Part I
October 30th-31st, 1983 - Little Hangleton
“A successful evening so far,” Tom Riddle muses, his long fingers absentmindedly stroking the enormous snake draped over his shoulders like a shawl as he and Regulus walk side by side up the path. “But the night is still young. I daresay there is still time for mistakes.”
Regulus shivers slightly, hoping that, if the other man notices, he can blame it on the chilly autumnal evening.
He’s fairly certain he’s never felt this anxious in his life - and, given the general state of him and his life, that’s saying rather a lot. The huge snake, Nagini, has her gaze fixed unwaveringly on him, as though she can somehow sense everything he’s thinking, despite his careful efforts to keep his mind blank - the sensation of being watched really isn’t helping him to relax.
The threatening edge in Riddle’s tone is scarcely veiled at all, and it unnerves Regulus even more than he suspects the other man intends it to. Because there isn’t any more time for mistakes. Yes, there are many things that could go wrong here - so many, in fact, that Regulus would rather not dwell on those possibilities - but most of those things are out of his hands now. Which is not a feeling he’s ever learnt to be especially comfortable with, but that’s just too bad for him really, because, well..this is it, tonight.
Everything is in place for this final game, risky as the playing pieces may be, and Regulus supposes that either the game will go smoothly, or…it won’t. Those are the only two options left, really. Succeed or fail. Win or lose.
He’s not sure he would call the evening ‘successful’ so far, either. Well, alright, nothing has put the plan in jeopardy yet, and Riddle is probably more convinced of Regulus’s loyalty at this moment than he’s ever been - both of which can be counted as small victories, he supposes. Still, aiding and assisting Voldemort in the act of robbing Dumbledore posthumously of his possessions has left rather a bitter taste in his mouth.
Not that Dumbledore would have been angry with Regulus for doing it - in fact, technically it wasn’t even stealing. He knows for a fact that the old man had been fully expecting it, actually (of course he had, the omniscient bastard), given that he’d found his will locked away in his drawer about two days after killing him.
As it turned out, he had made very few bequests to specific people, but the few bequests he had made had made very little sense to Regulus; predictably, he hadn’t actually bothered to explain himself. His will had, overall, been just as infuriatingly vague as most of the things he’d ever said in his life.
The Hogwarts headmaster had left the ring he’d shattered - the one that had once been a Horcrux containing a curse which had slowly killed him - as a joint bequest for Lily and James Potter, though Regulus isn’t certain that ring had even been Dumbledore’s to bequeath, given he’d simply recovered it and destroyed it. By that logic, Slytherin’s locket would belong to him , and Ravenclaw’s diadem to Meggie and Fabian.
He’s not sure the fact that the sword of Gryffindor had resided in his office was enough to make that Dumbledore’s property, either - surely, it was a priceless historical artefact? But the old man apparently couldn’t have cared less about such legal technicalities, and for reasons best known to himself,he had bequeathed Gryffindor’s sword to…Sirius. With no explanation at all, other than writing, ‘in the hopes that he will use it well.’
Regulus had been just as baffled by this as the bequeathal of the ring to the Potters. Sirius, on the other hand, had been awestruck and a little smug when Regulus had told him about it - once he’d processed the circumstances of Dumbledore’s death, at least. His excitement had been short-lived, though, as Regulus had informed him he didn’t actually have a clue where the sword even was; after moving it from its’ case to keep it from Voldemort’s clutches, Dumbledore never had told him where he’d put it. One would think , Regulus muses with a surge of annoyance, that the old man might have been a little less vague, if he’d been intending the sword to go to Sirius. But no, apparently not. Maybe this is all part of Dumbledore’s last scheme, or maybe he really was just a little insane - no way to know for sure now, anyway.
Well, perhaps that isn’t true, actually. The headmaster had, to Regulus’s surprise, bequeathed his Pensieve to him, along with a select few of the memory fragments in crystal bottles; his other memory bottles had been split between Minerva McGonagall and his younger brother, Aberforth. Regulus hasn’t actually had a chance to put the Pensieve to use yet by perusing any of those memories - perhaps they might finally give him some insight into what the old man had been thinking.
Most of his rare books, the headmaster had simply left for Hogwarts.
He had concluded his will with the bleak statement, ‘Any other possessions of mine, which are not valuable or sentimental enough for me to mention by name, I hereby leave to Tom Marvolo Riddle - as I am sure he will take them anyway - although I hope that they will not remain in his keeping for long.’
So Regulus had delivered the Gaunts’ ring to Lily and James at Godric’s Hollow, given a grief-stricken McGonagall the memories she’d been left, and paid a visit to the Hog’s Head to give Aberforth his, making good on his promise and delivering Albus’s last message for his younger brother along with the potions. Aberforth’s expression hadn’t exactly been one of grief; it had been something much more complicated than that. Regulus could understand that well enough.
Having delivered the headmaster’s possessions to their rightful owners - and retrieved the Pensieve - Regulus couldn’t see that he had any choice other than to give Riddle his pick of everything that remained, allowing him to believe that nothing had yet been removed, of course. Dumbledore had given explicit permission, after all. He’s just thankful he’d managed to persuade the man to wait on the outskirts of Hogsmeade while Regulus ransacked Dumbledore’s office on his behalf. He’d given the excuse that nobody at Hogwarts yet knew that he was the one who’d killed the old man - though he’s pretty certain Minerva McGonagall, for one, isn’t fooled for a second - and thus he’ll still be able to keep his cover as a spy for a little while yet, provided his association with the Dark Lord doesn’t become public knowledge in the castle. Riddle had begrudgingly conceded that Regulus being seen to escort him through Hogwarts would certainly blow his cover for good; and so, with very ill grace, he’d waited outside the boundaries of the town.
Regulus had felt almost lightheaded with relief at that, despite everything. Sirius and Fabian might be willing to forgive him for a lot of things - even Dumbledore’s death - but he’s quite sure they wouldn’t forgive him if he willingly granted Lord Voldemort access to a school full of largely defenceless and underage students, including Meggie Brown and Fabian’s nephew. Which would be very fair, because Regulus wouldn’t forgive himself, either.
Of course, if they fail tonight, then it’s likely that none of them will be around to stop Riddle, when he does inevitably decide to barge into Hogwarts like he owns the place - which, in his mind, he does. But….well, Regulus would rather not dwell on that possibility, actually.
“What time is it, Regulus?” Riddle murmurs now; lost in thought, Regulus jumps a little before hastily checking his watch.
“Quarter to midnight, my lord,” he murmurs, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.
It’s alright, they’re on schedule, he tries to remind himself. Nothing has gone off the rails yet.
“Ah, so we are on schedule thus far, then,” Voldemort replies, his lipless mouth curving into a satisfied smirk as he echoes Regulus’s thoughts. “That is, assuming he is not going to keep us waiting.”
“No, my lord,” he responds hastily, “he won’t keep us waiting, I promise. He knows exactly what time to meet us here.”
That much, at least, is true.
“Certainly, if he knows what is good for him, he will not,” Riddle answers smoothly. For a moment, Regulus wrestles with a ridiculous urge to punch him in his snakelike face. “But then, it would appear that he has recently been reminded of what is good for him. Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to me,” Regulus echoes in a murmur, ducking his head a little, doing his utmost not to smirk. Oh, the irony.
As they come to the end of the pathway, the handsome facade of the ivy-covered manor house rising up in front of them, Riddle casually flicks his wand, lifting the wards to let them through, flicking his wand again so that the old wooden door creaks open, rusty on its hinges. Absentmindedly stroking the snake’s head again, he walks into the manor house without another word to Regulus. Biting back a sigh, his anxiety returning tenfold, Regulus follows him.
As they walk through the dark, dusty entrance hall, Regulus glances up at the chandelier hanging with cobwebs, his gaze wandering to the gloomy upper landing cast in shadows, taking another moment to wonder why Voldemort had been so insistent that this should be their meeting place, this long-abandoned Muggle manor in this eminently Muggleish town. He hasn’t bothered to explain himself yet; apparently he’s in no hurry to, either.
Regulus can see the glow of firelight coming from under the living room door; as he follows Riddle up the long corridor towards it, he hears the low, tense murmur of voices abruptly stop, evidently hearing their approach.
As Voldemort gives his wand a small twitch again, causing the living room door to bang sharply open, the two sisters waiting in front of the fireplace whip around to face them, long blonde and dark curls flying.
Narcissa says nothing as Regulus walks in behind Voldemort, merely sinking into a small, neat curtsey, head bent deferentially, her face giving absolutely nothing away. Her older sister, on the other hand, lets out something close to a shriek of excitement as the two men approach.
“My lord!” she exclaims. “You are back!”
“Yes indeed, Bella,” Riddle replies, looking callously amused at the almost worshipful expression on her face. “We are back, and perfectly on schedule, to boot. Regulus was able to collect the old fool’s possessions for me without any delays, as you see.”
She casts Regulus a scornful look, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Voldemort; he laughs, the cold, high sound making the hairs on Regulus’s neck stand up.
“Oh, come now, Bella,” he says, looking more cruelly amused than ever now. “I am aware there is hardly any love lost between the two of you - rather more than a healthy dose of competitiveness, perhaps - but it is high past time that the two of you let bygones be bygones. Your cousin has proved himself to be an immensely valuable servant to me. He has already followed through on one promise to me; and if his other promise has come to fruition by the end of the evening, both he and his brother will, of course, be honoured beyond their wildest dreams. But that is not to say that you are not valuable, too, Bella - so there is no need to sulk like a child, is there?”
“No, my lord,” she mutters, still scowling slightly as she bends her head, dark curls falling over her alabaster face. “Of course not.”
Narcissa still hasn’t said a word since they came in, her head bowed. Managing to catch her eye, Regulus raises one questioning eyebrow at her, as subtly as he can manage; his cousin gives him the most infinitesimal of nods, and he feels the knot of anxiety wedged in his chest loosen fractionally.
“The time now, Regulus?” Voldemort asks.
He checks his watch again.
“Ten to, my lord.”
“Ah,” he says, moving closer to the great fireplace, peering out of the window at the darkness outside, looking out towards the long gravel pathway, the perfectly manicured front lawn. Rain has started to patter against the glass; the sound of it strangely soothing on Regulus’s taut nerves.
“Well then,” Riddle continues, turning suddenly back towards them, “perhaps we have time for me to give you a little family history lesson, while we wait?”
What the fuck? Regulus thinks, feeling his brow furrowing slightly as he stares at the man. Surely Voldemort doesn’t actually think he can tell them anything about their own - admittedly rather tangled - family tree, that they don’t already know? They were born to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight - does he honestly not realise that none of them have been allowed to forget that fact for one second, from their earliest childhood?
“You look confused, Regulus,” Voldemort murmurs, looking coldly amused again as he lazily strokes his long fingers over the snake. “Perhaps you will understand a little better when I tell you that the room in which we are standing, right at this moment, is the very room in which I once had the honour - the pleasure - of disposing of my father.”
Oh.
Regulus exchanges one brief, wide-eyed look with his cousins; Voldemort’s smirk widens, the man clearly delighting in the shock he’s caused.
“Yes,” he sighs, the sibilant ‘s’ lingering in the air. “I must confess, I was not quite as lucky as you three, in the family department.” Regulus barely suppresses a snort at that.
“My father was, most unfortunately, rather a disappointment to me. Not that I ever had the chance to know him, of course; though I scarcely think I was missing out on anything there. My father - a fool by the name of Tom Riddle - was a filthy, good-for-nothing Muggle, you see,” he murmurs. “My mother, on the other hand, as I eventually discovered, was one of the last of the Gaunts, a truly noble family indeed. But I regret to say that she threw her dignity and her inheritance away, became a blood traitor and a whore to boot, all because she was fool enough to become besotted with Muggle filth. Much like your own sister, in fact,” he adds, nodding at the two women.
“And as if my mother had not humiliated herself enough,” Riddle continues in a murmur, his voice barely rising above the crackling flames and rain tapping like fingertips against the window, “in the end it turned out that, as beneath her as he was, as much as he should have been grovelling at her feet for even glancing in his direction, my pathetic excuse for a father did not return her infatuation in the slightest. He abandoned her without ceremony, despite knowing full well she was pregnant, he left her utterly destitute in London, so desperate that she debased herself even further by selling her locket, one of the last Gaunt heirlooms - one of the last heirlooms of Slytherin himself, in fact. To add insult to injury, my mother chose, instead of returning to her family and begging their forgiveness, to give birth to me in a filthy Muggle orphanage in London - and then she promptly died, perhaps realising that when I grew older, I would never forgive her for the disgrace she had brought on us both.”
He pauses briefly in his tale, absentmindedly stroking the huge snake again, as though seeking comfort from it. Regulus takes a moment to marvel at the fact that this man has somehow managed to twist all his mother’s suffering, her tragic end, to make it all about him.
“As for my father, he never once troubled to look for me, to ask after me,” Voldemort continues quietly.
His amused smirk has vanished now, replaced by a cold expression of rage and utter hatred that sends ice creeping down Regulus’s spine.
Riddle has an utter lack of consideration and empathy for literally everyone who isn’t him, of course; but still, Regulus doesn’t remember ever seeing a look quite like that on his face before. This isn’t just his usual everyday disdain for all human lives that aren’t his own - this hatred is targeted, despite the fact that the target is long dead now. This is personal.
“Perhaps,” Riddle murmurs, “Tom Riddle, not wishing any inconvenience to shatter his pathetic, humdrum Muggle life, had persuaded himself that everything that happened with my mother was a dream. Perhaps he’d even persuaded himself that I did not exist, that he had no son. A comfortable illusion for him, perhaps,” he adds, with a sneer. “But one summer, when I was sixteen, I shattered that illusion rather…forcibly. Here in this very room, as I said.”
Regulus can’t help but shiver slightly at that, half thinking he had seen the curtains shift of their own accord, half convinced he’d heard a disembodied whisper in the corner of the room.
“Being the Muggle scum that he was, disposing of him proved rather easy,” Voldemort continues quietly. “He hardly put up any fight at all, in fact - after all, what could he have done? He had no magic running in his veins and he was confronted with my immense magical prowess; no wizard has ever managed to defeat me, so what chance did a weak, pathetic Muggle like him have? Particularly as my arrival in this house rather took him by surprise. So it was no challenge at all, barely more than squashing an irksome insect; and yet, I must confess I have never felt quite so satisfied with a job well done. Oh, I made sure to tell him exactly who I was and why I was there,” he adds, apparently interpreting Regulus’s look of disgust as an expression of intrigue. “He begged and pleaded for his life and made quite the scene, especially after I forced him to watch as I killed both of his parents - my grandparents, I suppose - in front of him. But the thing that really made me laugh was that, in one last attempt to save his own pathetic, filthy skin, he attempted to apologise to me. Oh, he was so sorry for abandoning my poor blood traitor mother, so sorry for never caring enough to look for me, he had never meant to be such a poor excuse for a father. Rather too little and too late, as apologies go, wouldn’t you say?” he asks the three of them casually.
Regulus, almost choking on his revulsion, isn’t entirely sure he’s able to form words right now; but luckily, it seems Riddle isn’t actually looking for a response, too intent on his monologue.
“But ah well,” Voldemort continues, with a small smirk, as though remembering a private joke. “Tom Riddle was undoubtedly a piece of filth, a waste of space who never deserved the courtesy of being called ‘Father’ - but at least he managed to amuse and entertain me with his desperation in his final moments. And I confess I felt refreshed, almost cleansed, by the act - I knew that I had merely removed a stain on the world, a blot that should never have existed in the first place.”
A stunned silence, as Voldemort strokes the snake’s head lazily, looking immensely satisfied with himself.
“I believe he and his parents are buried somewhere in the village graveyard,” Riddle concludes, gesturing vaguely towards the window and the village beyond. “The Muggle authorities remain perplexed about their deaths to this day, as far as I know. I had also happened to find my uncle Morfin in the shack across the way, before I came here to pay a visit to my father. I confess I’d had high hopes of meeting the last of the Gaunts, my true, noble family…but alas,” he heaves a sigh, “he was rather pathetic himself by that point, living in squalor and ignorance quite unbefitting of the Gaunt name. But at least that made it laughably easy to pin the blame for my father’s and grandparents’ deaths on him when the Ministry came calling, especially as he’d already been convicted once for an attack on Riddle twenty years earlier - the last worthwhile thing Morfin Gaunt ever did with his life, I suspect. The last I heard, he’s still busy rotting away in Azkaban. He really was useless when I called on him; he knew my mother had taken Slytherin’s locket with her, but he hadn’t the slightest clue where I might find it. Thankfully, I was resourceful enough to find it without his help, within two years of that night. That locket is even more invaluable now than it was then,” he adds, with a small smirk, clearly relishing in the idea that none of them know what he’s talking about, “but I have it rather heavily guarded. I flatter myself that nobody other than myself will ever find it again.”
Want to bet? Regulus thinks to himself, biting down on his lip to prevent himself from smirking.
“Disposing of my father remains one of my fondest memories, to this day,” Riddle murmurs, still smirking to himself as he twirls his wand between his long fingers. “But it is a shame, in a way, that the filth isn’t around to experience the humiliation of knowing that the son he abandoned, the same one he never thought it worth his while to know, not only killed him in the house he thought he was safe in, but came back many years later to claim that house as his inheritance. And - assuming nobody is foolish enough to fail me tonight - then it will be here that I am handed my final weapon, the one that will ensure I am entirely invulnerable, the one that will ensure I am the most powerful wizard to have ever lived, with nobody to challenge me. I will receive that weapon right here in the very room where I easily - and gladly - disposed of the pathetic man who never believed in me.”
Rather a lot to unpack there, Regulus muses.
“And now, perhaps another time check, Regulus?” Riddle asks, seeming to snap out of his gleeful trance suddenly.
“Oh…” Shaking himself slightly, still fighting to look impressed by the ‘family history lesson’ rather than nauseated, Regulus checks his watch again. “It’s midnight exactly, my lord.”
Immediately, he feels his heart leaping into his throat again, his anxiety off the scales. Where the hell is the infuriating, reckless git?
“Ah,” Voldemort replies quietly, a trace of irritation creeping across his previously self-satisfied expression now. “Well, if he isn’t here within the next minute or two, he will be dangerously close to running late. I certainly hope you informed him, Regulus, that it is never the best of ideas to disappoint Lord Voldemort when he is waiting for -”
But at that very moment, the man is interrupted by a huge, silvery dog bursting dramatically through the window behind him, making all four of them jump slightly, Voldemort whirling around to face it, raising his wand slightly, apparently out of sheer instinct.
Regulus, for his part, feels a ridiculous sense of warm comfort spreading through his chest, that particular feeling of reassurance and safety that he’s always felt when he knows his older brother is nearby, ever since they were small children in a big, frightening house, two terrified kids who only had each other. He’s never been quite able to shake that feeling, no matter how stupid or childish he might rationally know it to be.
The Patronus is bright and warm, like its caster, filling the shadowy, eerie living room with its silvery light and making this house, this whole situation, seem - even if only for a brief moment - much less frightening.
The huge silver dog opens its mouth. As it turns out, Sirius’s message comprises a question of only one word.
“Wards?”
“Ahh,” says Voldemort, his lipless mouth curving into a gleeful smile. “It seems your brother has not failed me after all, Regulus. Not yet, at least.”
“I told you he would keep his promise, my lord,” he replies, bowing his head and desperately hoping the man is too distracted to notice the anxiety making his voice crack slightly.
“Good,” Riddle hums approvingly. “Very good.”
“ I can go and let him through the wards, my lord!”
Voldemort laughs at that.
“No, I think not, Bella,” he replies. “You have, in the past, shown yourself to be a tad too hostile towards Regulus here, as we discussed. All in the name of proving your devotion to me, I am sure - but still, I think it best not to risk insulting your other cousin too, or frightening him away. Especially when it seems he will prove such a valuable informant.”
“I understand, my lord,” the brunette answers, scowling, the bitter disappointment in her tone completely transparent. “I am not offended, of course.”
“Oh Bella,” says Riddle, with another cold, cruel laugh that makes goosebumps rise up on Regulus’s neck, “you are truly pathetic at lying. It is lucky you have managed to evade Crouch and his Aurors thus far, or I imagine you would inadvertently tell them all my secrets before they had even reached for the Veritaserum.”
“My lord,” she cries, her face the picture of wounded indignation, “I would never betray you to the Auror scum, I am the most loyal, the most faithful -”
“Yes, yes,” Voldemort interrupts disdainfully, sounding thoroughly bored by this confession of devotion - though Regulus supposes it’s hardly the first time he’s heard it. “Bella, Regulus - you two will wait here with me. I am sure Lucius’s widow will obligingly let our friend Sirius through the wards for us, won’t you?”
Regulus sees the muscle in Narcissa’s jaw tighten slightly, a momentary flash of rage in her stormy eyes, before she smooths her face into a neutral expression again. He takes a moment to marvel at the fact that Riddle actually believes he can keep her loyal and obedient to him - especially as it’s evident that treating her with such casual cruelty has become a force of habit by now.
“Of course, my lord,” Narcissa murmurs, bowing her head slightly, her face and posture entirely composed now.
She makes for the living room door; to Regulus’s shock, she reaches out as she passes him, not looking at him, but squeezing his shoulder gently, a brief but reassuring touch. He can’t help but stare after her as the door closes behind her. Narcissa hasn’t said or done anything kind or gentle to him since Lucius’s death; she’s barely stopped glaring at him every time they meet, in fact.
Does this mean she’s finally forgiven him, accepted that he had never wanted her to be hurt and grieving? Or was that touch merely a final olive branch, given the likelihood that they might both be dead within the next half hour or so?
Regulus vastly prefers the first option. He’ll choose to believe that, then.
Now that it’s just the three of them waiting, a silence falls over the Riddles’ living room for a moment, a silence heavy with anticipation, broken only by the crackling flames, the slight hissing of the snake and the rain now beating against the window. Regulus can sense Voldemort’s impatient excitement; it’s almost deafening as he paces up and down in front of the fireplace.
“You know, when you told me the feat that you had managed with your brother, Regulus,” he remarks, finally breaking the taut silence, “I could scarcely believe it. I thought it too good to be true. The estranged Black heir, finally brought back to the fold! Finally persuaded to reclaim his true place, to stand with the rest of his family at my side! And all because of you. I was growing impatient with you, as you know - but that was my error, it seems, for I did not realise that you were playing the long game, and playing it well. You have proved yourself a most valuable servant to me indeed. And you will be rewarded.”
“It is my pleasure to serve you, my lord,” Regulus murmurs, head bowed, repulsed and nauseated by his own words. “And now - as you shall see - it is my brother’s pleasure, too.”
Now that the moment they’ve been working towards is finally upon them, his heart is pounding so hard and fast that he’s half-concerned it might be about to exhaust itself and give in. It will probably be a little difficult to play his role in this last round of the game if he just…collapses from anxiety, here and now. He hadn’t really thought about that.
If Sirius is about to fuck everything up, or if the reckless idiot gets himself hurt…or worse…
Just as Regulus starts to wonder why Narcissa seems to be taking several hours to fetch him, he hears footsteps coming down the corridor; the living room door bangs open unceremoniously, and both Voldemort and Regulus whip around to face the newcomer. Regulus only just stops himself from crying out in shock.
If he’d thought he was close to having a heart attack two minutes ago, it’s nothing compared to the spike of confused panic that stabs through his chest as he registers the bizarre sight in front of him.
Yes, Sirius is standing there in the doorway with Narcissa, as had been the plan, looking - somehow - entirely unfazed by the situation. But it isn’t just Sirius.
Standing in front of him - Regulus doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to see him less than he does right now, in this house, in this company - is none other than Fabian Prewett. And as if his boyfriend’s unwelcome presence in this most dangerous of meeting places wasn’t alarming enough, standing at his side - to Regulus’s bewilderment - is Meggie Brown.
There’s something… off about them, something eerie that sends ice crawling down his spine. Fabian and Meggie shuffle into the room in front of Sirius - they both have docile, glazed expressions on their faces, staring blankly at Riddle with vacant eyes, as if neither of them have the slightest clue where they are, what’s going on, or what danger they’re in.
And Sirius, strolling in behind them, apparently completely at his ease…Sirius has his wand casually trained on the pair of them.
“My lord,” he murmurs, in a tone more deferential than Regulus even thought he was capable of. He bows his head slightly - then he looks up, grinning at Regulus.
“And Reggie!” he exclaims, looking genuinely thrilled at the sight of him. “Imagine bumping into you here!”
Usually, Regulus would roll his eyes or make some kind of sarcastic comment. But right at this moment, his brain seems to have completely frozen up - not only can he not think of any deadpan remarks, he’s having trouble forming any words at all. And yes, distantly he realises that’s going to look suspicious pretty damn quickly - but why is Sirius grinning at him like that, as though this is all exactly according to the plan they’ve been meticulously going over for weeks? Why is his brother acting like he neither knows nor cares that, whatever the hell he’s playing at here, he’s leaving Regulus scrambling in the dark, thrown unexpectedly off-script in a way he does not appreciate, leaving him at risk not just of blowing his cover, but also quite possibly at risk of imminent heart failure?
“Ahh,” Voldemort says softly. “The long-lost Black brother. The estranged heir, returned at last.”
“That’s me, my lord!” Sirius replies, tone cheerful even as he ducks his head deferentially again.
“We have been expecting you, of course, Sirius,” Riddle continues. “Although I must say, your brother neglected to mention that you would be bringing company with you.”
Yeah, there’s a reason for that, he thinks somewhat hysterically, as the man’s snakelike gaze flickers over Meggie and Fabian with a detached, cold kind of curiosity.
“Oh, well, Reg would be the first to tell you that I’ve always liked company,” Sirius replies, still looking completely unfazed as he turns his megawatt grin on Voldemort. “But in his defence, he couldn’t have told you, because he didn’t know - it was rather a spur-of-the-moment decision, bringing these particular guests here with me.”
“Indeed?” Riddle asks, sounding intrigued, arching one eyebrow. “And why is that? Who are they, exactly?”
“Oh, well this here is Fabian Prewett,” Sirius announces, jabbing Fabian none-too-gently in the back with his wand tip. Fabian doesn’t complain; he doesn’t even seem to notice, in fact, still staring absentmindedly at the fireplace, expression blank as though he’s daydreaming, as though he can’t hear a word any of them are saying. The sight makes Regulus feel sick.
“Fabian here is a key member of the Order,” Sirius continues casually. “He’s been getting pretty suspicious since Dumbledore’s death; started hanging around me a bit more than was entirely convenient. As it turned out - I only just found out about an hour ago, in fact - he’d realised that I’d decided to switch sides. He’d realised I was planning to come and meet you and my brother, and he threatened to expose me to the rest of the Order. To the Potters.”
“That would have been inconvenient for you, indeed,” says Voldemort quietly, his slit-like nostrils flaring, the threatening implication scarcely veiled.
“My sentiments exactly,” Sirius agrees with a grimace. “My first instinct was just to kill him, of course.” Regulus can’t stop himself from flinching violently at that, the matter-of-fact tone; luckily, Riddle is too busy listening to his brother’s story to notice. “But then I realised that actually, given how long he’s been in the Order, he could be fairly useful to my lord too. I thought he might put up a bit of a fuss about that; but he proved far more cooperative once I put him under the Imperius Curse. As you see.”
“Indeed,” says Voldemort, sounding rather amused now as he watches Fabian, still gazing into the fire with an expression of blank contentment.
“ You used an Unforgivable?” the brunette sister exclaims, staring at Sirius with wide eyes, her tone and expression torn somewhere between scorn and disbelief. “You?”
“Yep, I did,” Sirius replies, grinning back at her smugly. “Though, as I recall, they’re actually considered pretty forgivable in our family, aren’t they, Bella? So I think I’ll probably be alright.”
She stares back at him, her mouth slightly open, a rather disarmed expression on her face, apparently unable to summon a response to that.
Regulus doesn’t know what the hell is going on right now - but he’s fairly certain that he preferred Sirius’s original plan, insane as it might have been.
“And the girl?” Riddle asks quietly, his malicious gaze shifting to Meggie, his expression making Regulus’s skin crawl.
Fabian’s blank, vacant expression doesn’t change - but Regulus sees him shift his weight slightly, ever so slightly - the movement so tiny that nobody would notice it unless they were looking directly at him - so that he’s standing more firmly in front of Meggie. Shielding her.
Wait.
“Oh, well, this is Meggie Brown, my lord,” Sirius explains, gesturing with his wand again - though Regulus notices he doesn’t jab her. “She’s a Hogwarts student, she’s in her final year. You know that Fabian has been on guard duty for the Order, protecting the school?”
“Has he, indeed?” Voldemort asks, looking back at Fabian with an expression of intrigue, before turning to Regulus pointedly.
Regulus averts his eyes. Yes, he was theoretically supposed to report all relevant information about Hogwarts to Riddle. No, he had never deemed it relevant or necessary information to tell him Fabian’s whereabouts.
“Well, yeah,” Sirius replies, arching an eyebrow. “Anyway,” he pushes on hastily, apparently noticing the tense moment, “Meggie here seems to have become quite keen on Fabian. Well, I doubt she was the only one - he is quite pretty, as security guards go.”
He pauses to smirk at Regulus, who looks back at him flatly, trying hard to resist the urge to punch him - that would really throw the plan off the rails. But does now really seem like the moment for his brother to tease him about his boyfriend? Does it?
“Anyway, the girl had followed him,” Sirius continues, looking back at Voldemort. “She didn’t realise, I suppose, that Fabian was planning to confront me. When she did realise what was happening - after I Imperiused him - she started screaming and shouting, trying to fight me, making herself a bit of a nuisance. I could have killed her, but that probably would have led to awkward questions from Hogwarts. So I figured it couldn’t hurt to bring one more person along here. She’s not in the Order - not yet, at least - but I’m sure she could still make herself useful to my lord, one way or another. She hasn’t finished her studies at Hogwarts yet, after all - another pair of eyes and ears inside the castle, perhaps?”
“Good,” says Riddle, nodding in approval, giving Meggie a calculating look that sweeps over her from head to toe.
She’s still standing there with that completely blank, glazed expression on her face - by all appearances, not even aware of Voldemort’s presence - but the expression on his face makes Regulus, for one, shudder slightly.
“For Salazar’s sake, shut the door already, girl,” Riddle says, without looking away from Meggie, all of a sudden snapping impatiently, his expression thoroughly irritated. “Are you intending to let the heat escape so that we all freeze?”
Regulus blinks, thoroughly confused for a second. Meggie isn’t standing anywhere near the door, what the hell is he snapping at her for?
But then, looking around, he realises that, despite not bothering to actually look in her direction, Voldemort had actually been addressing Narcissa.
Having let Sirius and his two hostages into the room ahead of her, she’s still leaning against the open door, watching the bizarre scene unfold in front of her with an unreadable expression on her face, seeming not to notice the chilly draught blowing in from the corridor, making the flames shiver and shrink slightly.
Girl? Regulus thinks, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. Well, that’s not going to go down well.
But Narcissa just blinks, looking disoriented for a second, before ducking her head humbly.
“My apologies, my lord,” she mumbles, turning quickly to close the door. “Foolish of me…I was lost in thought…”
Voldemort, however, seems to have lost interest in her again entirely the moment she’d obeyed his order. To Regulus’s immense discomfort, the man is now looking at Fabian again, his expression more intrigued than before, head tilted to the side as he considers him, like a snake measuring up a mouse.
“His name is Fabian Prewett , did you say, Sirius?”
“Yep, that’s him,” Sirius replies, poking Fabian in the back again with his wand tip, apparently just for the hell of it. Again, Fabian doesn’t respond at all.
“Did the Order not already lose someone to our cause by the name of Prewett?” Voldemort asks. “Or am I misremembering?”
“No, my lord, you recall correctly,” Sirius replies, darting a sideways look at Fabian. “That was Fabian’s twin brother, actually. Gideon Prewett. He and another Order fighter, Dorcas Meadowes, were ambushed while on a mission. About two and a half years ago now.”
“Ahh yes,” says Riddle, nodding contentedly as understanding blooms on his face. “Now I remember - they were cornered on the information provided by your little friend Wormtail. About the last useful thing he ever managed, before he took fright and scuttled away into the sewers like the pathetic little rat he was.”
“He was no friend of mine, my lord,” Sirius answers, his face darkening with that look of rage that any mention of Pettigrew always provokes. “I might have thought so, once upon a time - but he proved himself too much of a weak and pathetic coward to be a true friend to anyone, in the end.”
“Wise words, indeed,” Voldemort murmurs, stroking Nagini’s head absentmindedly again as he considers Fabian. “I appreciate you bringing these two to me, Sirius,” he says, finally looking away from the redhead, his expression fixed unwaveringly on Regulus’s brother now. “You made the right decision, I think, placing them under your control rather than killing them. But I must confess, it is you whom we have been waiting so patiently for, and you are my priority at the moment.”
“I am honoured, my lord,” Sirius answers, with another bright grin. “I do enjoy feeling wanted.”
“So they can wait over there for now,” Riddle continues, gesturing towards the corner of the living room. “Make sure Prewett puts that bag down, too; I shall search through it later. No doubt he’s carrying some information on the Order in there.”
Regulus blinks; he’d been so completely disarmed by Fabian and Meggie’s appearance, he hadn’t even noticed the large satchel bag across his boyfriend’s chest. Sirius promptly pokes both of them in the back with his wand, causing Meggie and Fabian to wander obediently in the direction indicated without a word; Fabian takes the satchel bag off and places it on the carpet without even glancing at it, as though unaware he’s even doing it.
“Once I am finished speaking to you, I imagine I shall have a little chat with Prewett, time permitting,” Voldemort murmurs. “And if he cannot tell me anything useful that you and your brother between you haven’t already told me, I am sure he will prove just as easy to dispose of as his brother was.”
Regulus silently clenches his fists, so hard he can feel his nails digging painfully into his skin. For a split second, he fights the ridiculous urge to simply fling himself at Riddle, catching him unawares as he wraps both hands around his throat and squeezes, spells and magic be damned.
He glances instinctively at his boyfriend, longing to step in front of him, shield him - just in time to see his blank, vacant expression vanish.
There’s no trace of fear on his face, but for a moment, Fabian looks at Voldemort with an expression of violent rage, pure hatred, that Regulus didn’t even think him capable of. Before he can process this, he sees Meggie’s vacant expression vanish momentarily, too; she gives Fabian a brief, concerned glance, pressing her arm ever so slightly against his. It seems to settle him a little. He looks swiftly back at her with a tiny, grateful smile; then, apparently sensing Regulus’s gaze, he looks directly at him, making his heart stutter predictably.
Fabian gives him a quick, bright grin - apparently meant to reassure him - and has the absolute audacity to wink at him, before hastily resuming his blank, vacant staring into space, Meggie returning to her own glazed stare at his side. Voldemort, still looking intently at Sirius, his gleeful excitement almost tangible, clearly notices none of this.
Alright, now Regulus is pissed.
These two are absolutely fine. Well, aside from the general grief and trauma that they bonded over while destroying the diadem - but they’re not under the Imperius Curse, at least. Meaning they’ve both walked into this house, accompanied Sirius into an extremely dangerous and volatile situation, with full possession of their logical faculties, entirely under their own volition. And not one of them had bothered to warn him about this.
Meggie is one thing; he’s rather surprised Fabian would allow her to do something quite this dangerous and stupid. Merlin knows how she’s even managed to sneak out of school without McGonagall or Flitwick stopping her - but then, he supposes she’s already proved she can be pretty determined, when she wants to be. I’m going to fucking fight , she had said back in his office, her jaw set. Fabian hadn’t stopped her then; apparently he’d decided not to hold her back this time, either.
But as for Fabian himself…how dare he. How fucking dare he? They’d discussed this, hadn’t they? Regulus had told him he didn’t want him anywhere remotely near Riddle’s vicinity, he’d explained that Fabian needed to stay at his sister’s house for safety, because Regulus needs him to be far, far away from this, just in case anything goes even slightly wrong - which, knowing them, is not just possible, but highly likely. And Fabian had agreed to stay at his sister’s, to keep himself out of the way…hadn’t he…?
Regulus wracks his memory frantically, trying to recall exactly what they had said. He had said, You need to stay at your sister’s house. This is going to be too dangerous, I don’t want you having anything to do with it. To which Fabian had replied, You’re right, Reg, it will be dangerous. He’d said, Do you understand me, Fabian? I love you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt, because I failed to save you. To which Fabian had replied, Of course I understand you. I love you too, Reg - I would feel exactly the same way, if I couldn’t protect you.
Oh…he’s an idiot . How is he only realising now that the other man had just said exactly what he’d wanted to hear? Only realising now how uncharacteristic his lack of argument had been? Everything he’d said had been a vague non-answer - the bastard hadn’t explicitly agreed to stay out of the way, not once.
It’s only just dawning on Regulus that Fabian hadn’t planned to obey his request, not for one second - instead, he’d clearly gone straight to Sirius, the two of them hatching this stupid, reckless plan on top of a plan that’s already dangerous and reckless enough, all behind his back.
Well, Regulus muses grimly - if Voldemort doesn’t get there first, then he might very well murder both his brother and his boyfriend himself.
“I confess,” Voldemort murmurs, still gazing intently at Sirius, apparently blind to everyone else for the moment, “it was rather a surprise, when Regulus told me that he had actually managed, after all these years, to persuade you to return to your family, Sirius. To return to the place where you truly belong, to reclaim your birthright and stand at my side. It was a most pleasant surprise, of course - but I must confess, I have been wondering just how he managed to bring you back to your senses.”
“Well, I missed my brother, for one thing, my lord,” Sirius replies quietly. Regulus opens his mouth and closes it again - thrown, for a moment, by the unexpected sincerity in his voice. “Besides which, if there’s one thing he’s always been good at, it’s arguing his case. He explained to me that the Order was slowly but surely losing this war, that there was nothing to be gained from trying to defend people who were already doomed - and it seemed to me there could be no greater evidence to prove him right than the pathetic, lonely way that Albus Dumbledore died. I suppose it finally started to sink in that, if I stayed loyal to the Order, I would be making a choice to stay on the losing side of this war. And Reg knows, better than anyone else, that I like to win.”
“It sounds like you are far from the fool that your family took you for, then,” Riddle replies, a smug grin playing over his lipless mouth. “Clearly, your little brother is not to be underestimated, Sirius.”
“No,” Sirius agrees, his tone entirely genuine again as he shoots Regulus a conspiratorial little grin. “Definitely shouldn’t underestimate Reg.”
“Indeed,” Voldemort murmurs, without sparing Regulus a glance - he’s looking at Sirius almost hungrily now. “Now, according to Regulus, you have some rather valuable information that you are willing to share with me.”
“Oh?” he asks, sounding intrigued now, tilting his head curiously as though he has no idea what the other man is referring to. “I do?”
“Yes,” he hisses, the sibilant noise lingering on the air again. “According to your brother, you can tell me - you are the only one who can tell me, in fact - exactly where the Potters are hiding.”
“Oh, that ,” Sirius replies, grinning broadly now, grey eyes alight with the joy of mischief. “Well actually, I can do you one better than that, my lord. I can show you where the Potters are hiding.”
Riddle’s parchment-pale brow furrows slightly in confusion.
“Show me…?” he echoes.
“Yep!” Sirius confirms, his voice bright and cheerful. “You won’t have to look very far, actually. Because they’re hiding right here in this room.”
“They’re… what?” Riddle exclaims, his scarlet eyes widening in bewilderment.
“See?” Sirius asks, pointing, absurdly, to the completely empty space next to Narcissa.
With a smooth silken rustling sound, a beautiful silvery material falls to the ground, like water woven into cloth - an Invisibility Cloak.
Where mere seconds before, there had been nothing but empty space, three more people have suddenly materialised from thin air, all of them with their wands raised - James Potter, Lily Potter, and Remus Lupin.
“Protego,” Lily says calmly, raising her wand before Riddle has even finished crying out in shock.
Immediately, a huge transparent shield erupts in front of them, encompassing Narcissa and her sister as well, who are standing next to them. Without missing a beat, Sirius grabs Fabian and Meggie and shoves them both unceremoniously behind him so that they, too, are protected by Lily’s Shield Charm.
Regulus, however, feels another sharp stab of anxiety, realising that Sirius had taken another step towards Riddle after flinging the other two towards safety, neglecting to actually put himself behind the Shield.
“Alright, only two out of three Potters are in this room, technically,” Sirius clarifies, smirking at Voldemort, evidently delighted with his prank. “But still, that’s a pretty good success rate, right? Especially when you didn’t actually have to make the effort to go looking for them.”
“Hi, Remus,” Regulus pipes up, greeting his best friend casually as Riddle lets out a snarl of mingled shock and rage.
“Hey, Reg,” the scarred man replies, grinning back at him. “Been ages.”
“It has, hasn’t it?” Regulus answers conversationally. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Yes, well, he wasn’t supposed to come,” Sirius pipes up, glaring at his boyfriend, looking genuinely worried for the first time since he’d walked in. “As we’ve already discussed, he was supposed to stay at home in the cottage, where he would be warm and cosy and safe - weren’t you, Moony?”
“And yet, here I am anyway,” Remus replies calmly, arching one eyebrow in a thoroughly unimpressed manner as he looks back at Sirius, evidently completely unfazed by his glare. “Funny, that.”
“Oh, Godric, don’t start up again, you two,” James groans, rolling his eyes as Sirius opens his mouth to retort. “They’ve already been bickering about this for hours ,” he announces to the room at large, shaking his head wearily.
Sirius scoffs.
“It was hardly hours , Prongs -”
“It bloody well felt like hours,” Lily pipes up, rolling her own bright green eyes. “You two idiots nearly made us run late, you do realise that? Started to make me think that walking into this would cause me less of a headache than having to listen to you going on at each other endlessly. Besides which, it was pointless anyway, because we all know that you’ve never actually won one single argument with Remus in your life, Sirius.”
“Knew there was a reason you were my favourite, Lils,” says Remus, grinning at her, as Sirius emits a sound of indignant outrage.
“Wait,” Regulus interjects, holding up a hand and raising one eyebrow at his brother. “You actually thought you could just…tell Remus to stay out of this? To stay at home? You thought he would listen to you? Merlin, Sirius, I forgot what an idiot you are. It’s a miracle you’ve managed to pull this plan off, honestly, brain like yours.”
“While I concur wholeheartedly that your brother is indeed an idiot,” Remus replies, as Sirius flips Regulus off, glaring at him, “I think those words might be a bit rich coming from you, Reg. You think I didn’t see the way you were looking at Fab just now? You fully expected him to stay away just because you told him to, didn’t you?” Fabian squirms a little at that, grimacing apologetically. Though he hadn’t felt guilty enough to not do it , Regulus notices. “So yeah, Sirius may be an idiot - but you know what they say about throwing stones from glass houses, right?” Remus continues, smirking at him. “Sometimes you two make it quite easy to tell that you’re related, you know. You do share a few key idiotic traits.”
“Mind your own fucking business, Lupin,” Regulus retorts, scowling at him, already regretting his friendly greeting.
“Unlikely,” Remus replies, his smirk widening.
“I’m pretty sure I’m not an idiot, actually,” Sirius protests. “May I remind you, Moony, that this was my plan - and I’ll remind you , Reg,” he adds, smirking at him, “that you yourself admitted it was a very very clever plan, and you only wished you had been clever enough to think of it yourself.”
Regulus rolls his eyes.
“I’m fairly certain I never said that, actually.”
Alright, he might have thought it - but he definitely never said it.
“Mm,” Sirius says sceptically, “agree to disagree.” He pauses, grimacing suddenly. “God, I can’t believe I just suggested that the Order was going to lose this war. We’re far too cool for that. I can’t believe I just said ‘my lord ’ - multiple times, too.” He makes an exaggerated, overdramatic gagging noise; Regulus rolls his eyes again. “Godric, I hated saying that, that left a vile taste in my mouth. Anyone have any idea how I can undo that? Will I just have to Obliviate myself or something? No? No ideas?” he asks, glancing around at everyone; nobody responds, other than James and Fabian grinning back at him, and Remus and Lily simultaneously rolling their eyes. “Fine, be like that,” he huffs. “Anyway;” he turns back to Voldemort, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “Surprise, bitch.”
Voldemort’s scarlet eyes widen; for a moment, he looks too shocked and outraged to respond at all. Sirius grins widely, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
“Yep. That tasted a lot better.”
“For fuck’s sake, Sirius,” Regulus mutters, rubbing a weary hand across his forehead. “I specifically told you not to say that.”
“Oh, right - whoops,” his brother replies, sounding thoroughly unconcerned. “Guess I forgot to listen to you. Just like your boyfriend.”
“I’d prefer you left me out of this, please,” Fabian pipes up, bending over to pick up the satchel bag that Sirius had ‘forced’ him to drop, as Regulus glares at his brother - not that it fazes him in the slightest, he just smirks back at him.
“I think it’s a bit late for you to be making that request now, actually,” Regulus says icily, switching his glare to Fabian. “I think you’ll find that you missed that chance, when you deliberately ignored my instruction to stay out of this.”
“Right,” his boyfriend replies, sounding more sheepish than he’s ever heard him as he averts his gaze from Regulus’s glare. “Yeah. Fair point.”
“Yes, I thought so, too,” Regulus snarls back at him.
“‘Your instruction’?” Voldemort echoes in a hiss, apparently having finally recovered enough from his shock to form words again.
He’s staring wildly back and forth between Sirius and Regulus, as though still trying to process how everything has slid beyond his understanding and control so quickly - though of course, Regulus reflects smugly, this has all been outside Riddle’s control since long before he walked into his father’s house tonight. It’s just that he only just realised that about three minutes ago.
“What exactly do you mean by ‘your instruction’, Regulus?” the other man continues slowly, his snakelike eyes narrowing. “You don’t mean to say, I hope, that you knew about this madness? That you were deliberately lying to the Dark Lord?”
“Oh, shit,” Regulus replies, deadpan, “what gave it away?”
There’s a moment of silence, as every single person in the room stares at him. Regulus tries his hardest to ignore the frantic, anxious pounding of his heart trying to escape from his ribcage, forcing himself to lift his chin defiantly and meet Voldemort’s stare without flinching. You can do this, he tells himself. Be brave. Be like Sirius.
“But yes,” he clarifies. “I was lying to you. Well spotted. Have been for quite a while, in fact.”
Riddle lets out a snarl, red eyes widening so that, for a moment, he looks completely unhinged. Regulus feels cold terror spreading like shards of jagged ice in the pit of his stomach for a moment. Ignore it , he reminds himself.
“So I was right after all,” the man hisses, staring at Regulus as though he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “You have failed me!”
“Mm, have to disagree there,” Regulus replies, with a small shrug, doing his best to imitate his brother’s nonchalance. “Pettigrew failed you. But I didn’t fail you, Riddle -”
“ You dare -?” Voldemort hisses, his features contorted, livid with rage.
“Yep, I dare,” he interjects. “I mean, that’s your name, isn’t it? You were literally just telling us a whole fucked up story about your father Tom Riddle - I know perfectly well that you were named after him. And that ‘Lord Voldemort’ is just a name you spent ages coming up with when you were a teenager, to try and make yourself sound more intimidating - to quote Meggie over here,” he finishes, gesturing towards her.
“Oh my god, you said that?” Sirius asks, grinning at her delightedly.
“Yep, she did,” Fabian confirms, knocking his shoulder gently against hers and looking absurdly proud.
“Teach me your ways, my lady,” Sirius says, pretending to swoon ridiculously; Meggie blushes slightly, grinning and looking rather pleased with herself.
“ Anyway ,” Regulus pushes on, still looking unflinchingly at Voldemort. “No, Riddle, I didn’t fail you. I betrayed you. There’s quite a big difference, as far as I’m concerned.”
Voldemort’s face contorts again, his scarlet eyes bulging as he lets out a sound somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Then, without warning, he suddenly raises his wand high above his head.
A shock of icy terror shoots down Regulus’s spine, as almost everyone shouts out in panic, both Fabian and Sirius stepping forwards, raising their own wands -
But the next moment, to his astonishment - and dizzying relief - Riddle hesitates. He still looks more furious than Regulus has ever seen him, but that moment of blind, destructive, unhinged rage seems suddenly to have passed.
Reluctantly, Voldemort lowers his wand again, watching Regulus like a snake torn between its desire to feed, and the need to time its’ strike right to ensure the prey doesn’t escape. Regulus can almost hear the cogs turning in his head, as he carefully considers what would make for the most viscerally satisfying revenge.
“Oh, but I was getting ahead of myself for a moment there,” says Riddle, his voice suddenly unnervingly soft. He gives another cold, cruel laugh, the kind that makes Regulus erupt in goosebumps. “I almost forgot to consider that a quick, painless death would be giving you an easy way out. And that would be far more merciful than you, Regulus Black, deserve. No, I think you deserve at least a little dose of pain before you go. Or perhaps” - those ruthless scarlet eyes shift to Sirius - “it would be more effective if you were to watch your precious brother suffer a little first? I know it would hardly be the first time you have sat there helplessly, watching him be punished. You never could prevent it when you were a child, could you, no matter how much you begged for it to stop? But, I must confess” - the lipless mouth curves into a malicious smirk - “I think I would rather enjoy hearing you beg, all the same, Regulus.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sirius’s face drain of colour. Regulus stares at him, his breath seeming to solidify like ice in his chest, his brain momentarily fogging over completely in panic.
“Bella?” Voldemort hisses, turning to the dark-haired woman standing next to her younger sister. “It seems that you were right after all, that I could not trust Regulus. Could not trust either of them, in fact. As a token of my gratitude - albeit belated, I admit - perhaps you will consent to do the honours? You can start us off, at least. I’m sure Sirius will be sobbing at your feet before long.”
For a moment, she doesn’t say anything at all.
“Bellatrix?” Voldemort says, glaring at her impatiently now.
“Oh,” says the beautiful brunette finally, her grey eyes widening in faux surprise, “were you talking to me? Perhaps you might want to address me by the correct name, then, to avoid any confusion? My name isn’t Bellatrix, you see.”