Title: What It Means To Be Black
Pairings: Regulus/Tom, implied Regulus/Severus.
Warnings: Bondage, dubious consent?, suicide.
Summary: Regulus Black had been Sorted into Slytherin – as it should have been. In Slytherin house he hero-worshipped a striking, dour young man and determined to follow him, wherever he led.
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and so make no money from my stories, which are intended for entertainment purposes only.
Author Notes: The name Regulus means 'little king' in Latin. This turned out angsty, which I hope you don't mind, and the consent is decidedly dubious, but nevertheless it is given throughout.
Regulus looked around the familiar common room. Slytherin house was where he belonged. He'd known that since his birth, known it even when Sirius had done the unthinkable and been Sorted into Gryffindor. Because the Blacks, en masse, belonged in Slytherin: they almost were Slytherin. 'You'll find your own kind in Slytherin, Regulus,' his mother had assured him. 'You'll fit in just fine.'
Regulus frowned around the room. He didn't think he fit in just fine at all. Not inside, not deep inside himself. He was doing well, his marks were good and he'd been made a prefect. He listened to the gossip, the political chat that circulated around his house, and it felt familiar enough. It was nothing more than his family's ideals and beliefs – except Sirius, he reminded himself. But for some reason all of it – the traditions, the opinions, the deference to his family name – just felt off. Sirius seemed happy enough, surrounded by brash Gryffindors, the centre of a group that did everything together. It was not the behaviour of a Black, but that obviously didn't bother his brother. And when Sirius had been disinherited, Regulus had expected him to show some sign of distress. But Sirius had merely shrugged and told Regulus he was welcome to the inheritance, and all that came with it. And Regulus, who had always behaved like a true Black, always received his parent's approval, wondered why it was that he should still feel that something was wrong.
Throughout his Hogwarts career Regulus had admired a young man two years ahead of him. A young man who had made the most of his chances, who was academic and dignified, dark and secretive, and so Slytherin he was perfect. That was what Regulus admired most… Severus Snape had dignity. Even when Sirius' friends – who hated Regulus as much as they hated Severus – tormented Severus, Severus held his own. One against four. Regulus had tried to intervene once and had been scared away by Sirius. He knew Sirius' friends didn't attack him because he was their leader's brother; only for that reason and not because they didn't want to. They were quick to attack any Slytherin who stood against them and they were two years older than him and skilled at all sorts of spells Regulus hadn't heard of.
Bravery under fire – that's what Severus showed. He swore and cursed at them, but he held his own and he never cried. Despite Sirius' awful nickname – Snivellus – Regulus had never seen Severus cry. It was unbelievable to Regulus that he ever could have. Severus was dignified and brave, and he showed the best of his house. In Regulus' view no Gryffindor was ever so brave or worthy of respect. And Regulus did not just respect Severus: he idolised him.
Regulus' admiration showed in his eyes. And Severus, older, wiser and very magically skilled, saw it. But he'd treated Regulus with cool disinterest, just as he did the other younger boys. It was plain to Regulus that Severus thought he was just a kid. Which only made Regulus more determined. This was no crush, this was something more, something serious. Regulus didn't give his admiration – or his heart – carelessly. And Severus deserved both. But when Severus finished his seventh year and left Hogwarts, Regulus was left alone.
Regulus kept his ears open, listening for gossip or any news that might tell him where Severus had gone, what he was doing now. And eventually he heard it, from the darkest, most secret source of gossip among the older Slytherins which Regulus, as scion of the Blacks, was privy to. Rumours about the followers of Lord Voldemort… of the Death Eaters and their doings, were passed among this older group. News of their newest young recruit, who, they said, was a Potions genius. And Regulus knew straight away who that must be; realised that Severus had followed his own older cronies – Lucius, Bellatrix and Narcissa, all of them Regulus' relatives who had been pulled towards the siren call of pure-blood superiority and into the secret society that would change their world.
Regulus knew then that as soon as he reached adulthood at seventeen he would make the decision that would make his mother proud. If he wanted to get close to Severus this would be the best way. It was not a hard choice to make; it was a logical step for the heir of the House of Black to take this path, for the family that was almost wizarding royalty to embrace the cause of pure-blood supremacy. And Regulus was the heir now, for Sirius' name had been burned from the family tapestry, swiftly excised by a spell from their parents when he'd finally gone the wrong way, beyond redemption. A process his parents said had started when Sirius had been placed in Gryffindor house, and it was this they blamed for his desertion of the family. But Regulus suspected it had happened earlier, for the Sorting Hat only worked on what was within a first year's mind. Sirius must have had those tendencies before he came to Hogwarts. That worried Regulus, for they had been so close when they were boys together in Grimmauld Place: two peas from the same pod. But now he could show his parents that he hadn't been tainted with Sirius' ideas, wasn't going to shame their family further. Regulus would take the Mark and join the Death Eaters, and he'd soon rise through their ranks and be powerful, just like his cousin Narcissa's husband, Lucius.
And then Severus would notice him, would have to acknowledge that he was a man, a powerful wizard worth spending time with, worth getting to know.
Lord Voldemort's star was in the ascendant: his ranks were growing in numbers as their message spread throughout wizarding Britain. It was almost too easy, for the mood of the times was a nervous one, a feeling that wizards were losing control as their numbers decreased and their culture was threatened daily by the influx of Muggle ideas from Muggleborn families. The old families feared their loss of influence and their children stood ready to defend it. Tonight's meeting would affirm that, underline it, and again it would make Lord Voldemort happy.
Tom Riddle, who had taken care not to let anyone remember his Muggle name wherever he could, sat enthroned at the end of the ballroom where his supporters met, summoned by him to spend their evening together. He had listened to reports of their activities and been pleased. He was especially pleased with young Lucius Malfoy, who was using his family's status and money to rise quickly through the Ministry hierarchy and who already had real influence there. All would be well, he could feel it, and so Tom smiled his charming smile, knowing how it lit his face and transformed it into a charismatic beacon that drew his followers into his thrall.
Two concentric circles of black-clad Death Eaters stood listening, occasionally gasping in surprise or pleasure as the reports came in, waiting their turn to speak and try to gain their lord's favour. The oldest, the longest-serving or the best of his followers stood in the inner circle, the less effective or experienced were in the larger, outer circle. Those who stood inside jealously guarded their status and worked hard to stay there. Those outside strove to improve, to step up to the more favoured position. It worked well, for it goaded them into action.
When the talk died down, Tom clapped his hands for silence and they all attended carefully, hanging on his words. "Tonight, my friends, we welcome a new supplicant to join our numbers." The Death Eaters murmured their approval. "Orlando, bid the young man enter."
A figure detached itself from the outer circle and went to the entrance doors where the prospective member was waiting, no doubt nervously. All those present would be above this new one, and Orlando, like the rest, felt able to warmly welcome their newest recruit. Especially as his lord had asked him to fetch the young man, that must be a sign of favour! Each person who joined pushed the older members up a notch in their lord's hierarchy. Whoever had recruited this boy would gain extra approval.
Orlando inclined his masked head and bade Regulus to follow him, closing the doors after him. Regulus saw the distant throne and the two circles of Death Eaters and his heart leapt in fear. It was a genuinely terrifying sight. These people were ruthless; Regulus knew that from the reports he'd heard about them. They were the real defenders of wizarding culture. He followed the masked figure toward the gathering and the circles parted to let him through. Orlando stepped back to his own position after shoving Regulus in the back, pushing him towards the centre of the circle, where the young man stood unmasked and vulnerable while all looked upon him.
There were several gasps, most likely of recognition, but Regulus held his head high, proud to represent the direct branch of one of the oldest, most noble families in wizarding Britain. He raised his eyes to the throne and their leader.
Lord Voldemort was smiling at him. He was a mature, dark-haired wizard, strikingly handsome, almost flawlessly so. Dark and powerful, and in that way he reminded Regulus of Severus. But unlike Regulus' idol Lord Voldemort had an air about him, an air of strangeness, almost of inhumanity. He looked so flawless he might have been a polished statue or an idealised portrait that had come to life. He projected total confidence and certainty.
"So, you are going to redeem the name of Black, are you, Little King?" The Dark Lord's voice was soft and rich, as smooth as treacle. The words trickled through Regulus' ears into his mind – and stayed there. "The Blacks speak of pure-blood pride, and in that their doctrine has always been sound. What is your family motto? Ah, yes… Toujours Pur. Admirable, Little King, is it not?"
Lord Voldemort was smiling questioningly at the young man, and Regulus bowed his head, agreeing. He couldn't seem to find his voice here in the centre of this dark circle, but his gesture, it seemed, was enough. The Dark Lord continued to speak.
"And yet the Blacks do nothing to support it. Nothing! Indeed, your older brother, the rightful heir, had to be disinherited for his dreadful choices. Your parents sneered and projected their elitism throughout our world, their self-proclaimed position as almost-royalty, but until now they had achieved nothing but a son who has fallen by the wayside. Until now.
"At last they have a worthy heir. A son sensible enough to realise that it is with Lord Voldemort that he will redeem his family. For it is I who will save the wizarding world. With my followers, these Death Eaters you see assembled here – the elite of the wizarding world – I can set all to rights again. We will cut off the Muggle taint, remove their weakening influence, and encourage the right families to take their place as rulers of our world. To take responsibility instead of relying on their past glories, for it is time to act!
"Those who follow me are the true heroes of the wizarding world. You have chosen well by seeking to join us, and you will redeem your family name from ignominy."
Regulus' feelings throughout the Dark Lord's speech had veered from embarrassment about the man's scathing opinions of his parents and Sirius, to agreement with the man's aims to restore the wizarding world to greatness, and finally to pride in himself. He was doing the right thing. He stood tall, straightened his shoulders and knew this was the right way to be worthy of his hero, to be able to approach Severus with hope for a future relationship.
"But understand this," Voldemort continued, and suddenly his voice had become cold, amiable no longer. "There is no going back on this decision, Little King. Once I Mark you, you are mine. Do you understand that? The Dark Mark is as permanent as your servitude. You are mine until death."
Regulus had known that, of course, but hearing it spoken aloud made it real, showed it as a solemn undertaking. Still unable to find his voice, he bowed to Voldemort to show his acceptance and understanding of this.
"Then come," Voldemort said, standing up from his throne.
Although the Dark Lord was classically tall, dark and handsome, he was also as cold as winter. His silken robes swirled around him like cloying, dark smoke as he stepped away from the throne towards a door at the back of the room; his steps were strangely graceful. Regulus could not help but follow, mesmerised by the other-worldly appearance and strange, gliding movements of the Dark Lord. He'd often wondered why so many followed this man so fanatically and now he knew, he could see it as he looked at Lord Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard in decades. There was no resisting him once you'd met him, and Regulus willingly followed his lord through the door, crossing the threshold to a new life. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the quiet murmurings of the Death Eaters, and turned to face his future.
"You seem surprised, young Regulus," Tom said, his voice amused. "Did you expect something different for your Marking?"
"I had heard rumours…" Regulus admitted in a small voice. He blushed.
Tom chuckled. "No doubt, no doubt. People always think secrecy and Dark magic add up to orgies. But our business is personal. It concerns no one but you and I."
Regulus looked into Lord Voldemort's strange, reddish eyes which were fixed on him as firmly as a hawk stares at its prey. He shivered inside, managing to quell any movement that might give his nervousness away. Yet he thought his lord could see it, however he tried to hide it. "Whatever the rite, my lord, I will accept it," Regulus said, eager to assure his new leader of his sincerity.
Tom smiled and beckoned Regulus closer. With a gesture, an elegant twist of his long arm and white hand, Regulus stood before his lord as naked as the day he was born. The speed of the change, the knowledge of being revealed so completely, caused the young man to blush. Tom smiled and traced a finger over one flushed cheek. "Are you a virgin, boy?" he asked softly.
Regulus was amazed by the delicate, almost tender touch of that cool finger. He knew that whatever he did in his dealings with the Dark Lord, he must always tell the truth, so he answered quickly enough. "Yes, my lord."
Tom smiled. "That is good; it will make your Marking even more powerful. It is hardly possible to be bound more firmly to me than the others are, and yet you will be, Regulus Black."
Regulus nodded. His stomach felt heavy, the weight of the knowledge of what was going to happen here, something that until now he'd only suspected, felt like a solid weight inside him. When he left this room he would no longer be a virgin. Lord Voldemort was going to take him. It was very warm in this inner room and Regulus wondered if the Dark Lord had prepared it for his comfort. It made him feel appreciated and he looked into Voldemort's reddish eyes with gratitude for the care that was being shown to him.
Tom's arm lowered, he ceased stroking the young man's cheek. "However, I must confess that I am amazed that the scion of the Blacks is still a virgin at seventeen. I would have expected such a pretty boy to have found completion before now. Hogwarts was different in my day."
Regulus looked embarrassed now. He knew most of the Slytherin seventh years had lost their virginity, some of them years earlier. But he had kept himself apart, aloof, waiting for Severus. And when Severus never looked back and then left Hogwarts, Regulus had lost his taste for love. In the end, he'd followed Severus' trail, and it had brought him here. But his virginity, so long preserved, would not go to his chosen partner. He was feeling sad about that, but consoled himself that it would be lost in the cause of getting close to the lover he really wanted.
Lord Voldemort reached out and trailed both hands down Regulus' chest, his long, cool fingers leaving stripes of coldness in their wake. It was as if the Dark Lord was making patterns on his skin, and it tingled with pleasure and magic. Regulus watched his lord's concentration as Voldemort looked at Regulus' body. He could see appreciation in the red eyes, which glowed more intensely, warmed by desire. The Dark Lord was attractive, there was no denying it. More than that, he was attractive like a magnet, pulling magic towards him, towards the strong, deeply magical heart of him. Regulus could feel the pull; he took a step closer and Voldemort smiled.
The cool fingers had reached Regulus' navel and were swirling patterns around it, tracing down the hips. Regulus knew their goal and responded, his cock stiffening eagerly and rising to greet his lord's touch.
"I think the sex magic will not distress you, young Regulus," Voldemort said, his voice low and melodious.
"I am here to join you, master. I will do what is necessary, always." Regulus was aware it was not the most enthusiastic or eloquent response he could have made in this situation. He couldn't help thinking, with the small part of his mind that hadn't been enthralled by his master's magnetism, that this wasn't how he wanted to have sex. He wanted Severus, and this was just a means to reach him.
As Tom slid his hands around the young man's cock he laughed delightedly. He could feel Regulus' reluctance. Despite the reactions of his young body, Regulus Black was conflicted. Tom dipped his mind into Regulus', just for a moment, just long enough to tell who the younger man wanted. Ah, yes… the reason he had another follower. Severus had enthralled this one. He must remember to reward his most faithful Potions expert. The prospect of taking this boy, being the first to plunge into his tight, virgin body even while Regulus was dreaming of Severus was perverse. It made Tom hard.
"As befits the seriousness of this ceremony I am going to use a powerful magical artefact. This –" Tom extended his arm and wordlessly and wandlessly summoned a wood staff, which flew through the air and smacked into his hand, "- is the magic staff used by Yolanda Peverell, a very strong witch who lived in the fourteenth century. She used a staff in preference to a wand, as many powerful Dark mages did at that time. I… acquired it… some years ago. It adds even more strength to our ritual."
The staff was about five feet tall and covered in sinuous, vine-like carvings that climbed from its base upwards and almost looked as if they were moving around the pole. The wood was dark with age and Regulus could not recognise it. "What wood is it carved from, my lord?" he asked, genuinely interested.
Tom smiled, approving of the young man's question. He collected historic objects, particularly those linked to Salazar Slytherin and his bloodline, and this was a prized piece. "It is English oak. The darkness of the wood tells us of its use throughout the centuries, for Dark magic darkens whatever it touches. Yolanda left it to her family, and it continued to be used for generations. Now, let me show you how we will use it. Hold your arms out in front of you."
Regulus did as he was told and Voldemort laid the staff into a horizontal position and brought it up until it was beneath his arms. A loose binding appeared and held Regulus' arms in place; the staff must be under a levitation spell because Voldemort was no longer supporting it. Voldemort turned his arms until Regulus' palms were uppermost, the pale flesh of his inner arms exposed. It was not the most natural or comfortable of positions, but there was no changing it as the bonds tightened and held the young man's arms in place.
"Nearly ready, Little King," Voldemort murmured and pushed Regulus over to the wall until his back was against it, his arms up and out as if perched on a table. Voldemort stepped back and took his time to examine the bound youth. Regulus had been taken aback by the binding as his now flagging, only half-erect cock showed. Tom smiled. "We must do something about your failing enthusiasm, I think." He used his wand like an extension of his hand, an even longer, paler finger than his own, and ran it up Regulus' right thigh, up to his navel where he swirled it in a figure of eight, then ran it straight down to the young man's cock.
Regulus had been feeling very apprehensive about his total loss of control. Bound and backed against the wall, all thoughts of sex had fled and his cock had started to soften. This did not suit his lord's plans, obviously, and Voldemort began to trail his wand over Regulus' flesh. The touch of that wand awoke the skin which became warm and tingly as the touch progressed. It moved up to his navel, around in a pattern which sparked his nerves, sending out jolts of pleasure all around and flaring down towards his cock, which twitched and began to rise. As the wand moved down to meet it the feeling intensified, and Regulus shifted a little.
"Yes, that feels good, does it not? You, my little virgin, have no idea of how I am going to make you feel. I'm going to make you hard, harder than you've ever been in your life. And the only way I will let you come is when I'm inside you."
Regulus' eyes flew open – he hadn't noticed when he'd closed them – and he looked straight into Voldemort's heated gaze. The Dark Lord was smiling, but it was a hungry smile – the smile of a predator. Regulus' body was singing, urging him to go with this experience, just to let go and enjoy it. But the small part of his mind that remembered his true feelings, that remained purely him and unaffected by the Dark Lord, wanted Severus and not this man to take him. That small part of his mind was still there, still trying to distract him. But when Voldemort's wand touched the end of his cock and sparked such pleasure that Regulus could never have been able to imagine before, that part of his mind went to sleep.
Tom smiled and stepped back again. The Little King was hard… hard and wanting. He could see it in the young man's eyes. The Black family, wizarding royalty in all but title, was his. The satisfaction that gave him was more than the sexual release that beckoned, making this Marking special. With an undulation of his body Tom slipped his silken robes from his shoulders. They were loose and the material was slippery, as if the cloth was made of some strange liquid, and they slid elegantly to the floor. Tom stepped out of them and let the Little King look.
Regulus couldn't help but stare. Lord Voldemort was slender, but the man's thinness spoke of strength. Like the old tale of the reed and the oak, Voldemort was a reed and he had endured and would endure the storms that buffeted him. His skin was pale; it gleamed in the muted light of the room like it had been polished. It was only skin, but it looked as if it were made of something else, something harder. All that pale skin made his shining, red eyes appear more striking, but Regulus tore his gaze lower, unable to resist looking at his lord's genitals. Lord Voldemort's cock echoed his body – long, slender, almost unnaturally pale except for the tip which peeked from the pale foreskin, reddened and shiny, as startling as his eyes. Regulus gasped. There was something intimidating about this body. He was just a man and shaped like all men, but he was not the same. The pale length and the reddened tip seemed to threaten their victim, and Regulus realised he was looking at Voldemort's cock as if it was a weapon. And yet, the fear it engendered, the sharp stabs of adrenalin running through his system, was just making him get harder. He couldn't understand it.
"You want it, don't you?" Voldemort said quietly, stepping closer. "I can see it in your eyes, in your body and in your mind. I always know, Little King. There is nothing that can be hidden from me; you would do well to remember that."
Regulus nodded, unable to speak through his fear and expectation.
"I will not disappoint you, Little King," Voldemort said, summoning a vial of oil as he spoke. He unstoppered the small glass bottle and tipped some onto his fingers, then began to stroke his cock.
The movements of the long fingers were captivating and Regulus watched as they coated the length of the man's penis. Voldemort slipped the foreskin back, further exposing the scarlet head and coating it carefully. It was both terrible – disgusting and almost inhuman – and compelling. Regulus could not look away.
"I will be careful with you, Little King, as befits a generous lord welcoming his newest follower. Do not fear me in this. Stand and enjoy…" Voldemort turned Regulus around so he was facing the wall, his hands pushed against it, arms still outstretched. His arms were beginning to ache but he hardly noticed as he felt the man's fingers touching his backside, stroking down and around the rise of his muscles, seemingly appreciating his shape.
"So nice, so ripe and ready for plucking," Voldemort murmured and his breath ghosted over Regulus' right ear as the man leaned closer. Hands parted Regulus' arse cheeks and he felt oiled fingers tracing the outline of his entrance. One finger pushed inside and Regulus gasped at the feeling, the intrusion felt hard and sharp. "Hush, my sweet one," Voldemort crooned and pushed deeper.
Tom used fucking motions with his forefinger, probing as deeply as he could. The young man was tight, which he'd expected, and as Tom played and slipped another finger inside, searching for the prostate, Regulus moaned. It was not pleasure yet, but when Tom found the nub inside and gently touched it, the moan changed.
Tom chuckled. The young man was clueless; it was delightful. He worked a little longer, scissoring and stroking, but it was a chore. His own body wanted completion, his cock was ridiculously exposed out here in the air. He slid his fingers out and positioned himself, rubbing the head of his cock teasingly over the loosened entrance.
"I will Mark you soon, my servant, when I am inside you," Tom said, his lips touching Regulus' ear. "But that requires your verbal consent, your explicit permission. Anything less would weaken the rite. Do you really want to join us, to be a Death Eater? Do you consent to me taking you and Marking you as my own?"
Regulus felt as if he was standing at the edge of a cliff. To jump off would be terrifying, but it would be more thrilling than anything he had ever done. To gain all, you had to risk all. Severus, he thought as he recalled why he was doing this, Severus, I'm coming… "Yes, I consent," Regulus said.
And Lord Voldemort thrust inside him.
So many things happened at that moment that Regulus was flooded with sensations and thought he might lose consciousness for a while. Beneath his hands the staff warmed up, between his buttocks he was invaded as Voldemort's cock – which had looked slender to his eye – insinuated itself into his body in one long, firm thrust. It felt thick and hot, tight and unyielding. It felt like his body had been taken over by another's. As his mind reeled it was gripped, feeling as if hands cupped his being as another mind held him and read his feelings and emotions. Regulus was taken, engulfed by the enormity of the wizard known as Lord Voldemort. He couldn't cry out – though he wanted to – for his voice was frozen in shock just as much as the rest of him.
As the Dark Lord began to thrust in and out Regulus began to come back to himself, to realise where he was and what was happening, to cope with the experience that had briefly overburdened his mind. The staff was getting warmer with each thrust and the heat was starting to spread up Regulus' forearms. It did not feel bad, just intrusive. The feelings of being fucked, as Voldemort's cock slid in and out getting faster all the time, would have overwhelmed him again, but the heat in his arms distracted him enough to keep him grounded, keep him inside his own body.
"See how you are mine, Little King. I am in you, inside your body, your heart and your soul. Can you feel it?" Voldemort asked.
Regulus nodded, oh yes, he could feel it, but he still couldn't say a word. Of course he could feel it. He was being taken in every sense of the word. He was owned.
"Oh, yes, you are right… you are owned… you are mine," Voldemort gasped between powerful thrusts. The cock inside Regulus felt harder than ever and he gripped his hands around the staff, concentrating on the wood, trying not to let the enormity of what was happening make him panic. Because Regulus felt on edge, very near the edge of his control. He wanted to run away, to push the man from out of him and to run to Severus, beg him to keep him safe…
Voldemort chuckled into his ear. "Severus, is it? Perhaps I will give you to him as a reward; he has been very useful lately. Perhaps I will watch as he fucks you and you call his name. Or perhaps I will just keep you for myself, for you are very tight, very hot, very intenssss…"
Regulus' mind, the part that was already panicking, cried out against this, and he let out a wail of dismay. Which seemed, oddly, only to make Voldemort happier. The Dark Lord thrust and hissed and started to come. His left hand whipped around Regulus and gripped his left arm, covering the fish-belly pale skin of his inner arm, and he cried "Insignia Morsmordre!"
Regulus screamed, his voice coming back with a shriek of pain that he couldn't prevent. The flesh beneath Voldemort's hand was burning with unbearable heat. Regulus' eyes were screwed up as he screamed, and he continued to scream until Voldemort's climax ended and the Dark Lord slid from his body and released his arm. Regulus gulped and sobbed in pain, hardly daring to look down at his arm which must have been destroyed by all this, burnt to the bone. He swallowed, opened his eyes, and turned them down to his arm, still stretched forward, held unmoving by the powerful staff.
There was no sign of burning, but there was the Dark Mark, black and stark against his pale flesh, which did not even look pink. Regulus could not understand it, unless the heat and the pain had been just in his mind and never in his arm. Voldemort's gift to his new servant.
Tom stepped back, pleasantly sated. He summoned his robe and clothed himself in darkness, smiling at the slide of the silk over his skin. His skin was so sensitive to such beautiful things. He turned and looked at his servant, slumped against the wall. "Turn around, Regulus Black."
The young man turned, his arms still forward. His cock was still erect despite his pain and Tom took note of it. Perhaps the young Black was a natural sub, but for now it was inconvenient. "Come here."
Regulus stepped forward until he was right in front of his lord.
"You need to climax, Little King, to cement the bond. Stand still." Tom slid his wand from his sleeve and ran it gently along the length of Regulus' still-erect cock, which twitched at the contact. When the wand reached the tip, Tom whispered, "Laxo."
Regulus climaxed, hard and fast. His come shot out like the spray of a fountain, so fierce was the climax that it was almost as much pain as pleasure. He groaned in relief and mortification. His eyes had screwed shut again and as the aftershocks surged through him in waves of sensation he opened them, ashamed to feel dampness on his cheeks. Somewhat to his surprise, the Dark Lord did not comment, but looked at him with satisfaction.
"Well done, Regulus Black. You are now more than you have ever been, for you are a warrior for the noble cause of wizard supremacy. You are a Death Eater. And though no one but those present must know this, it is something to be proud of. Each breath you take from now on will be as a Death Eater, and each moment you live will be as a worthwhile member of our society. Walk tall among the drones that have left our world to flounder, and among the fools too weak to defend what is right."
Lord Voldemort summoned a black robe which he proceeded to dress Regulus in, then handed the young man his mask. Bone-white, faceless, emotionless. Regulus slipped it on and felt different. Hidden behind the anonymity of the uniform he lost his vulnerability and stood taller, ignoring the memory of pain even as he felt the soreness inside him and the heavy presence of the Dark Mark, as if it had real weight inside his skin.
"Next time, my servant, you will do better," Lord Voldemort said. "Or I will not ease you with my wand. I will leave you hard and aching until you cannot find release until you learn to find it when I am inside you. Now come."
The Dark Lord swirled, his robe twisting like a column of smoke around his body. Regulus followed in his wake, as was his place, concerned at the talk of 'next time'. He didn't want a next time, not with the Dark Lord. He wanted to be with Severus.
As they re-entered the ballroom the Death Eaters slipped back into their correct positions. It was obvious they had been talking together, not keeping the circle perfect. Voldemort took his place on his throne. "Stand in the outer circle, Regulus Black."
Regulus walked through the inner circle, two Death Eaters standing aside to let him through. He could feel the eyes of the others following him. He was last to take his place so he stood on the end, determined that next time he would find Severus before the meeting and stand behind him. He leaned forward a little to get a better view and caught the scent of the man in front of him. To his surprise, this man – who was standing near the throne on the Dark Lord's left side – smelled sharply of wormwood. It must be Severus, the Dark Lord's potion-maker. Regulus breathed deeply of the man's scent, and felt comforted. He felt as if he'd finally fulfilled his quest and found his own grail. This was the man he wanted. He'd had his lord's cock inside him, he was no longer a virgin, and it was likely from what the Dark Lord had said that he would be taken by Voldemort again. But this was the man he wanted, the man he'd dreamed of for years… And yet he could still feel the bands of Lord Voldemort's power surrounding him, in his body and his mind, etched indelibly into his skin. And it wasn't so bad, might not be so dreadful after all, for Severus had done the same thing. It needn't affect them. Regulus could still offer himself to his idol.
"My friends," Voldemort was speaking again and so Regulus shook his thoughts aside, concentrating. "We have a new member. We are stronger this night. Welcome him!"
The voices of all the Death Eaters rang out from behind their masks: "Be welcome, our brother. Be a powerful and faithful servant to work for our lord!" And they all cheered.
Regulus was shaking with the effort of standing up, desperately trying to keep the contents of his stomach in place. He was sweating under the mask, his face twisted in revulsion, and he was never more grateful for the emotionless façade the mask showed to his fellow Death Eaters. Lord Voldemort could see his emotions if he took the time to look, but Regulus, still in the outer circle, was merely one of the junior drones. Despite his illustrious family, he could hide behind his relative anonymity back here. And it was just as well, for he would have disgraced his family by now if that were not the case.
Another evening spent in the company of torturers. The excuse was that this Muggle had knowledge of the arrangements the Ministry made with a national hotel chain to accommodate magical visitors in different parts of the country when wizarding hospitality was unavailable. Understandably, the Death Eaters wanted to infiltrate this arrangement as it would give them access to foreign VIPs. But for whatever reason, the hapless Muggle they'd captured genuinely seemed to know nothing of use to Lord Voldemort. And the punishment for this lack of knowledge was to be given over for the practice of inner circle members like MacNair and Bellatrix Lestrange.
Regulus was still sensitive to the agonised screams. He had thought that familiarity would breed contempt, that he would become immune to such sounds. Instead, each torture he witnessed made him sicker, the first cries making him want to flee because he knew full well how long and how painful their end would be.
Finally… finally, the man succumbed to blood loss and shock and slumped in the chair, gone beyond the reach of even magical awakening. Regulus could turn away, as if in disgust that the evening's 'entertainment' was over, and he did so, still trying to control his trembling limbs and shaking hands.
"Come with me," a deep voice said close to his ear and Regulus felt a hand gripping his elbow. He was steered through the house and outside. The cool air of the night time garden was a welcome shock and Regulus inhaled deeply.
"You're not cut out for this," his benefactor said, his voice – surprisingly – not scathing. "Let's go."
Regulus did not question it when the man, still holding onto his arm, Apparated them away.
Looking around at his new surroundings, Regulus was frankly surprised. An obviously Muggle house, and a low class one at that. Poor would be the right word to describe it. He was standing in a small, dingy room with threadbare furniture and carpets. His companion drew off his mask and Regulus looked into the long, sallow face of Severus Snape, and let out a sigh of relief. "Severus…"
"Who else, Regulus? Who else would take you from there? You are so unsuited to being a Death Eater; I knew it would be a disaster when you were introduced. Whatever possessed you, Regulus?"
"You, Severus," Regulus said quietly, hanging his head in shame. The hopeful young man who'd wanted to follow his idol had given way to a young man who knew he'd made the mistake of his life. He wondered if Severus had felt the same way. And yet Severus was prominent in the inner circle, he brewed potions for his lord and spent long hours discussing theoretical magic with the man. Severus was probably the epitome of a loyal Death Eater. He must be disgusted with weak, ineffectual, soft-hearted Regulus Black, scion of a great house and unworthy of the name.
Severus sighed and poured a couple of glasses of whisky, pushing one into Regulus' hand. "Drink, you fool."
Regulus drank gratefully, sipping and then gulping the burning liquid, which grounded him and steadied his limbs like little else seemed to do. He never used to drink like this – with this greedy desperation – but Death Eater meetings had made this a regular occurrence.
"Now you know what it means to be a Death Eater. A shame you did not ask me before you turned up, eager to join."
"I… I didn't know where you were. I could never have found this place," Regulus said waving his glass at the room and sounding lost and hopeless.
"Malfoy could have put you in touch with me. Didn't you think to ask your cousin's spouse?"
Regulus' shoulders slumped. He had been a true idiot; he'd panicked and run into the arms of Lord Voldemort, literally, instead of using his intelligence. "I really thought that if you were a Death Eater, and Lucius was, that it had to be something worth doing."
Severus hissed. "If you had asked I would have told you not to make the same mistake I had." Severus slumped into an armchair, suddenly sick beyond measure. He'd always known Regulus admired him and that the younger man had a crush on him at Hogwarts. But Severus had ignored it, thinking no more of Regulus Black once he left school. Since then Severus had learned about life the hard way, the Death Eater way. But that night Regulus had joined them he'd looked up into that young, hopeful face and despaired. He hadn't wanted Regulus to become warped and twisted in the same way that he, Severus, had. Voldemort's reach was extending throughout their world and now good things were being tainted by his blight. Severus was hanging on, seeing no way out, and tonight's rescue of Regulus, while advisable to keep the increasingly obvious reluctance of the young man from others' notice, was doing his own peace of mind no good.
Regulus drained the last of his whisky and Severus leaned over to refill the glass. "I just wanted to be with you," Regulus admitted, his face twisting in despair.
Severus got up and sat beside the young man, slipping his arm around his shoulders. If nothing else, perhaps there was comfort here.
Another evening – they came around so quickly – and Regulus Apparated to the Riddle House and walked into the ballroom. Voldemort's head came up and he called out. "Come to me, Regulus."
His heart falling with each step, Regulus approached the throne.
The Dark Lord was magnificent tonight, his smoky, silken robes a lighter colour than usual. He was smiling in welcome, but Regulus had learned to be wary of that, for Voldemort smiled like that at captured Muggles when they were first brought in. Tonight Lord Voldemort projected power, and excitement. Something was driving him.
"Come with me, Regulus," Voldemort said, rising and turning, heading for his private quarters.
Regulus felt sick. The room where he'd lost his virginity, the room where he'd been Marked. It could mean nothing good. As he closed the door with a soft click and looked up into a piercing, crimson gaze, he knew he was shaking again and thanked Merlin for his mask.
"So nervous, my servant?" Tom was both amused and exasperated. Regulus had achieved nothing beyond his presence so far. It was early days, but the heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black needed to contribute something. And Tom had just the job for him. He smiled at the young man, projecting encouragement. "I have a task for you, Little King. A task that you will accomplish alongside me. Will that please you?"
"Yes, master. It would be an honour."
Oh, yes, Regulus Black projected nervousness, and Tom wondered why he should do so quite so strongly. What did he think he'd been called in here for? Ah… of course. Well, it would be a shame to disappoint him.
"But first, my dear servant, you can serve me in another way. On your knees, Regulus."
Regulus had been expecting it, but still he gasped at the command. He fell to his knees as if pole-axed, well aware that only immediate obedience could be painless while you were wearing the uniform of a Death Eater. On his knees, he looked up at his lord's face.
"Take off your mask, my servant," the Dark Lord crooned, and Regulus pulled the white shield from his face, aware his emotions were plain to see. He'd tried to school his features but he'd always failed. And even if he could, his lord could delve into his mind, so what would be the point?
With an elegant shrug Tom removed his robe. It slid to the floor and he let it go, not moving, leaving a circle of smoky silk around his feet. "Come, dear one, and suck me. Show me your devotion." Tom was nearly fully erect already; the thought of Regulus Black on his knees servicing him was powerfully erotic. Lord Voldemort, so far above 'wizarding royalty' that he could have their heir doing this… oh, how erotic was power, beyond anything else he knew.
Tom watched happily as Regulus came to him on his knees, as he lined himself up and opened his mouth. Tom watched his long, pale cock disappear into the cavern of his servant's mouth and hummed in pleasure, lacing the fingers of one hand into the young man's hair. Regulus was so handsome, and so young he was hardly more than a boy. Tom pushed further in and smiled as Regulus gagged. Oh, the pleasure of dominating one such as this…
Regulus was not bad at his task. He sucked and licked, surrounding Tom's prick with moist wetness. He made delightful sounds – moans and gurgles and gags, and Tom loved each and every one of them. Regulus was dominated, totally, and it built Tom's excitement exponentially. He started to thrust with his hips, holding Regulus' head still with his tightly-laced fingers, listening to the sounds of distress which only brought his climax closer. And the joy of it – of pumping semen into the Black heir, of hearing the boy swallowing convulsively to continue breathing – made Tom's eyes flutter closed and his heart leap. It was as close to perfect as he could find, this ultimate subjugation of a wizard's power.
When Tom was ready, he withdrew. He looked down to check Regulus had cleaned him properly and smiled to see it was so. The young man learned quickly. He briefly wondered if Regulus had been practicing with Severus, but really wasn't bothered either way. He could have this anytime, and he was determined to repeat it, very soon.
"Now, to business…"
Regulus Apparated to the Muggle street, feeling as out of place as a rat in a dragon reserve. There was no one about; the whole area had a neglected, seldom-visited feel. He hurried across to the one house that showed light; the distinctive glow of candlelight was escaping the ill-fitting curtains. He raised his hand to knock but before his knuckles contacted wood, the door swung open.
"Come in," Severus said urgently. "Why have you come here? We may be watched."
Regulus wondered if Death Eaters watched each other's houses, and then wondered why that would be so. But Severus was as nervous as an escaped prisoner. Perhaps the Ministry had heard he'd been brewing illegal potions.
Stepping straight into the dingy sitting room – there was no hallway – Regulus turned to look at Severus, who was shutting and warding the door. "I've come to tell you what I'm doing."
"Doing? For the Dark Lord? That is between you and him, a secret I've no doubt and one I have no need nor wish to hear."
"What he had me do is a secret – a deadly one. But Severus, it's gone too far. I can't stand this any more." Regulus' voice became frantic. "I can't stand what he does, what he makes me do. I want to get out."
Severus snorted. "And that makes you different from me how?"
"I'm going to fight back, Severus. He made me help him hide something. But I'm going to steal it. I'm going to destroy it."
Severus gaped. "Are you trying to commit suicide? There are less painful ways than crossing the Dark Lord, you know."
"Of course I don't want to die. But I can't live like this either. I've got to get out. If they find me, they'll kill me. If they find me I'll kill myself first. But I can't go on, Severus, you don't know –"
"Don't be a fool! Of course I know. I know more than you! I've been a Death Eater for nearly two years. You've been one for a couple of months. Don't tell me I don't know! If you knew some of the things I've had to do…"
"Then you understand! You understand, Sev…"
And Severus did. He could see Regulus wouldn't be swayed, and his heart fell. Regulus had followed him and he'd survived just a matter of months because he was nowhere near as hard as his idol. Severus himself could hardly cope, often felt as if he would go mad, so he wasn't surprised at Regulus' decision, nor could he blame the young man. But it wasn't Severus' fault that Regulus had followed him, and he wondered why he felt so guilty about it. He reached out to the young man, needing to feel his solid presence; to feel that he was still here, still alive. As he embraced Regulus, he let out his breath in a sigh that felt painful. He buried his head in Regulus' baby-soft hair.
Regulus Apparated to the cave mouth. He'd been here before; he'd memorised this place. It was burned into his mind. His way of fighting back. He would hurt Voldemort; he wouldn't go down without taking something away from the evil wizard.
As he stepped into the cave, he knew Severus was right. And like a good suicide should, he was going to leave a note.
"Laxo" = relieve, release.