Cruciatus
I: Euphemia
14 February
The True Sea
Euphemia stood, arms crossed on the ship’s railing near the bow, alone aside from Mary, Fabian, Gideon, Arthur, Molly and Lily, who had taken the night shift. The sky was painted pink and orange, the sun just beginning to peak above dark waters. Ripples cascaded across calm waters and the world was silent apart from the waves of the ship and the occasional gust of gentle wind pushed through the sails by Mary’s hands. The world was serene and yet Euphemia was in pain.
Her head was a mess of boiling needles, prodding at every crevice of her brain. Her thoughts were coated in molasses and a heavy throb had begun rhythmically thumping at the base of her skull sometime around three bells. She had taken the painkilling serum Monty had been brewing her for the past twelve years but it did little to settle the critters clawing at the walls of her mind. Its strength had slowly been growing more and more dull throughout the years, in time with the meat falling from her bones, just as she knew it would. She contemplated confiding in Lily but she knew the Healer wouldn’t be able to do anything. It would just place unnecessary worry on her shoulders and raise suspicions. She couldn’t do anything but wait it out, focusing on something mundane and familiar to keep her sanity intact, hence her intense staring contest with the sea.
She hadn’t heard when Monty joined her, too lost in her own agonizing head to register her husband’s comforting heavy footfall. She looked over when Monty pressed his forearm to hers, startled. He was already gazing at her, deep brown eyes filled with endless adoration that brought a subtle flush to her dark cheeks even after all these years.
“Hey, pretty lady,” Monty murmured, tone soft as to not shatter the peaceful atmosphere. “You come round here often?”
Euphemia let out a giggle before wincing and bringing a hand to the back of her neck in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.
Monty frowned. “Migraine?”
“When is it ever not?”
“True. Have you taken anything for it?”
“A while ago. It hasn’t let up, not even in the slightest.”
“Maybe we should up the dosage? I could try to come up with something stronger.”
Euphemia tried to shake her head and immediately regretted it. “You know as well as I do that we can’t do anything about this, Flea.”
“And you can’t do anything? Nothing at all?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve tried?”
“I try everyday, Flea, and you know it.”
Monty scrubbed at his face, glasses going askew and Euphemia reached over to straighten them out. “Sorry, it’s just- there has to be something we can do.”
“We’ve done nothing but prolong the inevitable for years. And I’m very grateful for that but I don’t think the merzost is content to wait any longer.”
“But it already took something. There’s no good reason for why this should be happening.”
“It’s merzost , love. It doesn’t have to have a reason.”
Monty thunked his forehead down on the railing, hands clenched. His breaths were heavy enough to be audible and Euphemia rubbed at his back. When he spoke, his voice was strained. “It’s not fair.”
“Life rarely is but I think it’s been generous, no? We’ve gotten so many more glorious years, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”
“This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I wished you had consulted me before you enchanted that-”
“You never would have let me. I did it because it was better for everyone involved. It still is and will continue to be as long as it’s still intact.”
“But we could’ve found another solution-”
“Fleamont Potter, listen to me. We wouldn’t have been able to find some other arrangement other than this and, whether I had talked to you or not, I would’ve gone through with it. I would’ve made that enchantment no matter what and I do not regret it, even if it ends the way it’s headed.”
“You put a countdown clock on your life.” Monty whispered, refusing to look at anything other than the endless blue in front of them.
Euphemia smiled. “I know. I’ve made peace with that. I think it’s time you do, too.”
“What are we going to tell James?”
Euphemia felt like she was going to throw up at the thought. That was the hardest part of it all- not the migraines, not the enchanting, not giving up what she did in return but telling James. A mother is always supposed to die before her son but they never tell you about how much it hurts - like ripping her heart out of her chest and feeding it to the sharks - to have to tell your darling baby that your time is ending. “We’re not. At least, not yet. Let’s wait until it gets worse, until we can’t deny it.”
“It’s unpredictable, Euphemia. We’re not sure how fast acting it’s going to be, now that we can’t stop it.”
Euphemia let out a heavy breath and watched a flight of birds in the distance. “It’s a risk we’re going to have to take. I don’t want to worry him any longer than I have to.”
II: Sirius
“Hm…Shaggy?”
Sirius cringed. “Absolutely not.”
Peter rolled his eyes. “You’re being dramatic. ‘Shaggy’ isn't as bad as you think it is. Try being called ‘Mr. Babytoes.’”
“Snuffles?” James tried again.
Remus raised an eyebrow. “How, by all the Saints, does Snuffles relate to a dog?”
“Do I have to be a dog?” Sirius whined.
“Yes.” The three of them said in unison.
“You’re stupidly loyal. You wouldn’t betray me for anything, not even to win Uno, which is absolutely ridiculous because all is fair in love and Uno.” James said.
“You’re a human lie detector.” Peter commented.
“That’s because I’m Corporalki. Every Corporalki is a lie detector.” Sirius pointed out.
Peter waved him off. “Not the point.”
“You’d also do just about anything for a biscuit, which is very dog-like, if you ask me.” Remus said, crossing his arms with a smirk.
Sirius glared in his direction but it lacked the heat it held not even a month ago. Very reluctantly, Sirius had come to realize that being around Remus Lupin was not the equivalent of being trapped in an overflowing dumpster for a week. Ever since the incident that most certainly didn’t happen on Lily’s birthday, Remus has, strangely, relaxed. He’s stopped radiating with a ridiculous amount of disdain, stopped scowling everytime their paths crossed(which, living together in the middle of the ocean, meant it happened a lot), stopped being an asshole. It’s twice as hard to hold a grudge when the person is actually being civil, which are words Sirius Black never thought he’d utter, considering his blood was practically made up of stubborn pettiness(that being said, a dark part of him still despised Moony’s sheer audacity). Sirius actually found himself enjoying the Durast’s company, much to James’ delight. He was smart, witty and had a dry sense of humor that reminded him painfully of Reg-
Nobody. Remus didn’t remind him of anybody.
It had been Remus who had made an offhand comment about a dog and Sirius had known he was doomed the second he saw James light up like the Etheralki display at the Winter Fete.
The past half-hour has consisted of Peter, Remus and James offering examples of dog-related nicknames, all of which have been worse than the last.
“You’ve got to pick something, ” Peter said. “I’m not going to spend all day thinking of nicknames. Some of us have work to do, y’know.”
“Give me a good one, then.” Sirius shot back and Peter mocked him childishly before sticking his tongue out.
“What about Padfoot?” Remus suggested.
Sirius paused. “Y’know what, I like that one.”
Peter raised a brow at him. “Out of all of those, Padfoot is the one you liked?”
“Shut up, Wormtail.”
“Hey! If you heard my options, which were more than twice as bad as yours, you’d understand why I picked Wormtail.”
“Padfoot,” James mused. “Paddy, Footsies, Pads.”
“Don’t you ever call me any of those things. Pads? Really? ”
James smirked. “Alright, Pads.”
Sirius scowled. “Fuck you. I’m going to start calling you Tamprongs.”
Alice, who was walking past where the four of them had huddled up, gave them a horrified look and continued on her way, muttering “idiots” under her breath.
Peter bursted out laughing. “Pads and Tamprongs. What a duo.”
Remus shook his head, lip quirked up in a half-smile. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Careful there Moony or we might drag you into this bloody mess.” James warned.
Remus snorted. “And just how are you going to do that?”
“Now you’ve done it.” Peter said.
“I don’t know, Moonsteration. Why don’t you tell us?” Sirius said, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees, blinking innocently up at a very displeased Remus.
“If you wake up with a fish in your bed, know this is why.” Remus scowled.
Sirius laughed. “Yeah, right.”
James groaned, leaning so far back on his stool he fell off, sending the four of them into obnoxious laughter. “Never doubt Moonsteration, Pads. He’s the pettiest member of the crew.”
“He once laced my soup with a dirty sock because I beat him at chess.” Peter said, nose twitching at the reminder.
“And I’d do it again.” Remus said, without an ounce of shame.
“Black!” Marlene called from across the deck and Sirius looked over to see her peeking her head up from the latch that led to below. “We could use your help down here!”
“Well, boys,” Sirius said, slipping off his stool and saluting. “Duty calls.”
James hummed a displeasured sound. “I guess I have a ship to man, don’t I?”
“And, unfortunately, we have to help you.” Remus said solemnly.
Peter slumped his shoulders. “Ugh. Work. If only we were wizards and could wave magic wands around to get things done.”
“That’d be the dream,” James said with a sigh. “No heavy responsibilities.”
“No sea sickness.” Remus added.
“No massive wars happening all the time.” Peter said.
“The population not split between Grisha and otkazat’sya.” Sirius joined in.
“Everyone would be the same, all on level ground.”
“And we’d live to our hundreds.”
“And cause unimaginable amounts of chaos.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if we managed to give someone a heart attack.”
“Oh, please. We’d give multiple people heart attacks.”
“ Black!” Marlene shouted, interrupting the flow of their collective day dream.
“Go on,” James said, shoving him a few feet forward. “I don’t want to have to deal with an angry Marlene.”
“Or stay,” Peter said with a shrug. “It’s always funny to watch someone get berated in angry, barely comprehendible Fjerdan.”
“You, Peter Pettigrew, are an absolute menace.” Remus said, shaking his head.
Peter grinned and pretended to toss his hair over his shoulder. “You know it, baby.”
Sirius left their little huddle with a chuckle, making his way below deck and through the crew cabin(quietly, as to not wake anyone) to the cargo hold where Marlene was waiting, arms crossed.
“Fucking finally,” Marlene muttered, pushing herself off the wall she was waiting against. “You four take forever to wrap up a conversation. Djel almighty, no one would ever believe you live together.”
Sirius stuck his tongue out at her. “My apologies, McKinnon, I wasn’t aware simple conversation was prohibited.”
She rolled her eyes and attempted to jab him in the side but he skittered just out of range. “C’mon. Effie’s requested your help.”
Sirius perked up. Another realization he’s made in the past month or so, Euphemia was nothing but a sweetheart. She may be a mother, but she was nowhere near comparable to his mother. While Walburga Black would trap a spider in a clear bottle and slowly fill it with water to watch it struggle, Euphemia Potter would do everything in her power to set it free without harming a single leg. “Well why didn’t you just say that? I would’ve left James much faster.”
Marlene snorted. “I see where your priorities lie.”
“I may love James with my heart and soul - I swear by the Saints he’s my platonic soulmate - but it’s Effie. That woman is a Saint among men.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying. I would let her do my hair if she asked.”
Sirius raised his brows and let out a low, quiet whistle. Marlene didn’t let anyone anywhere near her hair. “Damn.”
Marlene hummed. “Now, let’s not keep the Queen waiting.”
They found the Queen in question in her cabin, where she was watching Monty tinker around with many coloured vials, all filled with various liquids, powders, gasses and serums. At their feet sat a wooden box containing things Sirius couldn’t recognize(Alkemi things, if he had to guess) and scattered over the worktable were several stacks of parchment covered in the same handwriting that was just barely bordering on legible.
Euphemia looked up first and gave them both a smile. “Marlene, Sirius. Sorry to drag you from your duties.”
Monty made a vague, acknowledging noise at their presence but didn’t look up from whatever he was working on.
“Don’t apologize. Whatever you need will be loads more satisfying than what James is having me do. And this slacker,” Marlene attempted to elbow him but, once again, Sirius failed to give her the delight and stepped out of the way. “Wasn’t doing anything but chatting around -”
“I was not!” Sirius interrupted quickly and Effie’s lips quirked up into an amused smile. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing, McKinnon! I am nothing but hardworking and I take my position on this ship incredibly,” he winked. “ Sirius-ly.”
Effie giggled and Monty finally glanced up(if only for a moment), shaking his head disappointedly but his shoulders hitched with silent laughter.
Marlene was not as amused. “You lying cocksucker! I can sense your heartbeat, Black, don’t you forget it!”
“And to think that you used to be the most prudish member on this ship.” Monty murmured, chuckling.
Marlene shrugged. “Blame the twins.”
“Believe me, I do.” Monty muttered.
“What did you need, Effie?” Sirius asked.
“Yes, right. That collection of bottles there need to be brought to the cargo hold,” Effie pointed to a grouping of green tinted serums. “There should be a crate full of them already. And those empty ones there need to be washed. I’d do it myself but Monty is very insistent that I be here to assist him.”
“We’d be happy to help.” Marlene said, snatching up the serums before Sirius could reach for them, giving him a smug grin at the thought of leaving him to do dishes, essentially.
Sirius nodded, and carefully collected the empty vials, tubes and flasks in his arms. “Of course, we are. Holler if you need anything else.”
Effie smiled at them. “Thank you.”
Marlene moved to leave but stubbed her toe on the doorframe. She let out a loud assortment of Fjerdan curses before calling back an, “I’m fine!” and continuing on towards the cargo hold.
Sirius didn’t fail to notice Effie’s wince. A sharp tingle went through him as he took note of her slightly laboured breathing, her spiked blood pressure and the excessive stress hormones she was producing- all of which were basic bodily reactions to pain.
“Are you alright, Effie?”
Effie met his gaze, a brow raised. “I’m perfectly fine, Sirius. Whatever gave you the impression I was not?”
Her heart skipped a beat.
Sirius narrowed his eyes.
Effie sighed, as if realizing her mistake. “It’s just a headache, Sirius. Nothing to be too concerned about.”
He frowned. “Do they happen often?”
“I am not unaccustomed to them.”
“That doesn’t quite answer my question.”
“I am aware.”
“So they do happen often.”
“I never said that.”
“Exactly. Which says more than an actual answer.”
“Leave it be. My physical well being is none of your business.”
“Does Marlene know? Or Lily? Does James?”
“You are not to tell them anything.”
“They don’t, then. Why not? Surely they can help.”
“If I wanted their help, I would ask.”
“That doesn’t explain why you haven’t. They could be symptoms of something dangerous-”
“Or they could be nothing.”
“ Or they can be signs of a lethal issue that can be easily prevented.”
“Sirius-”
“You don’t want to worry James, or anyone else, which is entirely understandable. But I know now-”
“Sirius, please-”
“I could help you, if you want. Try and figure out what’s the matter and James would be none the wiser. I could-”
“Sirius!”
Euphemia slammed a hand down on the table to interrupt his rambling, rattling Monty’s experiments, though Sirius didn’t notice. The way she had called his name, with the same sharp tone, the same volume, reminded him painfully of Regulus. Whenever Sirius would mess around with his homework, or try to read his journals, or he tried to put eyeliner on himself before a family dinner, or when he accidentally revealed a mischievous prank he’d been planning to pull that night- he’d call his name in the same way. Except Effie’s voice held an angered undertone Regulus never brought up between the two of them. An annoyed, frustrated, boiling line deep within the layers of her voice that sent alarm bells ringing loudly in his head, playing the same toll they did everytime Mother brought him to his knees, everytime Father brought out his favourite dagger to ‘play a game.’ The same melody that usually ended with him bloody on the floor of the drawing room.
Sirius had thought that Walburga Black and Euphemia Potter could never be compared. Apparently, they could.
Sirius flinched back hard and the glass in his hands fell to the floor. The shatter that echoed through the cabin was what made Monty finally clue into the argument around him and simultaneously shook Sirius to his core.
No, no, no, no, no.
He broke something. He fucking broke something. It was like that time he accidentally knocked over one of the many vases that decorated Number Twelve and it just so happened to be one of the Black’s oldest heirlooms, depicting Ayla Black(one of his greatest ancestors aging back to the time of Sankt Ilya in Chains, the Bonesmith, Voldemort’s great-great-grandfather, the one who had created Sankta Alina’s famous amplifiers) and Ebony, a dragon that once stalked the slopes of Ravka. Walburga had been furious and it’s no surprise how that encounter ended.
And it was about to happen again. He had just broken Monty’s Alkemi flasks right in front of the both of them. They knew he had done it, he couldn’t play it off or make up any kind of excuse. They were going to hurt him, just like Walburga and Orion had done hundreds of times before. The only thing he could do was plead for mercy. Maybe they’d take pity on him, be lenient in their punishment because it was his first time. There’s no way they’d let him off the hook, but maybe he’d get a few belt lashes and maybe a black eye instead of Monty picking a random one of his darkest creations, or maybe creating a whole new one for this very moment, and forcing it down his throat.
So Sirius dropped to his knees. Glass ripped through his trousers and embedded into his knees but he barely registered the pain, scrambling to collect the shards. He clenched them hard in his palm and they split his skin easily, leaving large, deep slashes swathed in red all over his palms. He swallowed his tears. That would only make them hurt him more. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was an accident, I swear. It won’t ever happen again, I promise. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”
Euphemia was quick to move, flinging herself to her feet despite agony that was surely ringing in her head and knelt in front of him. Sirius cowered, hands over his head to protect himself and his body drawn taught as a bowstring. He waited, frozen in time, anticipating the inevitable slap or punch or hair-tug or whatever was Effie’s favourite form of initial, physical punishment.
So, when it didn’t come, he was incredibly confused.
“Oh, Sirius.” Effie whispered, velvet soft words breaking on the shards around them. Sirius hesitantly looked up, peaking between the gaps of his crimson coated fingers. He met Effie’s eyes, only to find that they were full of tears.
He made her cry. Sirius made her cry. He doesn’t know what to do. Walburga never cried. She said it was a sign of weakness.
So the fact that Euphemia was crying…
Was it just a tactic to make him feel guilty? To add a second, disgusting emotion onto the bone-rattling fear that already had his hands trembling? If so, it was working.
“I’m sor-”
“No, no, my dear,” Effie interrupted. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled like that. You were only trying to help.”
Sirius couldn’t help voicing the tidal waves of confusion crashing over himself. “You- you’re apologizing? I- what?”
Somehow, Effie grew sadder. “Is that hard to believe?”
“But- aren’t you going to hit me?”
Effie choked on a sob and Monty came over to join them. Sirius tensed again, because if Euphemia wasn’t going to hurt him(or, it looked like she wasn’t, he still wasn’t 100% convinced of it) then surely Monty was going to, right?
Right?
“Why would you think that, son?” Monty asked, taking over the talking because Effie seemed incapable.
“I overstepped,” Sirius said. “I broke your vials.”
“There was nothing in them, so no work was lost. And I can always get Remus to form the shards into new ones. You got spooked, the fact you dropped them wasn’t your fault. As for overstepping, well…everyone makes mistakes. You clearly care. You have a big heart, Sirius. I’m sure Effie appreciates you trying to look after her.” Tucked under Monty’s arm, Effie nodded frantically.
“Still. I- I broke your things.”
“As I said, they can be repaired.” Monty repeated calmly.
Sirius sat back on his heels. He was still so confused. Why was Monty being so chill? If he was back at Grimmauld, Orion would be cursing him out six ways to Sunday and Walburga would be half an hour deep into what would be a three hour rant about respecting her property. If it was so easy a fix, why had it always been such a big deal? There’s no other explanation as to why his parents had always reacted like that. Unless-
Oh. This falls under the ‘abuse’ category, doesn’t it?
“Did that happen a lot at home?” Effie managed to get out.
Hesitantly, Sirius nodded. He stared down at his dripping hands, beginning to pick out the larger pieces of glass, and forced his tears down. It was so unfair. Was this how normal parents reacted when something of theirs was broken? Is this what his life was supposed to be like? Why had he been given the short end of the stick? Why did some people get families like this, with caring, empathetic parents like Effie and Monty while he had been stuck with people like Walburga and Orion?
“Listen to me very carefully, Sirius,” Effie said and Sirius looked up. “That will never happen here, do you understand?”
Never? Like, not under any circumstances ‘never?’ Not even if he broke something infinitely more valuable? Not if he got into another fight with Remus? Not even if he stole one of every single pair of socks Effie owned so she never had a matching pair? Not even if he set off dungbombs? Not even if he accidentally hurt another crew member? Not even if he-
“Never.” Monty said firmly, as if he could hear Sirius’ thoughts.
He couldn’t help it. Sirius sobbed, hunching forward as he fell victim to tears. Effie cried with him, reaching forward to draw him into her arms. A caring embrace, a comforting hug. No violence, no harm, no pain. He wouldn’t have to endure that ever again.
He was finally, finally, truly and undeniably safe.
III: Severus
28 February
The Grand Palace
“And you’re certain this will work?”
Severus fought the urge to roll his eyes. “My answer hasn’t changed since the last time you asked, moi tsar. It will work.”
King Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair at the head of the table in the war room of the Grand Palace. Severus sits to his left and across from sits General McGonagall, arms crossed and face blank. Next to her is Poppy Pomfrey and next to Severus is Horace Slughorn. The knowledge Severus contains about Voldemort, the Death Eaters and the event happening tonight at Lestrange Manor is limited to those at this table. And between them all sits a collection of Severus’ experiments(something he has since been granted access to explore since coming before the King a month ago). There are the three vials of opaque pink liquid he originally brought in front of the General and two others, these containing something much more sinister looking. An ominous, deep red formula swirled in the little bottles, sometimes appearing to hold shimmering black undertones under a certain light. The biggest bottle of them all, a volumetric flask, contained that very same substance, instead in gas form.
“Explain them to me one more time.” Horace said and Severus nearly smacked him.
“Veratiserum is a truth-telling serum used in interrogations when a Corporalki cannot attend to determine whether or not a suspect is lying. This,” Severus picked up one of the pink vials. “Is the opposite, essentially. It allows the consumer to lie perfectly in a room full of Corporalki and not alert a single one of them.”
“And you are entirely confident that it will work?”
Severus’ eye twitched.
“Yes, he is, Horace,” Minerva interjected before Severus could slaughter the inattentive, inept, lazy Alkemi that gave the rest of them a bad reputation. “Please continue, Mr. Snape.”
“The red ones are for tonight’s show.” Severus said.
“You keep saying that,” Albus observed. “And have yet to offer an explanation. So, please, if you could…”
Severus tapped his fingers along the table’s surface. He despised thinking of what horrors this evening would contain but he’d be soon experiencing them so might as well face the music now. “A showcase, of sorts. A chance for those lower on the Hierarchy to show exactly what they bring to the table, to convince the Heartrenders and Summoners that we aren’t just dead weight, more than a body shield.”
“The perfect opportunity to push yourself higher through the ranks.” Poppy murmured.
Severus looked down at his potion. “Exactly.”
“What does it do?” Albus asked, nodding to the vials.
“You don’t want to know. And, before you ask,” Severus swallowed, thinking back to a few days before, the hours he had spent in pure agony. “Yes, it works.”
“Is it lethal?” McGonagall demanded.
“No.”
Albus raised an eyebrow. “Will Voldemort fancy it enough, then?”
“He’ll love it.”
IV: Bellatrix
The Little Palace
“Oh, beeeeeetleeee!” Bellatrix called, clambering down the stairs to the Room of Requirement.
“Here!” Rita answered and Bellatrix followed the sound of her voice.
She found her splayed out across their bed, hanging with her head off the edge of it. A book dangled in front of her face though Bellatrix doubted she was actually reading(despite writing out every gossip she’s ever heard throughout the Little Palace, Rita hated reading). Her deep purple Durast kefta was abandoned on the floor, along with her boots. Bellatrix grinned at the untidiness. Her mother would have a fit if she saw it. And, as much as she would love to absolutely trash Lestrange Manor(barf, she hated that place with every fibre her being had to offer and it was even worse she had to live there now with her- ugh, husband), it was one of the most frequently used locations for all things Death Eaters(if it wasn’t there, it was either at Malfoy Manor or Number Twelve) and there was no way she was letting the Dark Lord enter anywhere that was less than spotless.
Rita abandoned her book and gestured Bellatrix forwards. She went easily, squatting down to plant a fierce kiss to the blonde’s lips, not backing away until Rita was panting for breath. When they parted, Rita held a stupid, dopey smile on her face and Bellatrix winked in return. Rita giggled, and rolled on her stomach, backing up a smidge so she could plant her elbows on the bed and rest her chin upon her palms.
The world was so simple with Rita. The screaming voices that plagued Bellatrix always seemed to quiet just that little bit to allow an emotion other than pure rage through her heart. Rita made Bellatrix feel things Roldolphus(ick) couldn’t even begin to imagine. Here, in the Room of Requirement, there was no Druella or Cygnus to worry about, no husband waiting her back home, no impending mission for Ravka to send her on, no Fjerdans waiting to be slaughtered at the edge of the border, no Death Eaters to scare, no Dark Lords to impress. It was just the two of them, Rita and Bellatrix, doing whatever the fuck they wanted to.
Though…speaking of Dark Lords-
Bellatrix made her way over to the full-body mirror, twirling her ebony skirts to watch it swish. She met Rita’s gaze through the mirror. “How do I look, beetle?”
“Dangerous. Ravishing. Exquisite. Magnificent. Dashing. Outstanding. As always, you belong as a sculpture, to have those marvel at your beauty and wonder how you managed to be blessed as you have. Why? Something important tonight?”
Bellatrix grinned and turned back to her lover. “Your ability to flatter me, beetle, knows no bounds. I have special House of Black business that I must attend this evening.”
Rita hummed. “Figured as much. How soon must you leave?”
“Soon, unfortunately.”
Rita’s shoulders slumped the slightest bit. “A pity. I was hoping we would get to have some… fun.”
“You dirty slut,” Bellatrix said with a smirk, watching the rose bloom on Rita’s cheeks. “A pity indeed. You look particularly appetizing tonight.”
Rita groaned, dropping her head into the sheets. “You’re a tease.”
Bellatrix chuckled and ran a hand through Rita’s hair, giving it a sharp tug to hear her whine before stepping away. She grabbed her Death Eater kefta and mask from its hiding place in her wardrobe and stuffed them in the rucksack she brought for that very purpose. “You love it. I'll have some free time in the next coming days, before I have to go North, if that makes you feel any better.”
Rita perked up. “Yes, yes it does. Come find me here?”
Bellatrix threw her rucksack over her shoulder and kissed Rita again. “Where else would you be?”
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
“I know.”
V: Regulus
Lestrange Manor
Though Regulus hasn’t felt anything other than gloomy since Sirius left, he felt extra depressed today.
He’s attended a total of eight meetings since taking the Mark. He’s only missed one: when both he and Narcissa were stuck in Sevedar an extra day due to a heavy snowstorm that had rendered most of the town homebound. They’ve all been hell. He’s watched many people condemn themselves to this twisted fate willingly and it makes him sick. It makes him jealous, in a strange way. It makes him furious. These people have the freedom to do whatever it is they want with their life and they choose this?
It’s unfair. It’s cruel. It’s ridiculously stupid and if it wouldn’t be heavily suspicious, Regulus would break at least one bone of every single Death Eater(aside from Narcissa, Rodolphus and Rabastan, of course. They wouldn’t exactly appreciate it, considering they’re in the same predicament as he and feel very similar emotions). In fact, he has subtly broken a few toes, just to watch a few of the higher level Heartrenders squirm.
Tonight is going to be gruesome. It’s his job, as with all the other Heartrenders and Summoners, to judge whatever contraptions the Materialki bring forward(they’ve gained a few Durasts and another Alkemi since Severus decided to grace the Death Eaters with his disgusting presence). He doesn’t want to. He wants to go home and bury himself under a mountain of sheets and just- stare. Think of nothing and everything all at once. He wants to sleep but knows he wouldn’t be able to(it seems to evade him more often than not these days). He’s just travelled back home from the North, he’s exhausted from his patrol and he has a Kaelish, Shu and Heartrending quiz tomorrow evening he hasn’t had much time to study for.
But no. Instead of doing something actually worth his time, he’s forced to sit here and watch a bunch of Materalki show off.
“Regulus.” Rabastan greeted the second he and Narcissa stepped into the ballroom where the current meeting was being held, presumably waiting for them. Rodolphus, who was by his brother as always(a fact that had sparked a small, guilty hatred deep within Regulus), nodded his greetings.
“Rabastan, Rodolphus.” Narcissa said in turn, pulling off her Death Eater mask that had a small daffodil painted along the side.
Regulus didn’t say anything, just tugged off his own mask. He traced his finger along the star he’d chosen to adorn it with. A discrete symbol that would make sense for nearly every member of the House of Black(aside from Narcissa, whose name didn’t have any astrological meaning for whatever reason, and Walburga, who was named after an asteroid). Any sane person would look at his mask and assume the star was a representation of his name. Very few(those being Narcissa, himself and potentially the two Lestranges in front of him) knew he had drawn it not for himself, but for his older brother.
Sirius. Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. Regulus tries not to think about him, though it never works. Some way or another, Sirius Orion Black seems to worm his way into Regulus’ line of thought, always at the most inconvenient of times. He desperately hopes that his brother, wherever he is, feels the same.
“How has your week been?” Narcissa asked.
Rabastan grew pale. “I had my first DE mission a few days ago.”
Narcissa winced. “I can imagine that wasn’t very pleasant.”
Rabastan shook his head.
“If you’re going to vomit, I suggest you do it not on me.” Regulus said bluntly, warely watching the younger Lestrange.
Rodolphus grimaced and patted his brother on the back. “Just be glad neither of you have had to go on any yet.”
“Believe me, we are.” Narcissa muttered.
Rodolphus glanced over Narcissa’s shoulder, looking between her and Regulus, and smiled. “Severus!”
Regulus rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, after Severus took up the Mark, Narcissa had taken a liking to him and drawn them into their little group. And, unsurprisingly, Regulus’ fierce hatred for the slimy bastard has not dwindled even the littlest bit. The words he had said that fateful night years prior had not lost their spikes. In fact, they might’ve even grown more prickly. They stuck to him like burdock burrs, their weight nearly lost in the mountain of burdens he carried on his shoulders.
However, he will admit that it was amusing to watch him squirm.
Severus dragged himself over to their little group. “Rodolphus, Rabastan, Narcissa,” he paused for a moment, shifting under the uncomfortableness of Regulus’ blank stare. “Black.”
The Lestranges said their hellos and Narcissa shook her head. “Can’t you two get along?”
“No.” Regulus said frankly, his voice chilly. Him and Severus Snape? Friends? He could’ve laughed.
“And if he’s unwilling, as am I.” Severus said.
Rodolphus snorted. “You’re terrified of him.”
Severus shrugged. “I’d be an idiot not to be.”
“That is the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Regulus said and Rabastan chuckled.
“Alright, enough,” Narcissa interjected. “Are you ready for tonight, Severus?”
Severus gingerly patted the pockets of his kefta . “Of course.”
“What’ve you got prepared?” Rodolphus asked.
Severus just shook his head. “Saints, how impatient are you? You can wait a little longer. I imagine it’ll start soon.”
Much to Regulus’ dismay, he was right. Not long after, Voldemort clapped his hands, drawing the attention of everyone in the room and evaporating all conversation.
“Welcome, my loyal soldiers,” he paused as everyone bowed, waiting for his Death Eaters to stand tall before continuing. “This is the first of what I hope to be many showcases in the future. Tonight is all about our dear Fabricators. It goes without question the abilities of a Corporanik or a Etheralnik but the Materialki are a mystery. There is a sure definition, an expectation, for Summoners, for Heartrenders, for Healers. Durasts and Alkemi receive a vague explanation before they are sent along their merry way. These Fabricators have the ability to put their minds to great use and come up with something original, something beneficial to society. Tonight, we gather to see what the Materialki bring to the table, to see how they can contribute to our noble cause.”
Applause burst throughout the room and Voldemort smiled. He stepped back and sat himself in a chair lavish enough to be called a throne. Nagini slipped from his shoulders and wound herself around the back of the chair, pearching up high to get the best view of the room. At his feet sat Caradoc, who looked even worse for wear with each passing meeting. His hair was covered in a layer of grease and filth, even Regulus could see the way it kept getting darker. The merzost tendrils that had wrapped themselves around his finger tips had sprouted upwards, reaching halfway up his palms. He looked frail, his bones thin, his stomach empty. His eyes curved downward and were never anything other than lidded. Impossibly deep bags sagged under his eyes, a stark contrast from his pale skin. The only thing about him that was clean and sparkling was his kefta and the golden collar fastened around his neck, like someone had taken to polishing it.
Another part about Death Eater meetings Regulus despised. Caradoc was the first person to actually help him when he was struggling. He was one of the few who knew he was a Tailor, and had accepted him for it, had shown him just how vast his abilities were. He was Regulus’ eyeopener to his romantic desires. He was a mirror. If Regulus made one mistake, he’d end up like Caradoc. He was absolutely certain Voldemort knew he was a Tailor. There was no way Walburga and Orion would keep that tidbit of information from their Dark Lord, especially when Tailors were so rare. He was a reminder of where all possible paths of Regulus’ future would lead and he despised it. Despised seeing someone he had once cared about, still kind of does, as broken as he was, despised seeing his fate so blatantly before him and there was nothing he could do about it.
The Death Eaters moved to form an open oval of space before Voldemort. One by one, the rather few Materalki of the Death Eaters were called forward to present their invention. And, just as Regulus had expected, it was highly anticlimactic. Some ‘inventions’ already existed, some didn’t work, some were just straight up disappointing. Even after nearly every Materalki went up, there was only one creation Voldemort had taken interest in: an insert for Death Eater masks that allowed those to see in the dark, which opened up many avenues for midnight missions. That Durast had instantly become the favourite Fabricator and Voldemort had ordered him to create one for every single Death Eater.
However, Regulus could see Voldemort’s mood growing sour with each passing presentation. He sunk lower in his seat, his smile grew less wide but more sharp, an irritation sparked in his eye. Regulus almost felt remorse for the Materalki. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be seeing many of them come the next meeting.
After what felt like an eternity, Voldemort called up the final Materalnik. “Severus Snape, please come forward.”
The crowd parted for him and Severus walked up towards the front, hands behind his back and head held high. The air around him was weirdly confident and Regulus found himself more intrigued with whatever the Alkemi had cooked up than he wanted to be.
“You, Severus Snape, were the first Alkemi to ever join the Death Eaters, correct?” Voldemort asked, though as with almost every question with him, it was more of a demand.
“Yes, my lord.” Severus answered, dipping his head.
“I have high expectations for you. What have you brought before us tonight?”
“Thank you, my lord,” Severus murmured, then slipped his hands into his pockets. On the table set up before Voldemort, he placed two vials and a volumetric flask of some mysterious concoction. “I call this Nightmare Fuel.”
Voldemort sat up and Regulus could feel every Death Eater in the room straining to get a better look. Unlike what most of the other Materalki had come up with, Severus’ actually sounded and looked dangerous. Even though Regulus couldn’t tell what colour it was, he certainly didn’t want to ingest whatever seemed to swirl on its own.
“And what is it?” Voldemort inquired.
“My take on your average Pensive Potion. The point of a Pensive Potion is to allow someone to relive a special memory, a fond moment from the past. This ,” Severus picked up a vial for emphasis. “Forces the consumer to endure every horrible experience they’ve ever endured over again.”
Regulus felt his blood run cold.
Voldemort’s brow rose in interest and his eye gleamed with something Regulus couldn’t name, something that made him want to run. “Every single one?”
“Every one,” Severus confirmed. “However, it does run at a faster speed than at which the moment occurred but the general idea is still here. The consumer still feels the emotion and the trauma all the same.”
“Interesting. And the dosage?”
“You need only a drop to feel the full effect but the larger the dose, the more vivid the image.”
Regulus felt like he was going to be sick and he fought to smother the urge. Severus’ mind was a cruel and twisted maze. Who would ever come up with something like this, let alone make it into a reality? Forcing any individual to experience their worst moments in life, any time they felt scared, any time they felt small or helpless, was abominable. He couldn’t imagine what would take place in his own mind. Everytime he was punished, everytime Sirius was punished, that first letter he had gotten from Sirius when he had been replaced by James Potter, the moment Sirius left-
Regulus reached for Narcissa’s forearm and gripped it hard. A quick glance over said that she was in a similar situation.
“And that is the same thing?” Voldemort asked, pointing to the volumetric flask.
“Yes,” Severus confirmed. “The same substance, only in gas form. It’s no less effective. It may be even more so. The memories will be more clear with liquid consumption but the gas would affect many more individuals.”
Voldemort leaned back in his chair, thinking. “And you are sure of your findings?”
“Completely. I have not a single doubt in my mind that this will work.”
Voldemort hummed, then kicked Caradoc forward. “Show me.”
Caradoc’s eyes widened as Severus approached him with a vial. He tried to squirm backwards, tried to skitter away from the bottled cruelty Severus held but with a bored flick of Voldemort’s wrist, the shadows were pushing him ahead and holding him still. Caradoc still attempted to thrash, throwing his head back and forth as Severus pried his jaw open. In a last ditch attempt, Caradoc tried to bite at Severus’ fingers but it only gave him more access to pour the vial potion down the Tailor’s throat.
Severus jumped back and the shadows died as Caradoc went limp. His eyes shut and he lay still on the floor.
Nothing happened.
The room was filled with tension so thick Regulus could feel it dancing on his skin. He held his breath, crossed his fingers and hoped that the ‘Nightmare Fuel’ wouldn’t work, that Severus was simply overconfident and his experiment had failed.
“Give it a moment,” Severus said when the room grew impatient, entirely calm. “It goes in chronological order. His earliest trauma may not generate any reaction.”
Then, Caradoc twitched. His head snapped to the side and then the other. His breathing grew laboured and he curled up into a ball. His hands covered his ears and his body began to tremble. Little whimpers fell past his lips, starting as small noises and slowly conforming into non-coherent, whispered babbling. He started to cry, relentless streams pouring down his face as he choked on sobs.
Then, he screamed.
Or, as well as he could with the collar around his throat. It was broken, cracking every few seconds with the disuse of his voice. It was quiet, nothing louder than your average spoken volume but it was enough. It was clear, it was agonized, it was pleading for whatever images Severus had infected his brain with to stop.
A slow grin formed on Voldemort’s face, a sword’s vicious blade. “Well done, Severus Snape. You’ve clearly outdone yourself and have created something more magnificent than any other Materalki amongst us. I expect a batch to be delivered directly to me at the start of every meeting from now on.”
Severus bowed. “Yes, my lord. Thank you for your kind words.”
“You may go back to where you were before.”
Severus turned and left the circle and the room exploded in applause. Two Summoners rushed forwards to drag Caradoc, who was still screaming without showing any signs of stopping, out of the room.
When Severus made his way back to them, Rabastan blurted, “You’re terrifying.”
Severus smiled. “Good.”
And if Regulus didn’t like Severus before, he most certainly does not like him now. First, all of the words he’d said, then he befriended his cousin and now he had the audacity to scare him? No.
“Now,” Voldemort said, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “If any other Death Eater has something they wish to share, something that can be implicated within their Order, please do so now.”
Regulus wasn’t expecting anything. The Materialki came up with this stuff, not the Etheralki or the Corporalki. So when he heard a sing-song “I do!” in the easily identifiable voice of Bellatrix, he was thrown incredibly off guard.
Bellatrix stepped forward and beside him, Narcissa tensed. Regulus understood her anxious anticipation. If Bellatrix had come up with something, it was undoubtedly awful.
“Bellatrix,” Voldemort said, almost fond. “What do you have for us?”
“I’ll need a volunteer,” Bellatrix said, scanning the crowd of Death Eaters. “Oh, husband!”
Rodolphus scowled but dragged himself forwards. Rabastan stood, stiff as a board and eyes wide with fear as he watched his older brother push through the crowd. Regulus felt what must be only a quarter of concern for his friend than what Rabastan must be feeling. Regulus almost wished he could comfort him, then remembered Rabastan did absolutely nothing when Sirius was having his blood boiled in front of them all.
Bellatrix grinned wickedly. “Husband.”
“Wife.” Rodolphus said stiffly.
“Ready to be part of my demonstration?”
“I-”
“Doesn’t matter, you don’t get a choice.” Bellatrix held up her hands in the typical Heartrending gesture, then pretended a ball was between them and began to compress.
Unlike with Severus’ demonstration with Nightmare Fuel, the screaming was instant.
Rodolphus fell to the floor, twitching in an almost seizure-esque manor and holding his head in his hands. His eyes were scrunched shut tightly, and the look on his face didn’t display near enough pain for the levels of agony that filled his screams.
Narcissa reached out for Rabastan, grabbed his bicep when he went to take a step forward. He tried to pull out of her grip but Narcissa held firm.
“Let me go,” Rabastan hissed. “She’s fucking killing him-”
“No, she’s not,” Regulus said after a quick diagnostic gesture. “I don’t know what she’s doing, I can’t tell where the pain is coming from, but he’s not in any physical harm.”
Rabastan stared at him. “Then what, by all the fucking Saints, could she possibly be doing to cause that?” His voice broke on the final word and he nodded towards Rodolphus.
Just then, Bellatrix stopped. She dropped her hands and the screams cut out instantly. Rodolphus sagged forward, collapsing to the cool tiled floor. Bellatrix grinned, clasped her hands together and turned towards Voldemort.
He stared at her, brows high on his forehead, like he couldn’t believe Bellatrix had just done that- whatever that was. “Care to explain your little demonstration?”
Bellatrix beamed. “That was the Cruciatus.”
“I torture,” Severus muttered. “Old Ravkan.”
Voldemort hummed. “And what exactly did you just do?”
“Neuro-Heartrending,” Bellatrix said and the room gasped. Heartrending was difficult. It was a lot of memorizing, a lot of practice, and a lot of caution. Neuro-Heartrending was almost never tampered with. There was so much that could go wrong and one small slip up and your subject was dead or clinically insane. Clearly, Bellatrix didn’t have as much issue dipping into the forbidden topic than your average Corporalnik. “I convinced the brain it was in excruciating pain. There was no origin for the pain so he’s fine,” She glared down at her husband’s unconscious body and kicked him in the side. “But too much exposure leads to insanity.”
“Can you teach your fellow Heartrenders how to do it?” Voldemort asked.
Bellatrix giggled. “Of course, I can. I wouldn’t have shown you otherwise.”
“Good. Prepare to do so at our next meeting.”
Bellatrix laughed again and skipped back to join the group of Death Eaters, purposely stepping on Rodolphus as he did so.
Regulus might genuinely vomit. The idea of Severus’ horror concoction made him queasy, enduring Nightmare Fuel even more so but using the Cruciatus on someone? Nearly enough for him to empty the contents of his stomach all over the floor. Watching the pain was vile but being the cause of it?
Regulus stared down at his hands. It was impossible to imagine him being able to do such a thing. Would he even be able to do it? Was that where his Heartrending abilities ended? Would he have the guts to stand there and mess with someone’s brain just to see them scream? What would happen if he couldn’t? Would Voldemort make it a requirement? ‘All Death Eater Heartrenders must be able to perform the Cruciatus.’ And if he couldn’t? Would that be his fall from grace? Would that shove him from his seat on the stage, from his safe little throne at the top, off the deep end? Would it send him splashing down into the deepest pits? Would he become just another pet at the Dark Lord’s feet?
Regulus barely comprehended when Voldemort dismissed the meeting, simply trailed behind his parents as they led the way to their carriage. They didn’t speak to him, he didn’t speak to them. He doubted he’d even be able to hold up a conversation. His mind was a scrambling mess of thoughts about Nightmare Fuel, the Cruciatus, the situation he’s gotten himself buried into, Sirius, Caradoc, Tailors, the Hierarchy, Sirius, his big brother, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius.
What would Sirius do, if he were here? How would he have reacted to seeing Nightmare Fuel? How would he have reacted to the Cruciatus? To seeing Rodolphus tortured like that? Would Sirius have had the guts to stop it? Would he have intervened, despite knowing Bellatrix would've turned on him next? Oh, who is he kidding? If Sirius was there, Bellatrix would’ve chosen him as his guinea pig.
It was pointless to imagine. There is no other way the scenario would’ve been able to play out because Sirius didn’t take the Mark. There was no variation of this universe where he would’ve. Regulus was always destined to be without his big brother.