Regulus couldn’t decide if informal Deatheaters meetings were better or worse than formal ones. There were no masks, and the meetings were reserved for only the closest of his followers. In other words, it appeared as a regular pureblood soirée with a twist of cruelty and demonstration of power barely disguised by the glamourous surface. He took another sip of Firewhiskey and let it burn down his throat. It didn’t numb him nearly as much as he wished it to.
What was supposed to be a dance floor was cleared out of guests. They all stood around in the circle, where Bellatrix stood, facing a person lying face down on the floor. A muggleborn witch who had not only dared to speak up against Voldemort’s tyranny, but also hadn’t shown fear of him or his followers.
Clearly, she had made a mistake.
Voldemort had decided to make her a spectacle-and a message.
They watched as she slowly, painfully dragged herself across the stone floor. Her eyes bloodshot, and her face desperate. Bellatrix kicked her in the side and grabbed her by the hair, dragging her back.
“Where do you think you are going, you filthy little mudblood?”
The woman whimpered and Regulus thought he could hear her pleading before he tuned her out. It soon turned to screaming as Bellatrix kept using the Cruciatus curse. If his home life prepared him for anything, it was to block out certain aspects of the moment, dissociating through it like it wasn't happening right in front of him. Guilt and shame were harder to get rid of, but he could suppress them, for the most part. If anyone were to glance at him, he would just appeared bored.
“Regulus,” Voldemort said, once the screaming died down, however briefly.
Regulus turned his head to him, slightly bowing his head down, before meeting his eyes.
“Yes, my Lord?”
“Finish her off. Then find me in my study, I have important matters to discuss with you.”
His only answer was a slight incline of the head. Voldemort turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in sudden silence. As soon as the doors of his study had fallen shut, the whole room erupted in rumours and whispers.
Regulus stepped forward and drew his wand with his right hand, taking the glass to his left. Bellatrix still stood there, giving him a dirty look. No wonder wishing Voldemort had given her the task of killing the unfortunate soul they captured. He found it laughable, how infatuated she was with Voldemort. He could never quite tell if it was his power she craved, or if she found him handsome in a way she didn’t find others.
Knowing her, though, it was probably about power.
“Step aside, cousin. You had your fun, and you know the Dark Lord doesn’t like waiting.”
She shot him another glare, before stepping aside and reclaiming her place in the circle that quieted down again, watching in anticipation. Regulus tried his best to blank out his mind as he raised his wands and pointed in towards the witch in front of him. At this point, killing her would be mercy. Their eyes met, and neither looked away.
Her wild, ginger hair reminded him of Lily for the briefest second.
“Avada Kedavra!”
In a single flash of sickening green, it was over. It was almost fascinating, how easily one could take a life, with the power they all had. All it cost was a piece of one’s soul. Regulus assured himself that a piece of himself he just lost had been lost a long time ago. He wondered how much of himself he'd already given away with the same desperate consolation over the past two years.
He let his hand drop and he put his wand back to his robe. Leaving the glass on the table as he passed by it on his way to Voldemort’s study.
Most people assumed being a spy meant constant stress. Your heart beating too fast, palms sweating. Panicking you might have given yourself away. Perhaps it was for some. Perhaps Regulus had lost enough of his soul, of his humanity, to not have those reactions anymore. If anything, it felt like in those moments of danger, time slowed down as he cherry picked what to say, how to arrange his face. How to react exactly as he should.
Maybe his mother’s lessons hadn’t been completely in vain.
Heavy wooden doors closed quietly behind him after he entered. He bowed his head, both a show of respect, and a moment to compose himself. Voldemort was excellent at Legilimency, and while he wouldn’t aggressively use it on Regulus without causing offence, he could use a more subtle approach in hopes of picking up on something. Regulus wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.
“My Lord. You wished to see me.”
“Take a seat.”
Shock spread through him, and suspicion rose like a wave. Not kneel, not stand, but sit. Like an equal. Voldemort didn’t do equals. He preferred to either leave people uncomfortable by making them stand as he gave instructions, or, if he wanted to show off his power, make them kneel. But sit? It made Regulus’ stomach twist uncomfortably.
Still, he sat down on the armchair opposite of Voldemort without a word. He could only hope his face stayed blank.
The last thing he expected to see when he finally looked at Voldemort’s face was Cheshire's smile. Has he ever seen him smile before? He didn’t think so. It made his snake-like face twist awfully. It would have been on the verge of gruesome on its own, but with the added unsettling aura Voldemort always had around him, it made bile rise in his throat. He felt rooted to the chair,
“I have watched your progress in the past few months, Regulus. Despite my initial reservations because of your brother, you have proved yourself to be most obedient and loyal. I think it is almost time for me to send you an important mission.”
A cold shiver ran down Regulus’ spine. His heart didn’t pick up a beat, but the hairs on his nape stood. Everything about this screamed dangerous. From the start, the plan had been to blend in, not draw attention and get as much information as he could, while staying under the radar. Now he had Voldemort’s full attention. Something had gone horribly wrong.
“I would be most honoured, my Lord.”
Hearing the words roll off his tongue in perfectly bland fashion felt like listening to them with his head underwater. So distant and far away.
“One thing I need you to do first, is earn my trust. It will only be a simple thing, but I need you to not ask questions. Is that clear?”
“Of course, my Lord.”
He felt Voldemort trying to push into his mind with more force now. Regulus blanked out his mind and built up his shield. Force receded and he breathed the sigh of relief.
“Very well, I will need to borrow your House Elf for one evening. I shall send you an owl as to when I will need him.”
Rage tasted acidic on Regulus’ tongue. Resisting the urge to swallow was harder than he expected. Voldemort didn’t know how much he cared about Kreacher and showing it would only make this situation worse. He forced himself to nod.
“Naturally. Anything else?”
Voldemort peered at the glass with a drink he was holding, watching the liquor swirl.
“Regulus Arcturus Black. Named after a star. Do you suppose you shall reach them?”
The ice he walked on was so thin, he was surprised it hadn’t broken already. This newfound trust in Regulus had to be some sort of trap. But Regulus didn’t know what kind. He needed to tread carefully.
“I don’t suppose to know my destiny. Very few are able to reach the stars.”
Voldemort smiled again, but this time without revealing his teeth. It was more of a self-satisfied smile than a delighted one. Which was only slightly less chilling.
“Indeed. To reach the stars is to immortalise oneself, if ever so briefly. But destroying them, that might grant one true immortality.”
Stunned silence was the only answer Regulus could manage. It felt like the words were spoken at, rather than to him. Something about them rattled him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He managed to nod quite too late when Voldemort’s sharp gaze turned to him again.
“You may leave,” Voldemort said sharply, as if he was only now noticing Regulus was still here.
He wasn’t about to attract any more of his attention so he rose to his feet quickly and left.
Walking too fast would be noticed, so he casually made his way back to the main hall. He mingled with other guests and made small talk on a reflex, even as his mind spun. One thing he was certain of-something had changed irreversibly.
Dumbledore would be pleased with this development, Regulus was sure of it. “It means our efforts are finally being rewarded”, he could hear him say. He disagreed. The closer he was to Voldemort, the greater the risk of being found out.
His mental conundrum was interrupted by Evan, who knocked his shoulder against his harshly enough to make him spill his drink over his hand.
“Elegant as always, Rosier. A waste of both my drink and the time it will take to clean this up.”
Regulus picked at the drenched hem of his robes full of disdain and Evan rolled his eyes as took out his wands, cleaning up the mess with the flick of his wrist.
“You are so dramatic, like it doesn’t take you a second to clean it up. Or is Voldemort’s new confidant above that?”
A smirk he had on his face almost vanished at that, and dread settled in his stomach even deeper. Was Evan jealous of what he thought was an opportunity for Regulus to get into Voldemort’s good graces? It was an option he hadn’t even considered. For Evan to see him only as his harmless friend was crucial to maintain his image. If he saw him as a threat, it could become a problem.
He forced himself to chuckle and carefully knocked their shoulders together once again.
“Voldemort’s confidant? Please, I’d hardly consider myself his confidant. I am just above your clumsiness, you big oaf.”
Evan smiled and Regulus internally exhaled. Suspicion diverted, at least for now. Last thing he needed was more problems.
“My clumsiness? You dated a Gryffidor for a year! You should be used to-”
“Shhh!” Regulus hissed.
He flinched back slightly, before he managed to stop and smooth his face back into a neutral expression.
It was a shock that Evan even brought it up, especially in a room full of Deatheaters. What he and James had had in his sixth year was a secret for a reason. He scanned the room quickly, trying to spot anyone who might have heard what was said, but it seemed no one was paying any attention to them. It seemed tonight was made for Regulus to barely avoid multiple disasters.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he whispered sharply, looking back at Evan.
Evan shrugged, seemingly not bothered at the slightest. One of these days, Regulus was going to wring his neck.
“Relax, nobody is listening. I just don’t understand how you and Dorcas tolerate Gryffindors. They are so annoying.”
Well, that wasn’t strictly untrue. If people were asked to describe James Potter with one word, he was certain many would choose annoying. When he first met him, he had very much thought so as well. But the more he got to know him, the less he saw that as a flaw. He pushed the thought aside. There was no point in pondering about it now, those thoughts belonged in the past.
“That’s because you wanted to fuck Barty since you were 15, and you never even looked at anyone else. And I haven’t been unfortunate enough to deal with any Gryffindors for a while now, so my tolerance for annoying is quite low. So, watch I’d watch it, if I were you.”
Evan spluttered to deny it, but Regulus just raised his eyebrow. Some things were just certain. The sky was blue, and Evan was in love with Barty. Really, after all these years, it was painful to watch him pine as Barty kept adding bodies to the long list of his conquests. He had even tried to add Regulus to that list, for Merlin’s sake. If Evan made a move, Barty was unlikely to reject him.
But that wasn’t what Evan wanted. He wanted to be more than just another person Barty slept with. It was a fucked up situation all around and Regulus tried to stay out of it for the most part. But if Evan would broach sacredly buried subjects, so would he.
Regulus stayed for another hour, before it was polite for him to excuse himself and leave. His night wasn’t over yet. He made sure to apparate to Grimmauld Place. Dragging his feet through heavy footsteps up the stairs so his mother would hear.She wouldn’t bother him until the morning, as long as she knew he had come back.
Fortunately for Regulus, he had a fireplace in his room, too. He shed his coat and grabbed floo powder.
Going to the Headmaster's office would never not be weird for him. No matter the fact that he had graduated a year ago, and had done this for an entire year before that, it still felt like he was in trouble. Sirius would think it hilarious, Regulus was sure of it. If he closed his eyes for a moment, he could see him saying that, with that stupid smirk of his.
Missing Sirius felt like an absence he could live with. Seeing Gryffindor decorations all over Dumbledore’ office always made his chest ache, though. Like a phantom limb one would remember wasn’t there only when they felt the need to use it.
“Good evening. Mr Black. I was starting to worry something had happened and you wouldn’t show.”
Regulus’ almost bristled at that. In the past two years, he had never missed a meeting with Dumbledore. The implication he just wouldn’t show up on a whim didn’t sit well with him.
“Meeting lasted longer than expected. Voldemort wanted to talk to me, alone. I couldn’t leave immediately after.”
That got him a reaction. Slight raise of eyebrows and Dumbledore leaning forward in his chair. It wouldn’t mean much from anyone else, but from Dumbledore it meant explicit interest.
He took his time sitting down and making himself comfortable, just to spite him. Way too many times had he been told to be patient by Dumbledore himself, so in rare moments when he did have his full attention, he fully intended on returning the favour. After he poured himself a drink that was waiting on the table and took a sip, he decided that he dragged it out long enough. He recapped his conversation with Voldemort first, but didn’t let Dumbledore comment on it. Not before he asked some questions of his own.
“They caught a muggleborn witch. The redheaded one that was in the papers. I warned you they were going to come after her if that article was published. Why didn’t you hide her?”
It wasn’t that Regulus couldn’t recall her name, if he really tried to. What was the point? Knowing her name wouldn’t change the fact that she was dead, or that he had killed her. Someone like Sirius would need to know, would use her name to torture himself with the knowledge. Regulus didn’t need that. There were plenty of other ghosts to haunt him. Her expression and likeness to Lily would do enough.
“Christina was a true Gryffindor. Brave, to a point of recklessness. Do you think I didn’t offer her protection?”
This time, he couldn’t help but bristle. A true Gryffindor? Was that how Dumbledore saw her death? An image of Sirius flashed through his mind. Broken and tortured on the stone floor, waiting for death to free him from pain. Would Dumbledore consider him another brave Gryffindor, giving hope to others with his story of courageous death, too? It made him feel nauseated.
“Yes. I think her death suits you. Fits the bigger picture. How heroic of her to die for your cause. Must be inspirational for some of your toys. For others, well. I am sure nothing gives better motivation than revenge.”
Dumbledore sighed, slightly shaking his head. Like he was disappointed at Regulus’ outburst. Did he expect him to keep the same composure he did during Deatheaters’ meetings all the time? Was this his proof that his new, shiny spy was slowly breaking?
Regulus forced himself to slow his breathing and bring back at least semblance of composure. This man infuriated him beyond words. At what point did the greater good become more important than individual lives? Where was the line? How many people would have to die until Dumbledore deemed it enough?
“Mr Black, please try to stay calm. I know watching that happen must be difficult, but try to see the bigger picture. Christine’s sacrifice is a tragedy, but the one we can learn and adapt from. I am currently more worried about Voldemort himself. Do you have an idea about why he would need Kreacher? Or what mission could he send you off to?”
Inhale, exhale. Commiting murder of a Headmaster, and potentially the only wizard that can take on Voldemort was not a smart move, he reminded himself. Think, he thought to himself. Voldemort’s words still felt familiar in an odd way. Like a puzzle he could solve once he knew where to place all the pieces.
“I am not sure. I feel like I could figure it out, but I am missing a piece of the puzzle. But I don’t like the fact that he turned more attention to me.”
Dumbledore nodded wistfully, but Regulus could tell he disagreed. Was it because he didn’t think Regulus was in any danger of being discovered or because he didn’t care if he did? Maybe it was for the best that he didn’t know the answer.
“You will be able to learn more vital information if you are one of Voldemort’s more trusted followers, I know you have your reservations about this, but this a good thing, Regulus.”
Ah, yes. Using his first name to appear closer and to remind him of how much older and wiser he was than him. Dumbledore sometimes struck him as having more Slytherin than Gryffindor qualities. Not that Regulus could do anything other than agree. It seemed to be a pattern in his life. Keep agreeing, keep nodding your head.
“It has been a long night for you, I think we can cut our meeting short. If you remember anything else or figure out our…puzzle, send me an owl.”
“Of course.”
He was tired. This whole arrangement was making him so tired. Constant secrecy, constantly having to think about everything he said or did. Trusting Dumbledore was becoming harder, too. One of these days, he could send one of the people Regulus was doing this for, to their death. The one he would no doubt describe as heroic. And what could Regulus do to stop it? Nothing, absolutely nothing. Maybe he wouldn’t even tell him, just to keep him doing what he wanted him to.
How far did the greater good reach, after all?
“Goodnight, Mr Black.”
“Goodnight professor.”
With that, Regulus used floo powder once more and fell straight to bed. He hoped at least his dreams would give him a break from the nightmares he was living. But even as he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help but picture Christine’s face morphing into Sirius’. Lily’s. In the end, his own. In that version of the dream, he raised the wand with ease.