Jordan Wolfe (fickleprince) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2019-08-31 19:49:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * terri, c: jordan wolfe |
WHO: Jordan Wolfe --> Regulus Black
WHEN: August 31st ; Sixth year.
WHERE: Hogwarts, and various
SUMMARY: Regulus makes a lifetime commitment.
WARNINGS: Toxic thoughts, Purity ideation, loss, anger.
He had been keeping up with the activities of the Dark Lord for the last year or so. Any clippings that he’d been able to gather over the summer break had been pieced together like some sort of shrine. It wasn’t really about reveling in the Pureblood movement so much as it had been...research. He had heard the stories, but he hadn’t been certain how they would apply to him. His parents had long been supporters of the Dark Lord, though they did not directly serve him. When his mother wasn’t in one of her fits of rage, or when his father cared to do anything more than step out of his study, they would lecture Regulus on the importance of preserving their way of life. That purity was important, and that Lord Voldemort was the key to their very survival. It had been a few months into his sixth year when he’d reached out to the Lestranges. What did they know? How was the Dark Lord really? Was his cause as righteous as his parents made it sound? That was how he was brought into the fold. A lonely boy, desperate to uphold the pillars of his family name in the stead of a brother who had left him behind. He calculated the risks, and the benefits. His parents had urged him to decide…and decide well. It was two days before Christmas when he met the Dark Lord for the first time. He had pledged his allegiance. He had promised to do the good work that was required of him...to lead others to their cause and see their ways. He had vowed his very life, as he had taken that mark upon his arm. It had seeped into his skin, burning with wrath and spite. It was a hateful thing, afterall, wasn’t it? It was a symbol of his disdain for those that were unlike him. The only acceptance that he’d been able to find were in those that called him cousin or son. Even when they raged at him - hurt him - it was for his own good, wasn’t it? To help him overcome the error of his ways...to stomp out any part of him that was like his brother...until there was nothing left but this. He had sat at the Slytherin table surrounded by like-minded boys when he’d returned to school. They had rallied around him, congratulating him for a decision well-made. He’d felt part of something for the first time in so long. He’d had more than just Kreacher as a friend. Nothing could phase him. Not even when he’d walked down the corridor and Sirius had grabbed him by the arm. What was all of that about? Reg. What have you done? He breathed in deep. He was, for the first time in so long, freed from the pain that he’d carried. A wound that never seemed to close would always be there, but the ache of it didn’t make his heart race and his head pound. The mark on his arm, hidden beneath his sleeve, tingled. He ripped his arm out of the other boy’s grasp. Black against Black. Brother against brother. They had both made their choices. He was older now. He could do this on his own. He was cold. He did not care. Not anymore. Nothing that concerns you. Leave me alone, Sirius. That’s what you’re good at. Let’s keep it that way. |