Chapter Text
Rain poured from dark clouds that concealed the night sky, drenching anything that dared to move from under shelter.
Nobody braved the cobbled streets at all.
Everyone was hidden away, warm in their own homes, seeking comfort from family and luxury.
Every shop was shut and locked tightly, no chance given to the driving rain and howling winds to ruin hard work and livelihoods.
A crack of thunder rumbled loudly, followed almost immediately by the searing flash of lightning. Forks of it lit the sky, like divine hands coming to prod their fingers into the earth, manipulating life itself with its power.
Suddenly, a shadowy figure flitted across the street, appearing from nowhere. Hooded deeply, their face was hidden, head turning to cautiously watch their surroundings as they hurried. Only their dark eyes were visible, seeming to glow evilly in the rain blurred street lights.
Their stride was swift and unbroken on the rough, slippery cobbles. However, as they walked, a rogue gust of storm-bitten wind blew back the sodden hood, revealing their hidden features.
Heavy brows flowed evenly down to an aquiline nose, followed by high cheekbones, pouting lips and a pointy chin. Her eyes were dark, almost black, the whites gleaming in contrast and framed with thick black lashes. Two beauty marks broke the smooth perfection of her ghostly pale skin: one below her lip and the other daintily placed on the dip of her right cheek. Her most defining feature however, was her hair. Thick and unruly, her tight ebony curls spilled from the confines of the hood. It created an unsettling effect, water bedraggling the coils, which appeared like gleaming snakes under the yellow light. Her manic grin enhanced the aura as she stalked down the street, a haunting image of Medusa, coming for her revenge.
Slowly she drew to a stop between two houses with mismatched numbers, as if one had been skipped. Her pale face looked up at the boundary between roof and sky, revelling in the water pouring down her hollowed cheeks. One hand dug into the folds of her cloak, pulling out a slim wooden stick, crooked and slick with varnish. She aimed it at the uppermost windows of the houses she faced, sneering at the people in the windows.
As she stood there, the two houses appeared to contract. They sank into themselves, pulling apart to reveal a third - the missing number.
It was ominous, with ornate windows and gargoyles that dripped filthy rainwater hanging off the stone walls.
An expression of familiarity fell over her face and she shivered as she crossed the boundaries to enter the grounds. Wiping the rivulets of rainwater off of her face, the lady stepped up to the door and rapped smartly on it.
It opened almost immediately, a wizened head poking out at knee height.
“Your mistress summoned me elf. Let me in.”
Her cold voice was silky and demanding as it harshly ordered the small creature around.
The door widened immediately. Standing back to allow her entrance, the elf bowed so low that his forehead touched the ground and apologies spilled frantically from his deep set mouth.
Confidently, she strode in, letting the door slam shut behind her. She followed the beaten figure through the halls until they stopped in front of an ornate door.
“Mistress Black is in here Madame Lestrange. She knows of your arrival.”
He muttered, twisting his hands anxiously. All he got in response was a huff and a sharp cuff round the back of his bowed head.
The door opened itself, and the haughty figure stepped inside.
The room was opulent. Every piece of furniture was heavy, filigreed and made of dark polished wood, upholstered in expensive brocades and silks, all in varying shades of green. Tall ceilings arched over delicate braced buttresses of black marble, the stunning support to a centuries old house. The air smelled smoky, heavy incense and a pervading chill settled over it all. Each breath choked you, smoke and cold burning your throat.
Filled with priceless artefacts and heirlooms as it was, the room itself was worth hundreds of lifetimes of relentless work, something unknown to the two women that faced each other, one sat, the other stood.
Green and silver covered the walls, barely visible in the dim light of a single lamp that seemed to be shaded with a fabric curiously similar in texture to human skin. The room itself seemed to draw back from it, leaving a sense of emptiness and despair emanating from its place on the table.
“Come sit Bellatrix.”
The unknown woman was powerful, her voice holding a grace many couldn’t even imagine having.
Obediently Bellatrix did, sitting in the empty chair across from her.
The skin-like lamp lit only a small circle with its sickly light, revealing the grim face of the woman sitting primly with her back to the wall. Bellatrix instead leaned back, confidently letting her face be contorted by the deep shadows thrown by the lamp.
“I trust you understood my letter?” She asked.
An ugly threat followed in the shadow of her question, a threat of violence and pain if Bellatrix had not.
“Of course Aunt Walburga . It was quite concise.”
Walburga sneered.
“I’m sure it was. Don’t be impertinent Bellatrix. You being here is an honour to your husband's bloodline.”
“Now, the situation is tenuous.” The elder continued, clasping her hands together gravely.
“My son does not know that I know of his defiance. He must be punished for it, most severely, do you understand?”
Bellatrix leaned forward, letting the light wash across her harshly beautiful features. Manic glee lit her eyes as she laughed darkly, throwing back her head and shaking away the heavy black curls of her hair.
“Oh I will ma’am. That cousin of mine won't know what hit him. I’ll make him curse the day he ever spoke to that bastard.”
“Do not make mistakes Bellatrix. He must still live. If he does not, you will discover just how truly ugly punishment can get.”
Her voice was dark, threats once again bleeding in like blood seeping into water.
“Of course not Aunt Walburga. I’ll simply teach him a lesson he’ll never forget.”
Bellatrix laughed again slightly, revelling in the dangerous timbre of her aunt's voice. She shook herself, straightening as her painted lips spread into a grin. It was brutal, each tooth bared like a feral animal.
“And Bellatrix.” Walburga’s voice was a sharp breath, barely audible.
“Find where my other son is.”
Her niece nodded sharply.
“I’ll see to it Aunt.”
At Walburga’s dismissal, Bellatrix quickly left the room, the sound of her cold fury still echoing around the smug form of a vengeful mother.
“Yes.” She breathed. “Finally I will bring my son into line. He will never forget this. You’ll never disobey me again darling, I will never lose you, not like your brother. You’re mine.”
She crooned, the lightly malicious voice giving way to insane giggles.
“You’re mine Regulus Black. Mine to give and mine to control. Not that filthy blood traitor.”
The elf waiting outside shivered at the pure malice in her words and wished he could help the master who was so kind to him. Kindness Kreacher did not deserve certainly. He was far too good for this punishment.
He closed his eyes, smashing his head with his hand at the defiant thought.
“Bad Kreacher.” He muttered as he wandered guiltily away down the corridor, leaving his young master to his fate.
Half formed dreams slipped around him, just out of reach. He twisted and turned, haunted by snippets of past conversations.
You can’t tell her
Reg please
Reggie
My little brother
Come with me
Be safe
You can’t tell her where I am
You can’t tell her where
You can’t tell her
You can’t tell
You can’t
You
Shifting slightly, Regulus groaned mournfully at the painful memories.
He heard the creak of his door, slow steps padding towards him, and felt the air around him change. He could sense the malice practically oozing from the new presence. No one should be there. The only person who had ever watched him sleep was Sirius, and Sirius was gone, had left alone, abandoned by his younger brother's fear. No one was here to watch over him now.
Something was desperately wrong. Sirius had never felt so coldly furious as he looked after his baby brother. He needed to get away.
Regulus’ eyes shot open and he threw himself up against the wall, reaching for his wand.
His wand, gripped in the elegant hand of the furious witch crouched by his bed. Not Sirius, he realised as his sleep-addled mind focused on her face.
“Bellatrix?” He whispered, clearing his throat.
“Why-“
She cut him off roughly, jabbing her wand at his throat.
“Shut up.” Her voice was hoarse, her hands shaking violently.
“How dare you. How dare you defy your mother, the matriarch of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black? You filthy liar, consorting with your disgusting blood traitor of a brother.”
Regulus’ eyes burned, his sleepiness falling away at the words thrown at him.
A seething anger coursed through his veins at the insult to his brother. He bared his teeth at her in defiance of her accusation.
Bellatrix’s wand jabbed harder into his throat as a sign of her displeasure at it.
Regulus refused to flinch away from the press of cold wood against his skin and demean himself. He wasn’t a coward.
Still, he wasn’t stupid either so he kept his mouth shut as his cousin glared back at him.
“Oh, did that make you angry, Regulus?” She snarled, leaning into his face and breathing out harshly. She flicked away the wet coils of her hair, dripping water insultingly on his face.
“I’ll show you fucking anger Reg. I’m going to show you just how angry your mother is that you lied to her, you filthy traitor.”
Before he could even blink, flashes of red light filled his vision. Her insane cackles were the only accompaniment to his agonised screams as she tortured him.
Regulus Black was going to die.
Death seemed the only light at the end of the tunnel as agony encompassed his body. Every nerve ending burned, writhing under his skin, flaring, searing, branding inside him. Every muscle in his body contracted under the onslaught, contorting his body into convulsive seizures. Desperate, he dug claws fingers into the sheets, tearing through them in his attempts to escape the pain.
Hours, it seemed to go on for. Or maybe only seconds. Time didn’t exist in the excruciating torture he endured.
He released the sheets to tear viciously at his face, hoping childishly for it to stop the pain. His vision blurred with red at the edges, as if his own blood was gushing from his eyes, blinding him.
It was, he realised. Blood was pouring from where he had gouged at his own face, making his skin slick, coating the air around him with an irony tang. He could taste it on his tongue: blood and bile and fear.
Regulus felt his consciousness slipping away from his clutching grasp as his vision dimmed and his nerves cried out in exhaustion.
And then it stopped. His surroundings returned to him, overwhelming, buzzing too loudly as his body twitched in the aftershocks. Shaking, as if the very earth had clutched at him, Regulus wiped the blood away from his eyes to peer at his cousin weakly. He hissed at the deep scratches of his eyelids and cheekbones, the stinging barely registering as his very bones trembled. Regulus blinked again and again, finally smearing the blood away from his face.
Trying to compose himself, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, everything within him telling him to show as little weakness as possible.
When he had calmed himself enough to open his reddened eyes, he saw the calculating gaze of his cousin, and matched her stare for stare, still limp in his tangled bedsheets.
His tongue had been caught between his teeth at some point during the onslaught and he had bitten down on it, flooding his mouth with hot blood. The clinging taste of iron clogged his throat and he swallowed, trying to rid himself of the awful sensation.
Finally, Regulus felt strong enough to respond.
“Fuck you.” He spat viciously, thick clots of blood hitting the fabric by Bellatrix’s hand.
His face whipped to the side as her ringed hand collided with it, cutting into his skin as Bellatrix laughed disbelievingly.
“You’ll regret that.” She hissed, once again jabbing her wand at him. His skin split.
The deep, cursed gash flowed blood, its stain spreading like a blooming flower over his bare torso.
Regulus threw his head back, clenching his eyes shut as he felt more blood trickle through his eyebrows. His lips were bloody as he bared his teeth at her again.
“Where is he?” She shrieked wildly. “Tell me where he is!”
The mention of his brother seemed to breathe a little life into him. Regulus sat up slightly, breathing heavily as he glared into Bellatrix’s soulless eyes. Blood coated his face, dripping into his eyes and turning their whites a vivid red.
Anger was the only emotion he had left, that and pain, so Regulus mustered up every bit of energy he could to respond.
“I’ll never fucking tell you.” He gasped, wincing as the wound on his chest let loose another gush of blood at the movement.
Bellatrix screamed, raging inarticulately as she poured every ounce of her anger into another curse. His defiance seemed to have brought her to levels of emotion she’d never felt before, pushing agony into every single cell of his body.
All Regulus could think of was his brother. Every ounce of willpower was poured into not telling her where he was. All he could think of was his brother.
Sirius. The only human he loved, abandoned from his fear. Pathetic.
And now he was going to die without ever telling him he loved him.
Sirius
Sirius
Sirius
Sirius
Sirius
Sirius.
Sirius
Sirius
S i r i u s
S i r i u s
He could feel his mind slipping away, only thoughts of his brother staying behind. Regulus clutched onto him, desperate to hold on, to retain at least a shred of his sanity.
Nothing but his consuming love for his brother could last against the stabbing pain that invaded every nerve, seared every cell in his body.
Sirius was all he knew, and all he would ever know.
Sirius.
And then darkness.
The curses lasted for hours, each one getting longer and longer. At some point he had rolled off the bed and onto the floor, thrashing his limbs into the legs of his bed.
Regulus’ agonised shrieks were delicious, and Bellatrix revelled in them, laughing gleefully at each moan and yell.
His little whimpers to his brother were the most delightful, albeit frustrating as he refused to tell her of the blood traitors whereabouts. Still, each curse filled her mania and she thrived on his grotesque writhing and clawing. Deep scratches littered his skin, evidence of where he’d uselessly tried to escape his own body.
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
Even his lips had split from how wide his mouth had opened as he screamed, streaking blood down his chin and cheeks.
Just as Bellatrix raised her wand to fire off another curse, eager to see again how he jerked and convulsed under her magic as his eyes blankly stared at the ceiling of his room; a sharp pop alerted her to the presence of another in the room.
It was the house elf, who bowed low, wringing his hands constantly.
“Mistress has said enough. Kreacher thinks Master Regulus will die very soon, Madame Lestrange.”
His voice was choked, full of pain as he wrestled with the idea of defying a member of his own house. A pain greatly exacerbated by the limp form of his master collapsed on the floor.
The witch huffed, not even dignifying him with a response. Instead she got up, tossed his wand on the floor beside him and left the room.
Immediately the elf rushed to the young master, wringing his hands anew until they were red and raw.
His true mistress, Walburga had forbidden him from healing master Regulus at all. Yet she had not commanded him against moving him someplace else. A new hope dawned in him as the idea formed. He would not let his dearest young master be hurt like this again. He had been the only wizard to treat him with kindness, and he had been his closest companion since Sirius had gone to Hogwarts. Even if it meant surrendering him to blood traitors and himself to Walburga’s fatal punishments, he would do anything to save his young Master Regulus.
And wasn’t that ironic.
Had Walburga but valued her elf’s magic, she could have found her estranged son.
Simply knowledge of a person's magical signature could lead a house elf to them and Kreacher was well acquainted with Sirius Black’s magical signature.
And so bracing himself for the painful death he knew he’d endure, Kreacher, the most faithful elf a wizard could want, clicked his fingers. His searching tendrils of magic immediately found his old masters magic.
In the Potter Manor.
No surprise there, he chuckled dryly. Another snap was all it took for Regulus’ spent body and wand to be transported there. All Kreacher could hope for now was a quick death and a good life for his master.
Far away in the south of England, two boys sat talking quietly on a couch. They spoke of many things, few of any real importance, careless words tumbling from tired lips. One of them stood up, reciting his need for a drink and offered the option to the other.
Nothing could have prepared them for what happened next.
A crack was heard and a dead-looking body covered in blood tumbled onto the floor in a flash.
“Oh Merlin! Shit!” One yelled, loud enough to wake his parents.
“Mum, Dad! Help!” His voice was panicked, even as the long haired boy crept towards the body, gentle hands turning it over. What they saw would never leave either of them ever again, haunting their nightmares for years to come.