Slipfast
Though I've been worried tired for almost 10 years straight
Now I've got time to sit home alone and sing praise of the world I often hate
And I haven't felt right since that day
I met him publicly, he told me I was safe
But what's lost if I've never changed?
April 7th, 1977
The meeting is being held in the dimly lit, cavernous interior of some nasty, old, decrepit manor they had chosen. Shadows played along the walls as if alive and taunting him, flickering from the torches lining the wall. Regulus shifts uncomfortably in his seat, trying to avoid looking around and making eye contact with anyone else in attendance. This is his first Death Eater meeting, and though he had been eager for this—to see what it was like—the reality of the situation is a bit more boring than he anticipated. It’s basically a business meeting.
Rodolphus Lestrange stands at the head of the long table, looking all the part of a militant commander. Beside him, a series of parchment maps and detailed plans are spread out. Lestrange is explaining the intricacies of the raid scheduled for Easter Sunday, his words punctuated by harsh, clipped tones. Lucius and Bellatrix are absent, off on separate tasks for Voldemort.
“—and remember, the primary objective is to target the Ministry officials who have been advocating for Muggleborn rights,” Lestrange say, pointing at various locations on the map with his wand. His eyes scan the gathered group with a mixture of disdain and approval. “The plan is to strike as they leave their Easter brunch, a perfect opportunity when they’re least expecting it.”
Regulus tries to focus on the details, but his attention keeps wandering. Across the table, Percy Parkinson sits with an unreadable expression, fiddling with the mask he’s been given. Regulus has one as well now. They’re the only two initiates present who had not yet been formally accepted into the ranks of the Death Eaters, but they need to operate under the pretence of anonymity. Percy’s presence was a reminder of Bellatrix's idea, which Regulus was trying to keep at the back of his mind.
Rodolphus continues, detailing the roles of each participant. Regulus already inventoried who would be there—he had to in order to be successful. “Black, you’ll be handling one of the critical positions. Your task is to neutralise the security measures around the perimeter while the others handle the main targets. Make sure you’re swift and precise.”
Regulus nods, though his mind is already racing. He had read the details of the raid when Lucius sent them to him along with his invitation to this meeting, but being told this directly was different. More real.
Lestrange’s gaze shifts to Percy. “Parkinson, you’ll be on crowd control. Your job is to manage the civilians and ensure that no one escapes. This is crucial, as we cannot afford any witnesses.”
Percy’s face remains stoic as Rodolphus addresses him, but Regulus notices the slight tension in his jaw. He’s been quiet for the entirety of the meeting and Regulus has been waiting for something like this—a sign of weakness or fear.
The atmosphere of the room is palpable . Regulus can quite literally feel the sense of anticipation in the room, a collective breath held as the Death Eaters prepare for their task. Lestrange concludes the briefing with a curt nod. “Be ready. We strike at noon on Sunday. Ensure everything is in place before then.”
The room slowly empties as the others began to disperse, murmuring amongst themselves in low voices. Regulus lingers, his mind moving a mile a minute with the implications of the upcoming raid. He casts a glance at Percy, who is still gathering his things.
As the last of the Death Eaters leave, Regulus approaches Percy carefully. “Parkinson,” he greets, trying to keep his voice nonchalant.
Percy’s eyes meet his, and for a brief moment, Regulus sees something in them that mirrored his own inner unease. “We’ll do what we have to, Regulus,” Percy says quietly. “Just… keep your head down, and remember why we’re here.”
Regulus nods, but his gut twists. He knows it wasn’t himself who needed reassurance at this moment. Regulus knew what he had to do. It would be Percy who needed support when the raid came.
The night is eerily quiet as Regulus makes his way back to his portkey, the only sounds being the distant hum of the city and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. He knew that come Sunday, he would be a different person. It would bring him closer to his goal, the watch had assured him of that, but at what cost?
As he mulls over the raid, Regulus only hopes that when the time comes, he'll find the strength to follow through, even as he grapples with the possibility of facing Fleamont Potter in the midst of the chaos.
—
Regulus sits quietly, his eyes flitting across the people sitting at the table around him. Pandora sits across from him, a glint of amusement in her eyes. Walburga and Orion are in negotiations with her parents, Aurelius and Cassandra, and have been for close to an hour now. Regulus has been in the process of stifling a yawn for the entirety of it.
The conversation started with polite inquiries about recent developments. Pandora forced a smile as she asked Regulus about his Easter break so far, her tone bright but distant. Regulus, nervously adjusting his fork, responded in vague terms, not directly referencing his trainings, his conversations with Bellatrix, Lucius, or Narcissa, and definitely not his meeting with the Death Eaters the night before. Knowing Pandora, she already knows about it all anyway.
Then, his mother interjects with a question that was finally directed toward one of them. “Pandora, you know how pleased we are with this match. It’s wonderful to see such dedication to tradition. Have you thought about how soon you might be ready to start a family of your own?” Her eyes glint with a mix of expectation and scrutiny, one typically reserved for Regulus and Sirius.
Orion nods in agreement, his expression stern but approving. “Indeed. Ensuring the continuation of the family line is crucial and deeply important to the House of Black. How many children would you like, Pandora?”
Regulus practically chokes on his water, but Pandora remains unphased. She was trained for this kind of thing after all. “Of course,” Pandora smiles demurely. “I would like at least three children. I grew up as an only child and wish that I had siblings. I do not wish for my children to grow up alone. That being said, I am willing to have as many children as needed until Regulus and I have a suitable heir.”
“Pandora will be an amazing mother,” Pandora’s mother smiles, looking at her daughter. “She’s incredibly nurturing. It’s something she’s always wanted. It would be her honour to bear the heirs to the House of Black.”
Pandora’s father shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Yes, she will be. However, I must admit, I have some concerns about Pandora’s future in all this. Regulus is not yet a Death Eater, but I assume he has plans to be. I fear she might be drawn into their mess. It’s a noble cause, of course, but it’s a dangerous path. You can understand my worries. She is my only child.”
Orion Black, his tone reassuring and genuine, responds, “Rest assured, Aurelius. Pandora’s role as the Lady of the House will be primarily to bear children for the noble House of Black and maintain the beauty and sanctity of her shared home with Regulus. She will not be involved in the more dangerous aspects of the Death Eaters’ activities. Regulus will keep her safe, as will the entirety of the Black family.”
Pandora speaks then, changing the subject. “I must say, I’ve been so pleased with the recent union of Lucius and Narcissa. It’s such a fine match, don’t you think, Walburga?”
Walburga smiles, clearly proud. “Indeed. Lucius and Narcissa make a splendid couple. Their marriage has been a great asset to both families.”
“It’s true. Lucius is a fine young man, and Narcissa is a lovely addition to the family,” Cassandra agrees, smiling. “It has been a pleasure to see the couple they have become. Pandora and Regulus will be no different, I’m sure.”
The three women turned to look at Regulus, clearly expectant. Pandora stifles a laugh as Regulus realises he’s expected to say something in response. “Oh—yes, their marriage has been very successful.”
Pandora grins at him. “I’m sure everything will work out in time.”
“I suppose that’s all for today,” Orion says, warmly. “Seeing as it is anticipated to be a long betrothal—as they are not of age—I believe it is safe to announce the betrothal in The Prophet this week. Typically, there is a courting period, but I believe Regulus and Pandora may have been doing that already.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Are we in agreement?”
“Yes,” Aurelius responds. He rises, extending a hand to shake Orion’s. “I must say, Orion, I’m happy to join families with you. It will be beneficial to us all.”
“Mother,” Pandora questions, politely. “May I show Regulus the garden before he leaves?”
“Walburga, Orion, is that all right?” Cassandra asks, looking at Regulus' parents. “It’s beautiful this time of year.”
“Of course,” Walburga replies pleasantly as Orion nods beside her, his eyes warm as he gazes at the two of them. “You can use the Floo to return home, Regulus. We’ll see you there.”
Pandora smiles widely, her white teeth and blonde hair shining under the light of the dining room. Regulus quirks an eyebrow at her. You’d think she was actually happy about all of this happening.
“Come, Regulus,” Pandora loops her arm in Regulus’. “Goodbye, Walburga and Orion. As always, it was a pleasure to see the two of you. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon.”
Walburga and Orion smile at her, clearly pleased. The way they are looking at Regulus is one of pure satisfaction and pride—something he’d never receive from them in sincerity. He watches them leave before quietly following Pandora outside.
“Fucking hell,” Regulus groans once they’re far enough in the maze-like rose garden of Pandora’s family’s estate. “That was torture.”
“Curious,” Pandora hums. “For you to say that, considering you’ve actually been tortured before.”
Regulus huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You can’t be too pleased about this. You don’t want this—me—as your husband.”
“I don’t want a husband at all,” Pandora gives him a knowing look. “But if I had to have one, you’d probably be the best option. Besides, I have this ridiculous ring now. Can’t beat some nice jewelry, can you? Anyway, I’m the one who should be unhappy about all of this. My soon-to-be husband is gay and his mum is the definition of a monster-in-law.”
Regulus chuckles, glancing down. Pandora is still wiggling her hand, an enormous engagement ring sparkling on her finger. He makes a face. “Careful, I’m pretty sure my parents had to hire twelve different cursebreakers for that thing before letting me give it to you.”
“Even better,” Pandora grins. Her smile fades and she tilts her head at Regulus. “Are you ready?”
Regulus furrows his brow before looking away. “For which part?”
“All of it,” Pandora says, simply. “Marriage, children, murder…”
Regulus turns back to her sharply. “What have you seen?”
Pandora frowns. “Bits and pieces. You’re successful and it is necessary, but it’s not going to be easy on you. Obviously, it will be the worst for Percy, but he would have become a problem later, as well. I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but…”
Regulus swallows thickly. “I figured as much. It was Bellatrix’s idea, but the watch burned when she proposed it.”
“It knows,” Pandora nods.
“And...” Regulus hesitates. “The whole marriage and children thing—how does that go?”
“Don’t worry about it, Regulus,” Pandora reassures him, patting his arm that is still looped around hers. “I’d worry more about James. He’s not going to like that announcement very much. I’m sure our friends will have quite a bit to say as well.”
“Yes, well, hopefully they’re all smart enough to recognize it’s a farce.”
Pandora hums again, thoughtful.
“Anyway,” Regulus starts. “It doesn’t matter how he feels, whether he’s upset or not. Lucius is onto me—he questioned me about my…sexuality. He made sure to threaten me as he did. Even if I hadn't broken up with James already, I would now.”
“He did what?” Pandora questions, sharply. “When?”
“Earlier this week,” Regulus shakes his head. “Said some shit about me being a defective heir and knowing I was probably off fucking a mudblood while I was away from home. He said he heard it from someone at the raid in February.”
“He’s so vile,” Pandora hisses. “I can’t believe I’m related to him—and I absolutely loathe that we look so alike. It’s awful.”
“You’re much prettier,” Regulus offers with a small smile. When Pandora scoffs, he continues, “And anyway, you’re preaching to the choir, or whatever that Muggle saying is. Bellatrix and Walburga are practically my twins.”
“Ah, the plight of the only sound-minded pureblood heirs in all of Great Britain,” Pandora sighs, exaggeratedly. “It’s so hard to be us.”
“It is,” Regulus agrees, but his tone is serious. It is hard to be them. He’s a bit worried to be honest. To announce his betrothal to Pandora, that is.
He knows that earlier this year, her family wanted nothing to do with the war effort. He’s not sure what changed or why they’re so willing to put Pandora and her abilities in harm’s way, but maybe they believe she will be safer this way, under the protection of one of the Dark Lord’s most valued families. As her husband, it will be his responsibility to take care of her and keep her safe, after all. Obviously, they trust Regulus with that.
He’s not sure why they would. All he sees when he looks in the mirror is a pitiful, bitter face staring back at him. Nothing about him suggests that he’d be an ideal husband.
He’s not even a good person. Surely they can see that when they look at him.
—
The Daily Prophet
April 9th, 1977
Regulus Black and Pandora Malfoy: This time, Pandora’s Box Held an Engagement Ring!
[Pictured: Regulus Black and Pandora Malfoy spotted leaving Diagon Alley’s hottest fine dining restaurant, La Chouette. Miss Malfoy is sporting a seven-carat diamond ring studded with emeralds.]
In a sensational announcement that has sent ripples of excitement and broken the hearts of many young witches through the wizarding world, it has been confirmed that Regulus Black, heir to the esteemed House of Black, is to be betrothed to the gorgeous and charming Pandora Malfoy. This union, long rumoured but now officially declared, is set to be the most dazzling social event of the season—when it happens. The two lovebirds are yet to come of age, so their wedding will not occur until at least next year. However, they’re more than ready to begin life as a married couple, according to close sources.
Regulus Black, known for his strikingly good looks, high intelligence, and impeccable lineage, has captured the hearts of many with his undeniable charisma and noble bearing. As the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Regulus embodies both the humility and strength that has long defined his illustrious family. His charm is rivalled only by the elegance and warmth of his future bride, Pandora Malfoy.
Pandora, the radiant daughter of the prominent Malfoy family’s Aurelius and Cassandra Malfoy, has long been admired for her beauty and grace. Her warmth and refined manners have made her a beloved figure in high society. The match with Regulus has been hailed as a perfect alignment of two of the most prestigious and admired families in the wizarding world.
The announcement of their betrothal has been met with widespread enthusiasm. Sources close to the couple describe their relationship as one of “unmatched affection and understanding,” a sentiment echoed by the couple themselves in their latest public appearance. It seems that their love story is nothing short of a fairy tale, a true testament to the magic of romance in the wizarding world.
Another source close to the couple tells The Prophet, “Pandora and Regulus have been in love for a long time now. It’s rare to see one without the other and they absolutely dote on each other. Regulus is known for his stoic nature, and it’s only ever been Pandora who has accomplished bringing him out of that state. It’s inspiring for many young Purebloods to see that both love and tradition can be achieved through marriage.” Wow, what a dream! This power couple is sure to dominate wizarding society once their marriage is official.
Lucius Malfoy, cousin of Pandora, close friend to Regulus, and wife to Narcissa Malfoy (née Black), has shared his thoughts on the engagement. "I am thrilled to see Pandora and Regulus together," he said. "This union has been a long time in the making, and I take partial responsibility for it. I have known Regulus since he was a child and have always admired his character and dedication. Pandora and Regulus are not only perfectly matched in their virtues but also in their shared vision for the future." Malfoy continued, “The wedding, whenever it takes place, promises to be an event of unparalleled grandeur. We anticipate it will be the highlight of the upcoming social calendar, an affair that will set the standard for all future gatherings.”
It’s said that both families are overjoyed by this betrothal. Walburga Black is absolutely enamoured with her soon-to-be daughter-in-law and the entire Malfoy family is just about as head over heels in love with Regulus as Pandora is.
As anticipation builds, the magical community eagerly awaits the details of this extraordinary event. One thing is certain: the wedding of Regulus Black and Pandora Malfoy will be a spectacular celebration of love, prestige, and the enduring elegance of wizarding high society.
—
Dear Regulus,
You bloody fucking idiotI hope this letter finds you in better spirits than that bloody article suggests. I have to admit, I was at a (rare) loss for words when I heard about your family's latest stroke of genius—arranging your marriage to Pandora. I never saw you as the marrying type and definitely not to Dora, but hey, whatever gets you off, I guess.
Although… If I didn’t know better, I’d think your mother was attempting to win a Merlin First Class for the most creatively misguided matchmaking effort in recent memory. I half expected to see a photo of you posing with a pair of novelty handcuffs and a "Best Husband" sash on the next page of The Prophet.
Anyway. I love Pandora, you know this. I love you, you know this. However, I still feel obligated to ask the question: what the actual fuck?
Seriously, Reg, what the fuck is this? This article is absolutely fucking ridiculous—I can’t believe you were okay with it. Are they torturing you over there again? Or did they give you the option of torture or marriage?
I understand that your family’s plans are less about your happiness and more about securing their own version of a perfect little fairytale in the form of blood purity and heirs, but this is something else. Don’t expect me to start knitting baby blankets in my spare time. Although, I will offer my services for the Stag Do. Don’t let Ev do it—it’ll be far too stuffy and we both know it.
On a more serious note, I want you to know that I’m worried about you. I haven’t gotten any post from you this break and now this? And while I’m no expert in matters of the heart (or lack thereof), I do know that this isn’t what you want. Is there really no delaying marriage?
I know you aren’t one of for affection, but I need you to know that I care about you more than I can express in a few stupid scribbled lines. I hope you’re doing okay. I know your mum is sceptical of my dad, but if she lets you out of that wretched house and says you can see me, I’ll be there. Just say the word.
Seeing as that’s highly unlikely, I leave you with this: see you at school, hubby.
Yours in utter confusion and outrage,
Barty
*
Dear Regulus,
I hope this letter finds you well, though I understand that’s likely a relative term given the circumstances. I was rather surprised to hear of your betrothal to Pandora, considering none of your previous letters hinted to it. Despite this, I wanted to extend my congratulations.
I can’t help but be concerned about you even with such joyous news being announced. I’ve known you long enough to be aware that your interests and inclinations do not align with such a young marriage. It seems to be a mismatch that goes beyond mere inconvenience—it touches upon fundamental aspects of who you are.
I know this situation must be weighing heavily on you. It’s one thing to face the pressures of our world, but it’s another to confront the expectations placed upon you in your personal life. Being forced into a situation where your goals and your happiness are secondary to family honour is a difficult and distressing reality. Maybe you can remind your parents of the youth of both yourself and Pandora, as well as your grand aspirations for the future. It may be hard to achieve them while you have a wife, and soon enough children, at home.
I understand the complexities of our world and the responsibilities we must fulfill, but I also recognize the personal cost of such expectations. I’d love to see you before break ends, if possible.
Take care of yourself, Regulus.
Yours sincerely,
Evan Rosier
*
Dear Regulus,
I saw The Prophet article. It was rather surprising, if I’m being honest, but I will say that I’m happy for the two of you.
I know that you’re likely preoccupied during break, but if you have time to meet before we return to Hogwarts, let me know. I hope your return home has been everything you hoped it to be.
Congratulations on your engagement. I’ll see you soon.
Best,
Dorcas
—
Regulus audibly groans, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sets down the final letter from Dorcas. They arrived in quick succession, one after the other. It seems that only Dorcas and Evan remembered that Walburga has a tendency to check his post, but Barty didn’t say anything too crazy. The torture comment was a bit much, but whatever. He’ll burn the letter. Evan on the other hand seemed to remember clearly, seeing as his letter barely sounded like him.
Regulus isn’t sure if he’s going to dignify any of them with responses. He’s going to see them in just a few days and he’s got more than enough to deal with. Hopefully they refer to Pandora instead of badgering him.
Bullshit and jokes aside, one thing that Barty said is true. The article is fucking ridiculous. Absolute tabloid garbage, and his mother is ecstatic about it. He glances at the cover of The Prophet, particularly the photo of him and Pandora leaving La Chouette. He grimaces as he watches it in a perpetual loop. They look rather convincing really. They’re walking down the steps of the restaurant and Pandora’s hand in his. Her ring glints with the flash of cameras as she looks up at him and smiles warmly. Regulus is smiling down at her, his eyes warm.
He didn’t even know he could look like that. He didn’t know he was looking at her like that when the picture was taken. They look rather good together, to be honest. It’s a good picture, which somehow makes it all worse. His black hair is somehow a perfect complement to the white of Pandora’s. They look like yin and yang—perfectly opposite to the point that they balance each other out. There’s something unsettling about it as well—they look like children playing house.
If things were different, Regulus would probably be pleased with this arrangement. He always knew he’d have to get married and he would have just been happy to be with someone who understands him, like Pandora.
He pushes the article and the letters away from him and resists the urge to find a different piece of parchment that he knows is hidden deep in his trunk, folded up, and easy to miss.
Things aren’t different. He knows it’s not going to work and not for the reasons he wishes. Obviously, not. He knows it isn’t real and it won’t be forever—if they get married at all. He knows this. Pandora knows this. Even with their concerned letters taken into consideration, it’s likely that Barty, Evan, and Dorcas know this as well.
James doesn’t.
—
Easter Sunday, 1977
The April sun shines in a rare blue London sky. There’s something ironic about it being such a beautiful day this Easter Sunday. They had just left the manor they met in previously and were standing on the outskirts of wizarding London. The Muggleborn Advancement Easter luncheon had taken place at a popular restaurant near Diagon Alley. As far as the Death Eaters are aware, this is a minimal security event—just a few rookie Aurors stationed around the perimeter. It should have been on the ministry’s radar for heavy protection, considering the current political climate, but the minister continues to turn a blind eye to the truth. The wizarding world is at war.
Regulus stands in the shadows eyeing the Aurors present, his heart surprisingly calm in his chest, thanks to a strong dose of Draught of Peace that he had brewed while spending time with Slughorn at school.
Regulus tightens his grip on his wand. He has to neutralise them. He isn’t exactly sure what that means, but no one said he had to kill them all, so he really just needs to shoot a few strong stupefys and move on.
Suddenly, there’s a blast of red sparks in the air, signalling that it’s time for Regulus to neutralise the security measures. He pulls his mask down over his face and casts a quick disillusionment spell before stalking toward the Aurors.
They’re all young. Clearly new recruits and fresh out training. They stand together, clearly happy to have reached the end of the shift, as they’ve all congregated in one spot and are talking and laughing. Probably planning a trip to the pub this week. They’re stupid. Moody’s constant vigilance rings in Regulus’ ears. He’s sure they’ve heard it before too, seeing as Moody has likely trained them. They didn’t pay attention to that, obviously. They’re unprepared for Regulus, which is good for him, but bad for them.
Regulus casts the spell in quick succession, taking out half of them in seconds. They drop to the floors like puppets whose strings have been cut. The other three cry out in panic, whipping out their wands and spinning around, trying to find the source of the attack. Regulus is quicker than they are and hidden behind his spell, so he takes them out with ease, hitting two of the three in the back. None of them even have the chance to cast a spell in his direction.
Only minutes after all six Aurors are on the ground, people begin to mill out of the building and at least a dozen of the initial Death Eaters apparate into the crowd. Sooner than Regulus was expecting, the air is thick with the smell of charred wood and the acrid stench of magical explosions. Brunch attendees dart through the smoke, their wands flashing as they cast spells. Regulus ducks into a corner alley, his nerves fraying with every passing second. He hasn’t cast a spell since he attacked the Aurors and he isn’t planning to until it’s absolutely necessary. He’s searching the crowd for two people. One to keep safe and one to kill.
Sounds of shattering glass and the screams of the panicked brunch-goers fill his ears, along with the cracks of apparition as Aurors begin to arrive on the scene. Regulus fights to focus, to remember his training, but his thoughts keep drifting. He knows Monty is likely here—he’s on the board of the organization that hosted the brunch. In the worst case scenario, Effie accompanied him.
He told himself that if he saw Monty and Effie, he would blow his cover in an instant. He knows it’s idiotic, but he can’t let something happen to them, can’t let James go through that. He doesn’t know when he became the resident parent-saver of his friends, but here he was, ready to throw away everything for his ex-boyfriend’s family.
A sudden burst of light illuminates the area, followed by a powerful wave of magic. Regulus ducks, feeling the rush of air as a spell flies past him. He catches a glimpse of Percy struggling to defend himself, his eyes behind his mask clearly panicked.
He needs to act, to do what he needs to do, but the fear of being caught claws at him. He casts a shield charm just in time to block another incoming spell, the protective barrier crackling with energy. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts, as he gets closer to Percy. Regulus comes from behind him, letting go of his disillusionment charm, and shoots a spell at the man fighting Percy, blasting him into the brick wall behind him.
They’re alone in the alley now, but through the swirling smoke, Regulus spots Monty moving with surprising agility, casting spells left and right as he helps a group of people toward safety. Regulus’ heart aches at the sight. He wants to shout out, to run to him, to beg him to take him with him, but he can’t. Not now. Probably not ever.
“Thanks, Regulus,” Percy pants, snapping Regulus out of his reverie. “I owe you for that one.”
The battle roars around him, and Regulus feels the weight of his decision pressing down on him with unbearable force after seeing Monty. Monty, an extension of James. Monty, a pinnacle of safety and peace in Regulus’ life. Monty, who gave Sirius and Regulus a second chance and would probably give Regulus a third and a fourth if he needed to.
As he raises his wand, his thoughts spin in a whirl of dread, beating out the potion he took earlier. If he fails to kill Percy, will everything he’s given up to get here be meaningless? If he does, will he ever forgive himself for the blood on his hands? Will Monty forgive him?
With a final, shuddering breath, Regulus braces himself. He’s destined to lose himself to this war.
“I’m sorry, Percy,” Regulus says, and he means it. He really is sorry, especially when he sees the boy’s eyebrows furrow in confusion underneath his mask. He’s even sorrier when he disarms him and Percy’s expression turns to one of fear and uncertainty. Percy is barely older than him. He’s a child pulled into war by adults who can’t seem to fight it on their own, just like Regulus. It’s not fair that they’ve gotten tied up in all of this. Percy’s family is just as bad as Regulus’. Who knows how much he really wants to be Voldemort’s pet anyway.
It doesn’t matter what Percy wants. Regulus isn’t going to draw it out and he doesn’t think he can listen to him beg for mercy.
Percy is going to die anyway and it’s going to be his own wand that casts the final blow.
“ Avada Kedavra.”
—
Regulus sits alone in his room, staring at the bulletin board above his desk as he fiddles with the ring on his finger. Percy’s death replays in his mind with unrelenting clarity, each bit of the memory a sharp knife twisting in his gut, cutting further into him. He felt it—something deep inside of himself twist and break off when he killed him. He always thought it was figurative when people spoke or wrote about murder and the way it ruins people, but he knows now that it’s real. He expected to be beside himself with guilt, maybe get sick again like he had after torturing the woman at the raid in February, but nothing like that had happened. He watched the light go out of Percy’s eyes and stared as his body dropped to the floor with deafening finality, and he felt nothing. Nothing but that crack and twist. Once that passed, the shock of it causing Regulus to gasp and clutch his stomach as he stumbled backward, all he felt was a sense of numbness wash over him.
Percy didn’t deserve it. No matter what might have become of him later, he didn’t deserve to die at 18 at the hands of someone he likely considered a friend. He deserved to grow up, even if it meant he’d grow up to be Voldemort’s right hand. He deserved to live, didn’t he? It wasn’t fair for Regulus to play God and take that away from him, was it? Regulus didn’t let him die with diginity. He didn’t let Percy fight back. He didn’t even leave his wand intact afterward—he snapped it in half once he was done casting the killing spell. Percy didn’t deserve that, did he?
Regulus isn’t so sure anymore. He doesn’t know if he cares to find an answer.
He turns, staring at his reflection in the mirror, his own eyes looking back at him with that same sense of numbness. There aren’t dark circles or tears welling. There’s just Regulus, the same as usual, looking back at him. The image seems foreign, the once-clear lines of his conscience now blurred and twisted by his actions. How had he become this person, capable of such cold brutality? Had it always been there? Would he have always found his way to it, somewhere, somehow? The realization and the questions should be a crushing blow, but it isn’t. He feels…a newfound resolve instead. There’s no undoing what he did; the act was irrevocable, an indelible mark on his path forward, but a way forward nonetheless.
Yet, amidst the fog of nothingness, a different feeling is rising as well. Swirling and shifting and taking shape. He can feel it growing, a coldness taking root where once there had been warmth of his own. The terror and remorse that he should be feeling is absent, replaced by the clarity of his emptiness. He can see now, with a stark and unsettling certainty, that things had really, truly changed for him. He crossed a threshold in which there was no going back. He could never bring Percy back. He could never change what he did. And he knew he’d have to do it again.
Regulus took a deep breath, still watching himself in the mirror. He can see his path with a clearer vision—even as the faces of James, Sirius, and his friends flash in his mind. Would he tell them? Would they know immediately, once it hit the Prophet that there had been a raid and Percy Parkinson had died that it had been Regulus responsible?
It didn’t really matter anyway. Tomorrow, he’ll meet Voldemort for the first time. Lucius and his parents informed him of this only hours after he’d returned from the raid. In a way he was expecting it, but now that it’s actually happening he’s unsure. It hasn’t really sunk in yet, but he felt a grim sense of preparedness somehow. He has a feeling that this meeting is likely more than an introduction, considering Percy’s death. His parents hadn’t mentioned it, but he could see the strain behind his mother’s eyes as she informed him of the Dark Lord’s request to meet him.
Regulus knows this meeting isn’t just a checkmark on the wartime goal sheet. It’s a crucial moment on the larger scale of things to understand and ultimately defeat the Voldemort. He knows he has to please and impress him to get further. He’ll have to grovel and show a version of himself typically reserved for his parents. It’s fine, though. At least he’s been practicing for it his whole life, even if he didn’t realise it.
In the silence of his room, the finality of things seeps deeper into his bones. There have been so many moments he believed he couldn’t come back from, but this is probably the real one. He’d done something evil, something beyond his previous conception, and he’d hardly blinked as he did.
Regulus was no longer the spare—someone simplified down to a baby brother and the youngest son. He wasn’t someone to blend into the shadows, keeping his head down whenever possible. He wasn’t someone who hesitated out of fear and consequence. He was no longer an afterthought or a back-up plan.
He was Regulus Arcturus Black, second of his name, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He was a spy. He was practically a Death Eater—it was so close that he could practically feel his forearm burning already. He was a murderer. None of these things could be altered or erased from the story of who he is. They were branded into his history—his legacy—and he’d have to learn to live, and die, with that truth.
The next step is clear: to meet Voldemort, understand his weaknesses, and prepare to bring about his downfall. For these next few hours, all that Regulus is allowed is the opportunity to face the darkness he found within himself. He’s used to that too, the darkness. The only difference this time is that he can’t see the stars anymore.
—
“You will do well, mon chou ,” Orion murmurs, his hand tight on Regulus’ shoulder.
Regulus doesn’t respond. He nods, staring ahead. The shadows seem to grow longer in the dimly lit hallway as he and his father move forward. He’s known this corridor his entire life, but in this moment, it feels longer than it ever has before. Sooner than he anticipated, they reach the drawing room door.
“Ta mère et moi serons à l'étage quand tu auras fini. Venez nous voir ensuite. Tu comprends, mon chou?”
Regulus looks up at his father. It was a nervous tic of his, speaking in French like this, the native tongue of his childhood coming back in moments of vulnerability. Regulus meets his father’s eyes and nods again. “Oui, papa, je comprends.”
Regulus moves forward, reaching for the doorknob, but Orion grabs his hand, his grip tight. Regulus looks at him again, startled.
Orion scans Regulus’ face, his eyes strained. He leans in closer to Regulus, his voice quiet. “Sois fort, Regulus. Vous ne pouvez pas montrer de faiblesse, pas avec lui. Soyez une étoile et courageux.” Orion hesitates before leaning in close to Regulus’ ear. “Empruntez-le à Sirius, si vous en avez besoin. Il est avec toi."
Regulus goes rigid, the mention of his brother at a time like this throwing him off his kilter. He pulls back to face his father again, his heart rate rising. He must be quite worried to say something like that. It makes Regulus uneasy in return.
“Good luck, Regulus,” Orion inclines his head, offering him a close-lipped smile. “You will make us proud. You always have.”
He turns on his heel and leaves. Regulus swallows harshly, staring down at the doorknob in front of him. Somehow, he can feel that he’s inside there. It’s like this floor of Grimmauld Place is colder than the rest of it. Steeling himself, he opens the door and steps inside, closing the door with a click behind him.
Voldemort sits in one of the armchairs in the room, clearly waiting for Regulus.
Regulus straightens immediately. Voldemort’s sharp eyes glow eerily in the low light, watching him predatorily. Despite himself, Regulus takes notice of the man’s looks. He’s handsome, likely somewhere around his late thirties or early forties. Despite the undeniable attractiveness of him, there’s some unsettling about him. Something inhuman.
“Regulus Arcturus Black,” Voldemort greets, his voice surprisingly high-pitched and devoid of warmth. “Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black…”
“My Lord,” Regulus bows. “It is an honour to meet you.”
“I’ve been waiting to meet you for some time now, Regulus,” Voldemort admits. “However, I did not think it would be under circumstances of this nature, I must confess. Especially after your…adventure this past summer. Although, I have decided to leave that in the past, for now. You have once again proved yourself useful in a raid for our cause.”
Regulus nods, unable to meet Voldemort’s gaze directly. There’s something suffocating about his attention. “Yes, my Lord.”
“Sit,” Voldemort’s voice is a chilling whisper, carrying an edge of menace. Regulus takes a seat at the long, obsidian table, his movements deliberate and composed, though his heart races.
“So,” Voldemort begins, his voice low, “I see you have returned to your family after your little escapade with the Potters last summer. How quaint. I trust you have found your way back into their good graces?”
Regulus nearly stiffens at the mention of the Potters, but resists. “Yes, my Lord. I returned home, and I am working to prove myself to my family and to you.”
Voldemort’s lip curls in disdain. “Proving yourself. How admirable. Tell me, Regulus, what led you to abandon your family and seek refuge with those of such low status and values?”
Regulus is quiet before responding, focusing on his breathing. “It was a mistake, my lord. I went to the Potters out of desperation and confusion, but I have returned, and I am committed to earning back your trust and my place within our ranks.”
Voldemort’s gaze hardens. “Earning back trust. Your absence at your family home and your residence at the Potter's have not gone unnoticed. Many have doubted your loyalty, questioning whether you were worth the effort. They saw your retreat as a sign of weakness, a failure to uphold our cause. Including myself.”
Regulus looks up slowly, unsure what the man is going to do or say next.
Voldemort’s eyes narrow, and he stands from his seat before stepping closer, his gaze piercing through Regulus as if searching for something. “And yet, I have granted you multiple opportunities to come back into the fold and prove yourself, as you said. And somehow, in spite of what I expected, you have continued to succeed. You were tasked with a critical role yesterday. You accomplished it, and yet, pureblood lives were lost. Tragedy has ensued for our side. You were the last to see Percy Parkinson alive. Now explain to me how the boy was killed.”
Regulus swallows hard, his throat dry. He keeps his mind blank. “I followed the orders, my Lord. I was assigned to handle the security measures. I did this with ease. Afterward, I saw Parkinson dueling a civilian. I approached, hoping to aid him, but I wasn’t quick enough. He was killed.”
Voldemort’s face remains expressionless, but his tone is sharp. “Dueling a civilian? I’ve overseen Parkinson’s training myself and you expect me to believe that he was bested by a civilian? As were you, it seems, seeing as you were unable to aid him in his time of need.”
A bead of sweat trickles down the back of Regulus’s neck. “I did not mean to—”
“Did not mean to?” Voldemort interrupts, his voice dripping with annoyance. “In this world, there is no room for such mistakes. Every action must be precise, calculated. You cannot be bested.”
The intensity of Voldemort’s gaze is almost unbearable. Regulus can feel the weight of his disappointment pressing down on him like a physical force and it makes him look down at the floor. For some reason deeper than his task, he wants to explain, to justify his actions, to please the man standing in front of him.
After a long, suffocating silence, Voldemort’s lips curl into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Yet, there is something… intriguing about you, Regulus. You remind me of myself when I was younger. Cruel, calculating, and ambitiously cutting. Perhaps a bit…misunderstood.”
The unexpected shift in tone catches Regulus off guard. His head snaps up, his eyes meeting Voldemort’s. Voldemort’s demeanor seems almost contemplative, his previous harshness melting away into a strange sort of amusement. “You know that Parkinson was meant to be marked following the raid, don’t you, Regulus? The time of his death is interesting.”
Regulus’s heart races. Voldemort’s suspicion is evident and his talent for Legilimency is known. All he needs to do to catch Regulus in his lie is enter his mind and break down his walls. Who knows what will come of him then? What will come of his family, his friends, and everything else he’s trying to protect?
“If there were more notice, I might have branded you with the Dark Mark tonight, for you possess qualities I find… useful and I desire someone to mentor,” Voldemort’s expression hardens once more. “But I must travel to Yorkshire. The circumstances do not permit me to attend to the matter of your initiation now. It will have to take place in June—or earlier if you find yourself back home You should consider yourself fortunate that I do not have time to dwell on your transgressions.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Regulus dips his head, his heart pounding in his chest.
Voldemort leans closer, his voice dropping to a sinister murmur. “Be aware, Regulus, that while you may be attempting to mend your standing, your position is still precarious. Receiving the Dark Mark is not a token of favor but a symbol of unwavering loyalty. If you falter again, your life could be forfeit.”
Regulus swallows hard, but he raises his chin. “I understand. I will not falter again, my Lord. I am committed to our cause and to proving my loyalty.”
Voldemort’s eyes narrow, and a glint of curiosity appears in them. “And what of those who may still hold sway over your feelings, such as your runaway brother, Sirius Black, and his sidekick, James Potter? Are they still a concern, or have they become mere mistakes?”
Regulus’s face goes pale, a cold sweat forming on his brow. He fights to keep his voice steady. “Potter and my brother… They are no longer a concern, my lord.”
Voldemort’s gaze sharpens. “I see. And yet you still refer to him as your brother, after everything. Be cautious, Regulus. Mistakes can be dangerous. Many come back to haunt us. If yours pose a threat to our plans or your loyalty, they may need to be… addressed.”
Regulus’s heart races at the implication, his palms growing increasingly sweaty as he holds them clasped behind his back. “I understand, my Lord. I can assure you that nothing will interfere with my duties or my steadfast loyalty to you.”
A smirk curls on Voldemort’s lips. “By the way, Regulus, I recently came across a most entertaining article in the Daily Prophet about your betrothal to Pandora Malfoy. Such delightful tabloid nonsense. Apparently, the public is rather fascinated by the glamorous union of two such prominent families. I must say, the sensationalism is rather… amusing.”
Regulus’s face flushes and he blinks hard. “Yes, my Lord. The article was rather extravagant.”
Voldemort chuckles coldly. “Indeed. But let us not dwell on such frivolities. Congratulations are in order, Regulus. It seems you’ve managed to secure a notable alliance through your marriage. That is something for celebration.”
Regulus nods, relief bubbling in his stomach. “Thank you, my Lord. I will continue to prove my loyalty and ensure that my actions align with our cause.”
Voldemort’s gaze remains steady, but a hint of satisfaction lingers. “Good. Loyalty is not a luxury, Regulus. It is a requirement. Show me you can maintain it, or you may find yourself discarded as easily as you were embraced.”
Regulus nods, unsure how many times he can say my lord without physically cringing. Voldemort goes to leave but stops with his hand on the door. He turns, looking at Regulus over his shoulder.
“Remember what I said about mistakes and the way they come back to haunt, Regulus. No one can keep their ghosts hidden, not in a world like this. They always show themselves in the end.”
With that, and the click of a door closing, he’s gone.
He’s gone and Regulus has done it. He’s met Voldemort and ensured he will receive of the Dark Mark. As rocky of a position as it might be, Regulus has succeeded in securing it.
Regulus sits in silence. Stews in it, really. For the first time since before he killed Percy, he feels nauseous. Sick to his stomach in a way that only comes from guilt and fear.
Voldemort mentioned both of them by name. Not just one of them. Not just a veiled threat or implication. He named them and let Regulus know that they were on his radar. Something to be addressed , if proven necessary.
His hands tremble—no, they shake —as he stares at them in his lap. His breathing is shallow, his vision blurry, and it takes everything in him not to cry. He spends all of that resolve he’s built up this week on this moment—this instance of undeniable weakness.
They’re in danger, still. Even after everything he’s done and given up to keep them safe, they’re in danger.
How fucking stupid could he be, to think they wouldn’t be?
Above him, the ceiling creaks. His mother and father are still waiting for him to come upstairs and inform them of the nature of the meeting. It’s a miracle, and likely his father’s doing, that his mother didn’t burst into the room immediately upon Voldemort leaving.
He looks back down at his hands, flexing and unflexing them as he does, scars from burn marks covering his fingertips. He wills them to stay still. With a deep breath, he shakes his head and exhales deeply. He needs to stay in line. Something like this could push him over the edge, sending everything, and everyone, into flames. He won’t let it, though. Not now.
He rolls his shoulders back and stands. It’s time to deliver the news to his parents. They’ll be ecstatic.
And he’ll be the youngest Death Eater in history.