“Coward” Sirius muttered softly but Regulus heard it as clearly as if he’d shouted it. The word felt like it branded itself into his skin, rolled thickly over his tongue. He was a coward and he knew it.
Three years later in the summer of 1977, long after Sirius had left, Regulus thought of that moment again. His eyes burned with tears as Voldemort's wand seared itself into his skin and the dark mask bloomed across the pale expanse of his left forearm.
“Thank you, my lord,” he whispered. In the background Bellatrix was clapping “well done cousin, well done” she chanted but he hardly heard it. “Coward” Sirius' voice whispered in his mind over and over again.
“Can I see it?” Hermione asked in the present day, the same sitting room he’d once sat in with Sirius but twenty five years later.
Regulus hesitated. The dark mark burned into his skin was a point of deep shame for him. When he showered or undressed he tried not to look at it and he covered it with a glamour spell whenever he could.
Yet sometimes at night when he couldn’t sleep he’d stare at it in the low light. He’d stare at it until his vision grew hazy and his eyes would swim with an unfocused blur. He’d think about how much he hated it, this permanent reminder of the worst decision he’d ever made, etched into his skin for eternity. There was no reversal, no removal. This was his penance. To be forced to remember when all he wanted to do was forget and he thought that maybe he deserved that. Maybe he deserved much worse.
He wanted to say no, wanted to snatch his arm back and recoil from her. He wanted to flee from the house and hide but she was looking at him with those eyes. Soft dark eyes the colour of sienna firewhiskey, so open and kind and he steeled every scrap of courage he had to lay his arm out on the chair towards her.
She deserved this, he realised. This one thing she had asked of him. It was the least he could do for all of the understanding that she had shown him, all of the kindness and honesty despite the fact that she should have hated him for his past.
Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his long white sleeve and he shivered as he felt the warmth of her touch pushing it up.
Regulus closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see what her expression would be when she saw it. He heard the sharp intake of breath that she took and felt the featherlight pressure of her fingertips on his wrist.
“Can I?” she whispered and she didn’t sound disgusted or afraid, just hesitant so Regulus nodded.
Her touch was light enough to tickle but that wasn’t what made Regulus shiver. She was so gentle as she traced around the inky tattoo, the pads of her fingers swirling across the snake. No one had ever been so gentle with it before, with him before.
“I've only seen one up close once” she confessed and Regulus’ eyes flew open as the implications of her words began to sink in. There were very few situations where a girl like Hermione Granger would have seen a dark mark.
“Who?” He whispered and his voice cracked on the word.
She dropped his wrist and looked down at her lap, her eyebrows pinching together. “Bellatrix Lestrange…she - she tortured me at Malfoy manor, during the war.”
The silence was so thick that you could hear a pin drop. Regulus thought of his older cousin. When he was younger Bellatrix had seemed so intimidating to him, she was sure of herself, so assertive. Regulus wished that he’d been a little bit less of a coward. Perhaps if he’d been a little bit less afraid of her he’d have done something about it and she wouldn’t have been around to hurt Hermione.
“I’m sorry” he said softly and when he looked down at his dark mark he’d never hated it more.
She shook her head “not your fault” but the guilt twisted inside of him anyway.
There was silence once more until she looked up and met his eyes. He saw the hesitancy in them, the question she wanted to ask but wasn’t sure if she should. “W-what are these?” Hermione finally stammered out and he felt her fingertip gently trace the edges of the mark once more.
Regulus swallowed “scratch marks” he answered. All at once understanding and sympathy dawned in her eyes. There was no way to remove the dark mark but that didn’t mean that he hadn’t tried.
Carefully Regulus buttoned his sleeve back up and let his robe fall over it. “I’m going to bed” he told her and even though it was only 8pm she allowed him the privacy to go without questioning it.
————————
It was raining heavily, it had been raining heavily for over an hour but despite the rain Hermione made no moves towards the wrought iron gate that she stood outside of.
It was the sort of rain that poured, she could feel it pooling at the bottom of her trainers and settling into the fabric of her jeans. Her little umbrella kept her hair dry but the air was static and it was beginning to frizz out of control.
At times like these Hermione almost wished that she smoked. Something to take the edge off, maybe just something to do. Instead she stared, as she had been doing for the past half an hour, willing herself to go through the gate.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and she could smell the electricity of a storm. It was stifling but she breathed it in all the same, deep gulps of air that tasted like battery acid before she finally took a step forward and tapped her want against the iron.
The wrought iron loops melted away like smoke and suddenly she found herself in the garden of Malfoy Manor.
She surprised herself by thinking about how beautiful it was. The last time that Hermione had been at Malfoy manor she had been certain that she was going to die. She didn’t have time to inspect the Rose bushes or admire the peacocks strolling the yard. She didn’t see the beauty of the huge dark brick building with ivy climbing the sides of the walls and ornate stained glass decal on the windows. Now that she was here it struck her that the place was beautiful but that beauty couldn’t save it from the darkness.
She would never forget what had happened to her here. She felt her skin twitch as if recalling the spasms of pain from the cruciatus and she had to blink away tears as she forced herself forward.
Barely a moment after Hermione had knocked on the door it was swinging open.
“Granger” Draco Malfoy couldn’t have looked more surprised if he tried “to what do I owe the pleasure?”
She recognised the drawl of his voice but the forced causal tone sounded all wrong. During their schooldays Malfoy had always been sure of himself, arrogant and in control. The man before her tried to put on that facade but Hermione saw straight through it. Her eyes zoned in on the dark circles pressing into the skin under his eyes, on the stiff posture of his spine, on the nervous twitch of his left arm.
“Malfoy” she greeted “I’m here to ask a favour.”
Draco felt as though he would have been a fool to not be suspicious. He and Hermione Granger had never been friends. He’d been cruel to her and they had hated each other from the moment they had met. She was a war hero and he was a war criminal. Draco wasn’t an idiot; he knew that theoretically she could do anything she wanted to him and get away with it now that the public’s favour had turned towards her. He wanted to turn her away, the Slytherin in him screamed to put his self preservation first and slam the door shut.
But Hermione Granger was on his doorstep and she was a war hero. People were chomping at the bit to help her, she probably had people offering to tie her bloody shoelaces for Salazar's sake. Whatever she wanted it must be something that she could only get from him so curiosity winning out Draco swallowed his hesitation and stepped aside.
“Well, Granger, would you like to come in?”
The inside of Malfoy manor held traumatic memories for her and briefly Hermione contemplated turning around and abandoning the whole mission. Then Draco caught her eye and Hermione held her breath because, they have the same eyes, she realised. Draco’s stormy grey pools were the same shade as Regulus’ and she was catapulted back to that night in the parlour and the haunted look in them as he’d showed her his dark mark.
“Yes” she nodded, steeling her Gryffindor courage “I would like to come in, thank you.” She stepped over the threshold and disappeared into the manor's gloomy depths.