Marked
Sirius wondered if he was dead, and this was a special hell made by the devil just to torture him. Grimmauld Place’s formal dinning room had been overrun by black robed death eaters.
The room was too warm, or too cold. Sirius couldn’t decide which, his body kept vacillating between sweating profusely and shivering. The room was washed in muted yellow light from the gas chandeliers which threw dark shadows against the walls. He imagined them creeping up and strangling the present company.
Sirius felt like he was out of his body, he still couldn’t accept what was about to happen. If he didn’t think about it he could still believe there was a life after this. He was sitting as still as possible and didn’t meet any of the curious apprising eyes.
The conversation was muted, everyone was waiting in anticipation for the main event to arrive. Bellatrix was the only person who seemed entirely comfortable lounging against the sideboard, and given she was a complete psychopath this didn’t make Sirius feel any better.
Everything was happening too fast. Over the last two days Sirius had tried to think of possible ways out of his current situation - where both he and Regulus survived. He had come up with exactly nothing. His mother had locked him in his room and he hadn’t even been able to see or talk to his brother at all. He had attempted to contact him with the secret knocking system they had invented when they were children, but Regulus had remained silent. Sirius didn’t know if he wasn’t replying on purpose or if he was unable. He wouldn’t have blamed him either way, he doubted Walburga had explained what had happened, maybe Regulus still thought Sirius had really tried to kill him.
The door opened and Walburga entered, Regulus was trailing behind, pale as a ghost. He shuffled unsteadily on his feet and there were dark circles under his eyes. His brother was always thin, but now he looked wasted, like his body had eaten itself in the last few days. Guilt and anger swelled in Sirius’ gut, twisting and almost making him gag. Instead he gritted his teeth and tried to catch Regulus’s attention. Regulus’s eyes met his for the briefest moment before sliding down to stare at the carpet. His black face looked indifferent and Sirius couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
Maybe if he could get close enough to his brother they could make a break for it. If he timed it right they could dash from the dinning room and make it to the floo before anyone could curse them. The fireplace was only the next room over and had been opened to receive guests arriving tonight. It would have to happen before the Dark Lord arrived, before things were irreversible.
It was possible, things could still be salvaged, Sirius thought vehemently. Maybe they could catch them by surprise, perhaps a well placed blasting spell would allow them to escape in the chaos.
Regulus sat down heavily next to Sirius as he was debating whether it would be better to blast a hole in the ceiling potentially trapping everyone in dust and rubble, or the wall, for a quicker escape route.
“Stop it,” Regulus whispered, his lips barley moving, “It won’t work. Whatever idiotic plan you’re thinking about.” He brother was stiff in his seat with his hands clenched in the bunched fabric of his pants.
“Come with me,” Sirius breathed, “We can still make it out.” Even as he said it he knew his brother would refuse. He had already given up, there was no way to convince him. What their mother had done to both of them had already broken his will to fight back. Not that Sirius knew if he would have agreed before. Regulus was always the good son, he wouldn’t go against their parents so blatantly.
“We can’t. It’s over.” Regulus looked tired and resigned. His sharp bones made him look older than he was. As Sirius stared at him it looked like his brother had lived a hundred years. There was no fight left in him. Sometimes, Sirius forgot he was only fifteen. Regulus always the more reasonable one, the one who understood the type of power Sirius raged against and decided he couldn’t win against it.
The cloying air was suffocating him as Sirius drew in a sharp breath. His mother really needed to lay off the frankincense candles. Panic rose up and Sirius started rising from his seat unconsciously. Regulus’s hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist. Just as quickly as it came the panic passed and a cold numbness spread through his bones.
Before Sirius could fully calm the feeling in the room shifted. The gas lamps spluttered and died down and the room was cast into shadow, like a memento mori. Complete silence fell over everyone gathered, as their eyes watched the entryway intently. For a moment it remained empty, and then suddenly a black shadow materialised.
Voldemort stepped into their midst. His arrival was so over the top dramatic that Sirius would have laughed hysterically if the whole show wasn’t terrifying.
Bellatrix was the first to break the tableau as she threw herself down at her Lord’s feet kissing his hand with a look Sirius could only describe as ecstasy. Voldemort seemed to enjoy the grovelling show Sirius’s cousin was giving. So this man liked boot lickers, Sirius thought.
“My Lord, we welcome you to the House of Black,” his mother said - ever the consummate hostess. She gave a small bow, and Sirius wondered if she had ever bowed to any one else. It didn’t seem like something Walbuga Black would have done for anyone less that the most powerful dark wizard of the century.
Voldemort was silent as he swept over to claim the head of the table. Once he was seated it was signal for all the other gathered death eaters to take their places. Bellatrix was at Voldemort’s right side with Sirius’s father on his left.
“Welcome indeed,” Voldemort hissed. Sirius was startled by how high pitched and inhuman Voldemort’s voice sounded. “We are here of course to formally welcome the Noble and most Ancient house of Black to our cause.” Voldemort paused for effect. Sirius blanched, he thought Voldemort might at least have some other topics of discussion before they got to him.
“Lord and Lady Black have been consummate allies in the fight against the tide of filth that has infected our community, but we need to swell the ranks of true warriors.” The lilt in his voice verged on mocking but Sirius didn’t think his parents noticed.
“Which is why I requested their two sons be initiated on this night.”
Two sons? Surely not. Sirius’s brain was full of static and he couldn’t quite work out the implications of Voldemort’s words.
Regulus was still a child, he was only fifteen for Merlin’s sake, they wouldn't give him the mark, right? They weren’t that crazy. But as he stared at Voldemort like he could bore holes in his skin he knew this man would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. The man’s face was strangely blurred and his eyes gleamed red in his skull. Dark magic oozed from his skin like oil, settling over the gathering. Anyone who went this far wasn’t concerned if a wizard he was recruiting was a child or not.
Sirius clenched his fists and dug his heals into the legs of his chair, half baked crazy ideas of escape running through his head. If he made a wrong move now they would kill him and Regulus. He couldn’t let that happen.
“Sirius. Regulus. Come here,” Walburga commanded.
They both rose and walked to the head of the table. It was longest, most agonising ten steps Sirius had ever taken. Voldemort took Regulus’ hand and turned it over to caress the blue veins running up his arm. The veins were stark against his pale skin. Sirius noted the clawlike nails in disgust, everything about the man was repulsive.
“Precious pure blood runs though your veins,” he smiled too widely at Regulus, “Are you ready to live up to its legacy?” Sirius’ wanted to rip his brothers hands out of Voldemort’s, but he remained still and silent. Voldemort was like a viper poised ready to strike and rip at any weakness or hesitation.
“I am my Lord,” Regulus said, in a monotone.
“You swear your loyalty to me, and to our cause?” Voldemort asked, with a thin smile on his face.
“Yes, my Lord,”
“Very well, we will be bound together.” With no more preamble Voldemort pressed the tip of his wand to Regulus’s left arm. Dark ink seeped into Regulus’s skin. The skull forming first and then a snake flowed from the tip of Voldemort’s wand like it was alive. It slithered through the skull and twisted in on itself.
The smell of burning skin filled the room and Regulus screamed in pain. Voldemort released him has he stumbled back into Sirius, shaking violently. Sirius tried to hold him upright as Regulus' legs gave out.
No one moved to help them as Voldemort looked on dispassionately. Sirius managed to manoeuvre Regulus to an abandoned chair by the wall as his brother shook and clutched his left arm. Silent tears were streaming down his face and he refused to look at Sirius.
“Sirius Black…” Voldemort caressed his name. Sirius had never hated himself more than in the moment he turned and walked back to face the Dark Lord.
“The heir… returned to the fold,” he breathed, “I’ve been told that your loyalties have wavered in the past. You were sorted into Gryffindor, were you not?”
“He is loyal to our family my Lord, and by extension to you.” Walburga intoned as Sirius grimaced. Voldemort sent her a look that cut to the bone and she fell silent.
“I—I was misguided when I was young.” Sirius choked, “I’m loyal to my family.” He thought of Regulus sprawled in the chair behind him. Sirius was certainly loyal to some of his family.
“And to me? Will you be loyal to me?” Voldemort was flaying him with his eyes, daring him to refuse. There was a long pause as Sirius gathered himself.
“Of course, my Lord.” The words felt like ash.
Voldemort smiled, and a brief flash of triumph came over his features, as he took Sirius’s hand. He pressed his wand into the soft forearm flesh and leaned in close to whisper, “I know you Sirius Black. I see you. Who you really are. And I don’t believe for a moment you are a changed man.” Terror took hold of Sirius, Voldemort knew he wasn’t a true believer and he tried to rip his arm away. Voldemort just grasped it tighter.
“Let’s see if your precious side of light will believe the truth when they see the lengths you will go to save your own skin.” Voldemort’s lips curled.
Then Sirius was on fire.
Not just his arm but his whole body was on fire. He bit back a scream and clenched his jaw together so hard he thought he could feel a tooth crack. He was vaguely aware of Voldemort releasing him, and the tide of pain slowly receded. His arm was still burning and the dark mark stood out like an angry brand on his skin.
“We have joined one of the greatest families in the Wizarding world to our cause, this is a great night. We will rise as one and take back what is rightfully owed to us. The mud and filth will be cleansed in fire and blood, and we will be victorious. Power beyond what you know will be granted to each of my loyal followers….”
Voldemort had started sermonising and Sirius tuned him out, focusing instead of the extremely difficult task of not completely breaking down and freaking the fuck out. His thoughts were spinning around.
If Voldemort knew Sirius was acting, then why did he still brand him? Why accept him into the ranks at all? Why not refuse and strike him down as a blood traitor? It didn’t make sense to Sirius - unless it was for an ulterior motive.
He dared to look over at his parents as they stood beside the dark lord. They were smiling indulgently at Voldemort, like he was a priced pet being paraded before their friends. Ah, now he understood. His parents were Voldemort’s patrons. He needed gold to fund this pureblood war and the there were no coffers deeper than the Blacks. Keeping them onside meant participating in this farcical initiation, they wouldn’t thank Voldemort if he refused to accept their heir.
Sirius leaned heavily against the wall thinking he couldn’t keep up this act much longer. Regulus was the one that could bottle up his feelings and keep a smooth face. Sirius had always been too volatile to keep his mask in place for very long. He needed to get out of this room soon, before it broke.
He hoped that anything that slipped though right now would be mistaken as a reaction to the pain. The Dark Mark still burned on his wrist but the deep burning pain in his soul was a hundred times worse. He had betrayed everyone he loved and everything he believed in to save his brother. Dully he wondered how much further he would go to keep him alive.
Mercifully, Voldemort soon swept from the room without another glance at Sirius. The rest of the death eaters and his parents filled out after him.
Sirius didn’t sleep that night or the next.