The Son Who Stayed

by Anahita18

Summary:

When sixteen-year-old Regulus Black returns home with the Dark Mark, a midnight confrontation with his parents reveals just how divided the House of Black has become.

Notes:

Warnings:
- Themes of indoctrination and radicalisation
- Teen involvement in extremist ideology
- Dysfunctional family dynamics (it's the most ancient and noble House of Black, ok?!)
- References to trauma and family estrangement
- Verbal abuse and cruelty from parents
- Mentions of caning and physical discipline

Chapter 1: Convicted

It was well past midnight when Regulus Black returned home.

He stepped over the threshold like he was floating. Something inside him was thrumming. No, glowing! His whole left arm was alive with it, from shoulder to fingertips

He shut the door quietly behind him.

He hadn’t told his parents. Of course it wasn’t cowardice. He just hadn’t seen the point in asking for permission he possibly wouldn’t get. He couldn’t be sure they’d have said no. But there’d been a chance, and that was reason enough to keep quiet. If they didn’t know, they couldn’t stop him. Sirius had filled the house with so much noise and fury for so many years that no one had ever really noticed the quiet one making up his own mind. And once he was of age, there’d be nothing to stop anyway. 

His cloak was damp from the night air, his boots muddied from a Side-Along Apparition into the wet lane behind Number Twelve.His left arm still itched beneath the sleeve, but at least the skin no longer burned like a brand freshly seared into the flesh. 

Regulus had taken the Dark Mark a few weeks ago and still wasn’t used to it. He hadn't done it for glory or power, as some others had. He’d done it because he believed in the cause. Because someone had to do something. He could still hear the Dark Lord’s voice echoing in his ears : ‘My faithful servant…’

And then the hall lit up, too fast and too bright. Every lamp flaring to life with a snap. Regulus squinted against it.

“Where in Merlin’s name have you been?”

Walburga Black stood at the foot of the stairs in her dressing gown. Behind her, the chandelier cast long shadows that made her seem taller. Her hair was wild, one slipper half-off. There was something wrong in her eyes; red-rimmed, watery. She looked unhinged.

“Mother-“

“Don’t ‘mother’ me,” she hissed. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but she was already coming at him.

“What in the world could a sixteen-year-old boy possibly have to do outside at one o’clock in the morning, Regulus Arcturus?!”

Casually cleaning our world of filth and building a better future?, he thought, but did not say.

“You disappear without a word, you little brat! Can you imagine how worried I was when I found you gone?! You impossible child! Can you even fathom -!“

She slapped him before he could finish inhaling. The sound rang out sharp against the walnut panelling.

This was exactly why he hadn’t told her. Or his father. They’d never have tried to understand. His parents had spent so long bracing against Sirius’ open rebellion, that they took everything the wrong way.

Regulus stumbled back half a step, but she caught him by the hair before he could move away, jerking his head backwards to force him to meet her eyes.

She wanted to make him look at her. She had stared into the void that Sirius had left behind and refused to do it again. Not with this one. Not her last hope.

Her breathing was shallow and fast, and her hands were trembling even while keeping a death grip on his locks . She looked - no, she was -completely unstrung. Her whole face was blotched with angry red, and her mouth was twisted with fury and grief.

“You impossible, selfish boy! ” she shrieked, striking him again, this time the side of his head. “How dare you steal away in the death of night to go gallivanting about the country?” She let go of his hair only to hit him against the upper arm. “Who do you think you are? Are you turning into your brother now?”

She spat the word before she could stop herself: 'brother'. The one name that haunted every wall of this house. She had scrubbed him from the tapestry, burnt his photographs, charmed his letters to ash. She had even yelled at Orion that Sirius was no son of hers, when he’d insisted the boy would come crawling back the moment the Galleons dried up.

Walburga's voice broke. And so did the dam behind her eyes. She burst into sobs.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They had done everything right. Raised their children in tradition, taught them respect, given them the best of everything. And still, one had left. And now the other...

“I didn’t-“ Regulus tried, but didn’t finish.

Another hit came, sharp and wild. Then another, on his chest, his shoulder, wherever she could reach in her frenzy.

“That I should live through this again!", she wailed. “First him, and now you. Sneaking out like a criminal!” Her tears were pouring now, but her hand kept lashing out in wild, unpredictable bursts. “You think you can do whatever you like now? You think you’re a man just because you’re nearly of age? Is that it?” she spat, voice rising to that ghastly pitch Regulus had heard more than a few times in his life. “Well, you are not! You are sixteen! You live in this house, and you follow our rules! ”

He looked too much like Sirius when he set his jaw like that. The resemblance stung. And for a moment she wasn’t yelling at Regulus at all, but at the memory of the son who had already turned his back on them. There was still so much she hadn’t said to that disgraceful, ungrateful boy. Words that had festered behind closed doors and clenched teeth. Spite, sorrow, fury all wound into one. Merlin help him, there was likely enough bile left in her to haunt Sirius even in death!

She struck again and again. Regulus tried to shield himself, awkwardly, carefully. Without lifting his left arm, which was nearly impossible.

This felt familiar. Not his role in it, but the scene. This was how Sirius had been treated, over and over, back when he’d still lived under this roof. Only that Sirius had ever been up to anything noble. Sirius had always deserved it, hadn’t he? Picking fights. Provoking their parents on purpose. He had been defiant.

Regulus had only done what was right.

“Do you hear me, Regulus?”, a question came through to him.

“I- I hear you! ”

“Then act like it!”

She grabbed a fistful of his cloak, nearly shaking him off his feet. Her eyes were glassy, her whole body trembling. She looked like she hadn’t slept all night.

He ought to have said sorry. That was what one did. It was the expected script, the ritual offering that soothed her rage, or at the very least dulled the edges of it. A murmured apology before the inevitable punishment. That was how the game was played.

His mother was quick to anger. Always had been. Her temper flared like flash-paper, prone to scorching everyone in its path. Sirius had inherited it wholesale, and spent years fanning the flames. Regulus, by contrast, had learnt early that silence, obedience, and well-timed contrition were the only means of surviving her fury with dignity intact.

And yet now, he stood mute. He couldn’t apologise. Not this time. Not with the mark still glowing like a secret beneath his sleeve. And he wasn’t sorry.

He was no longer a boy creeping through the corridors after curfew. No longer just the younger son, the quiet one, the good one. Not anymore. He was a Death Eater. He had done something immense. Something final. Something sacred.

His mother ought to be proud! Walburga Black would propably join the Dark Lord in a heartbeat, given half a chance. She had the fury for it, much like dear cousin Bellatrix. But Walburga’s rage was always short-fused, unpredictable, and ruled by feeling. She screamed, she struck, she shook the foundations of the house. But always, in the end, she listened to her husband. And over his dead body would Orion Black allow his wife to join the cause.

So here she was again: screaming and striking Regulus like he was nothing but a misbehaving child who’d missed curfew.

She hit him again.

“You will not disgrace this family,” she whispered savagely, her breath hot in his face. Disgrace. That was always the word she came back to. She didn’t care what means were used, so long as the family remained untarnished. She would’ve stood beside the Dark Lord with pride ... if Orion had let her. But he never would. And Regulus knew she might even be proud, if she weren’t too busy weeping, shrieking, and collapsing under her own fury. She had the temperament for the cause. Perhaps even the appetite. But Walburga Black had always shouted louder than she stood her ground.  “I will not lose both my sons to foolishness.”

"I didn’t run away,” Regulus said coldly. “I came home, didn't I?"

The words made her falter. Just for a moment. Her grip on his cloak loosened. Her lip quivered. For a heartbeat, she almost reached for Regulus. not to shake him, but to hold him. But the moment passed.

A voice spoke from the landing above:  “That’s enough.”

Orion Black stood in the shadows, one hand resting on the bannister. His dressing gown was immaculate, his posture iron-straight. His face looked much paler than usual but betrayed nothing else.

Walburga’s head whipped round.

“He came in soaking and filthy in the middle of the night,” she snapped. “I thought he was dead. I thought … Well, don’t act like you didn’t think the same, Orion!”, Walburga spat accusingly.

“I said enough.”

Orion descended a step, then two. The floor creaked beneath his weight. Regulus turned to look at him, but there was no comfort in his father’s face. It made him uneasy. He hadn’t felt this young in quite some time.

His mother’s rage was one thing. She was always in a state over something. He hated to admit it - because he did love her, he really did - but her anger was familiar. Predictable, in its way. 

But his father was another matter entirely. Only Sirius had ever managed to make Orion Black shout. He didn’t flail or wail or slap around in a fit of temper. When he was angry, you knew you were in for it. He punished with intention but often in anger, and if he thought it necessary, with severity.

For all Walburga’s insistence on interfering in every corner of their lives, their family had always maintained the traditional division of roles. Which meant Orion was the one who carried out the real discipline. And Regulus knew all too well what that looked like.

He had always known where he stood with his father: second. Not quite the disappointment Sirius had been, but never the heir either. Just the younger son. Expected to behave, expected to comply, expected to watch. So he had learnt to act accordingly. Not to ask for things that might be denied. Simply to decide himself. To do.

Regulus knew he hadn’t done anything wrong. But he doubted very much that his father would see it the same way. That, more than anything, was why he hadn’t told them.

Orion Black might have believed in every word the Dark Lord spoke. But he fancied himself above the need to act on them. That was the irony. He’d raise his glass to a purer world, but not his wand. He’d propaby fund a war, but wouldn’t sully his name with it. He kept his politics quiet and his hands clean. Regulus knew the man would never have taken the Mark. Not for loyalty, not for power, not even for the Dark Lord himself. Because to Orion, open involvement was vulgar. Dangerous. Something for others, for fanatics. Certainly not for his own son. And Regulus had done it anyway.

He swallowed hard, a dry, uncomfortable gulp. Shit, this was not going as he had planned!

More than that, he felt a different kind of fear. Not for himself, but for what might follow. His parents had shouted themselves hoarse over Sirius. And this? This could spark something worse. His mother might approve of what he had done. His father almost certainly would not. They’d fight. And Regulus didn’t think he could bear that. Not again.

"Your mother asked you, where you've been,” Orion said coolly. “And you will explain yourself. Now.”

Regulus didn’t move.  If he kept still enough, cold enough, they might not see the panic beneath the pride. His left arm itched beneath the sleeve, the skin still warm, the sigil pulsing like a second heartbeat. But he smiled, faintly. Because they had no idea. And for a single wicked second, that made him feel powerful.

His father slapped him so hard Regulus almost crashed into the wall.

“Don’t you dare smirk at me like that! You had best produce an excellent explanation for your whereabouts this evening, or by Merlin you will get a caning so thoroughly you won’t be walking anywhere anytime soon!”

Regulus glared at his father. The boy’s defiance, usually so carefully tempered beneath a veneer of obedience, now rose to the surface.That was out of character! And though Orion Black still looked livid, he was surprised, too.

Regulus Arcturus had always been the easy one. The manageable one. His mother’s pride, his father’s quiet satisfaction. Sirius had scorched every bridge, howled down every corridor, and ultimately been erased from the family tapestry in a fit of fury so intense that Walburga’s hand had trembled when she cast the spell. Orion's wife, in all her theatrics, had wept and screamed when Sirius had finally gone. She had never truly recovered from that betrayal. 

Regulus had never needed such treatment. He had followed the rules. Sat in silence. Listened. He had conformed without being asked... Until now? The boy stood there like a stranger. Something was amiss, something carefully hidden.

And that made Orion wary. His eyes narrowed.

There was something new in the boy’s posture. Something unfamiliar that made his instincts stir uneasily. Something was off. He knew his son. Or thought he had.

“Where have you been?” he asked again, his voice clipped but quieter now. Less rage, more steel.

He hadn’t intended to lose his temper. Regulus wasn’t Sirius. There was no need for dramatics. The boy always responded more sensibly to calm reasoning. It was Walburga’s domain to shriek and flail and curse the ceiling. Orion preferred order. 

But there was something different in Regulus tonight. And truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it meant. Why couldn’t life simply unfold as it was intended? With dignity. With order. Instead, he was once again faced with adolescent defiance and his wife shrieking like a madwoman. It was all so tedious! An endless cycle of defiance, drama, and disgrace.

Bloody children, he thought, not without venom. Before they’d had them, there had been anguish. Concern that Walburga might be barren, whispered discussions behind closed doors, pressure from both sides of the family to produce. The continuation of the noble House of Black had become a matter of urgency. An heir and a spare, that was all anyone had asked of them. When they managed to have both, the drama hadn’t diminished.

Now it was one o’clock in the morning, his wife was shrieking herself hoarse yet again, and he might very well have to thrash his youngest son for whatever idiotic stunt he’d just pulled. Was one disappointment not enough? So much for legacy.

Regulus merely glared, a cold, flat stare that made no effort to conceal its contempt. That look alone was enough to enrage his mother again. With a gasp of fury, Walburga seized him by the arms and gave him a violent shake, as if she could rattle obedience back into him.

“Will you answer your father, you filthy little-”

Oh, how she hoped Orion would thrash that boy! He deserved it, he truly did. Merlin knew someone needed to knock some sense into him. How had both her sons turned out so utterly ungrateful, so appallingly insolent? It wasn’t as though they’d been raised without standards. She and Orion had been firm, unwavering. Proper pureblood parents.

Orion… He wasn’t the husband she would have chosen, had there ever been a choice in the matter. But he had always done his duty as the head of their family, a true Black  and more importantly, as a father. When Sirius had begun his appalling campaign of rebellion, it had been Orion who stood beside her, who enforced the rules with authority. And though Regulus had required less correction over the years, there had been the occasional moment when Orion had to punish him as well. And this was plainly one of those occasions. Any fool could see it. Who did the boy think he was?

But Regulus just moved away from her. A step back, just enough to evade his mother without laying a hand on her.

He undid the cuff of his shirt with deliberate care. His heart was pounding, rising up into his throat until it felt difficult to breathe.

This wasn’t how it was meant to happen. He had imagined something different. He had told himself he would wait until he was of age, perhaps even longer. When it was done and finished and no longer up for debate. He’d wanted time. Space to grow into the role he'd taken on. Time to prove himself before they questioned his motives. But then again, perhaps they never would have seen it as he did.

Then, with one sharp, practised tug, he drew back the sleeve.

He had made his decision weeks ago. Not in haste. Not on a whim. Quietly, as he always did. But with conviction.  He had never been loud, never needed to shout to make himself known. Sirius had rebelled for show; Regulus acted because his conscience left him no alternative. His choices were private, but absolute. And now there was no going back.

There it was. The skin of his forearm was marked by a vivid black sigil. A skull, hollow-eyed and grinning, lay at its centre, and from its gaping mouth coiled a serpent, winding sinuously down his arm as though alive.

The Dark Mark.

Chapter 2: The Heir Apparent

Notes:

Warnings:
- Toxic family dynamics
- Themes of coercion and conditional love
- Sibling comparison / parental favouritism
- Mentions of slavery (house elf)
- Psychological distress / dissociation

Walburga stared at the mark, her mouth parted, her hand still frozen mid-motion. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wild only moments ago, began to shine anew. But not with fury this time. Something soft broke across her face. It looked gleaming now and almost childlike.

Then she let out a choked sound and surged forward. She stared at the mark as if it answered every question she’d ever screamed into the walls. He had chosen their side. Chosen her.

“Oh, my darling boy,” she breathed, clutching his face between both hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead, then another to his cheek. Her grip was still rough, but it had lost its violence, replaced now by a tremble of elation. 

Regulus was caught somewhere between the sting of her earlier strikes and the odd warmth of her words. She cradled his cheeks as if he were six years old again, bringing his face close to hers like she might study it for truth.

“I knew,” she whispered, with a quiver of pride. “I knew you were loyal. Not like that traitorous creature. Not like him.”

Regulus didn’t reply. He couldn’t quite trust his voice.

For a moment, just a breath of time, he felt like a child again. As if he’d come home with his father from Ollivander’s with his wand and found her waiting at home with a kiss and sweets. She was so pleased with him. And yet…

The shift in her was staggering. Less than ten minutes ago, she had struck him in a fit of wild rage, shrieking that he was selfish, disgraceful, a repeat of his brother’s worst sins. Now she looked at him as if he had strung the stars into the sky with his own hands.

That was the trouble with her love. It was swift and consuming, but it turned on a Knut. Conditional, always. One misstep, one sign of disobedience, and it vanished like smoke, replaced by wrath.

Regulus stood stiffly, allowing her to embrace him, her arms tightening around his shoulders. Her breath was hot and uneven against his ear.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. “You’ve done your duty. You’ve honoured your name. You’ve done something Sirius never had the spine for.”

He gave a faint nod. Her words had weight, oh yes, but they sank differently than they once might have. He was always compared to Sirius. Even she, for all her hatred of his brother, couldn't help but draw the comparison.

Regulus lifted his head just enough to look past his mother’s shoulder. Orion hadn’t spoken yet. Regulus' father was standing quite still, unnervingly so. There was a pallor to him that hadn’t been there before. He looked as if all the blood had drained from his face in an instant. For a brief, jarring second, Regulus wondered if he might keel over. Guilt crept in. 

His father wasn’t even fifty yet. Far too young for a heart attack, surely. Or a stroke. Merlin, he hoped so!

“Are you completely insane?” his father whispered at last. He looked unsteady on his feet. “You just throw your life away like that?”

Walburga drew breath to leap to her son’s defence - no doubt with one of her shrill declarations of pride - but the named son got there first.

“I didn’t throw anything away,” Regulus said coolly. “I stood up for my convictions.”

He very nearly added something you wouldn’t recognise if it hexed you in the face, but thought better of it. It wasn’t true anyway. And he wasn’t Sirius. Insolence, however tempting, would only undermine the point.

Orion wiped a hand down his face, letting it rest briefly over his mouth. When he dropped it, he shook his head, not in fury, but in what looked unsettlingly like despair.

“What did I do to deserve this?” he muttered. “One son runs off with blood traitors and half-breeds, the other signs his life away for ideals. Have the pair of you lost your minds?”

“You have only one son, Orion,” Walburga snapped. Her voice rang with venomous pride.

Orion turned to her, a look of stony disbelief etched across his face.

“You can pretend all you like,” he said coldly. “But burning Sirius off the family tree won’t unmake him. He is our son, Walburga. Whether you like it or not.”

Regulus wished he could vanish. He hated every syllable of this exchange.

Orion had screamed at Sirius, punished him, caned him within an inch of reason. And yet, here he was, standing firm on the idea that Sirius still belonged. Still mattered. Apparently, there was nothing Sirius could do that couldn’t be forgiven. It had always been this way. Sirius was the favourite. The untouchable heir. The one his father had placed his hopes in, and now mourned, even in his absence.

And Regulus? Regulus had followed every rule. Spoken when spoken to. Done as he was told. He had carried the weight of expectation like a second skin. And still, it was never quite enough. He could never replace Sirius. He was the spare. Not hated, but never chosen. Not quite likeable, not quite loathsome. Sirius was easy to like, easy to love, and easier still to hate. Regulus somehow managed all three at once. And yet, he was none of those things himself.

“Well, disinheriting him rather makes him less your heir, wouldn’t you say?” Walburga snapped. “That filthy little blood traitor is no son of mine!”

How had they managed to turn this - this, which was clearly about Regulus! - into yet another row about Sirius? Were they truly fighting over him again? Even in absence, Sirius managed to steal the spotlight. Everything was always about Sirius.

Orion rolled his eyes at his wife and let out a long, weary breath.

“Must you always put on a performance?” he said coldly. “Do you truly think we’ve yet to grasp your feelings on the matter? Or is more screeching somehow required?”

“You cannot keep me from stating the truth,” Walburga answered sharply. “You will have to face it eventually: Sirius is a blood traitor. Regulus is your heir now. And he upholds the values of this family admirably. The very least you might do is commend him for taking the Mark.”

Regulus agreed with that, though he hardly expected his father to. Orion had moved from fury before the reveal, to stunned silence, and now returned - inevitably - to anger.

“I know precisely what the boy requires, Walburga, and it is not applause,” he said curtly.

But he did not strike Regulus again. Perhaps he was wary now.

“I forbid you to indulge this folly,” he told is wife instead, voice clipped with authority.

“It is not folly!” Regulus had meant to say so himself, but Walburga, predictably, was ahead of him.

“I warn you,” Orion said, his voice dangerously quiet now. “I have endured more than enough shrieking and theatre for one night. I will not repeat myself.”

Regulus closed his eyes. He wished, not for the first time, that he could simply disappear. He had no great hope that his mother would hold her tongue.

She never did. Sirius must have inherited it from somewhere. What he feared more, however, was what his father might do if she did not. The arguments between them were always dreadful. Regulus hated it. 

His parents' marriage had been arranged. Everyone knew it. His grandparents had declared it an ideal match: the joining of the two primary Black lines. It had been spoken of with  grandeur and sealed it with an Unbreakable Vow. As if magic could force what affection could not. Now they were bound together forever. A perfect legacy on paper, and a private misery in practice.

Regulus could only pray such a fate would never befall him. But now that Sirius was gone, what choice did he have? The family would expect him to marry, to secure the legacy, to do his duty, to carry the name forward with appropriate decorum. Remaining a bachelor, like Uncle Alphard, was no longer a viable option.

The thought of marriage and children sat like stone in his chest. He imagined a faceless girl with cold hands, a crib in a draughty room, a child with the name of a star, constellation, or some other celestial object.

Sirius had once told their mother, half in jest, half in spite, that he'd name a child 'Mercury', after she’d incinerated all his music records and shrieked that she hoped he’d one day have a child as dreadful as himself. The joke, naturally, had sailed straight over her head. Maybe he could do that?

Regulus swore to himself: he would never treat his family as they treated one another. Neither his wife, nor any child he might be cursed to bring into the world.

His thoughts began to drift, the way they often did when the voices rose too loud in this house. He had nearly forgotten that this time, he had been the spark to set them off .... until his father gave him a firm shake by the shoulder.

Reality came rushing back.

“I asked you a question, Regulus Arcturus. When did you get this?”

“A few weeks ago…” he muttered, gaze fixed somewhere beyond his father’s shoulder.

Orion’s face turned a deep, furious red.

“The elf is getting flogged for this,” he said.

Regulus jolted. “It’s not Kreacher’s fault!” he cried, voice cracking before he could stop it. What had Kreacher got to do with any of this? What had they done to him?

“Of course it’s not his fault. It’s yours,” Orion snapped. “But you may watch him take the punishment, and reflect on the consequences of manipulating an elf into deceiving his masters.”

Regulus wanted to cry, or scream, or throw something. The injustice of it burned in his chest like fire.

“You’re not being fair,” he whispered. The words came out thin and pitiful, like a child’s. He hated how small he sounded. Like he was six again, not sixteen.

“That is very fair,” his father replied icily. “The elf is not your playmate. He is a slave. And he lied about your whereabouts.”

Yes, well, he’d had his reasons, hadn’t he?

“I didn’t tell Kreacher where I was going!” Regulus insisted, though the look his father gave him made it perfectly clear he wasn’t believed. A dark, narrow-eyed stare that said plainly, 'really?'.

And yes, of course he had told Kreacher. Just in case. If something happened… if he didn’t come back within three days… at least they’d know he hadn’t run away. That had been the plan.

Orion reached forward suddenly, snatching up Regulus’ forearm. He stared at the mark as though it were a physical wound. His lip curled.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” he asked, voice bitter.

“I didn’t realise I needed your permission to do what’s right,” Regulus said before he could stop himself.

For a moment, his father simply stared. Then his eyes flared, nostrils wide, a deep breath dragged in through clenched teeth.

“One more word of insolence, and I will show you what's right!"

Regulus clenched his jaw. He swallowed back everything he wanted to say. His body was brimming with fury, so tight with it he thought he might crack open.

But no good would come of escalating this. There was no victory in shouting. That wasn’t the way to win this battle. Any battle for that matter. 

He hadn’t meant for them to find out tonight. That hadn’t been the plan at all. But now they had and that was that. He’d been caught.

Still, he couldn’t exactly claim to be surprised. He’d known how they’d react. It only proved he’d been right not to tell them. He couldn’t trust either of them with something like this. They didn’t understand. And his father wasn’t even trying to.

Not that it mattered. Regulus wasn’t sorry. Not in the slightest.

If anything, the only thing he’d got wrong was Kreacher. Next time, he wouldn’t just ask the elf to keep it quiet. He’d make it an order.

Let them shout. Let them punish him if they liked. He’d done what he believed in. That was more than could be said for either of them.

“Orion, don’t be like that,” Walburga implored. “You cannot punish Regulus Arcturus over this. He’s done nothing wrong.”

His mother was trying, in her way, to shield him. It was comforting, even if fleeting. Her affection was a weather vane, prone to shift without warning. Still, for now, she was on his side, and that meant something.

“Nothing wrong?” Orion thundered, turning on her. “You were weeping over the boy not an hour ago, woman! He slipped out in the dead of night, deceived us for weeks, and had the audacity to instruct the elf to lie on his behalf! And that’s before we even begin to consider what he’s been doing for the Dark Lord. Do you truly believe that man doesn’t require his followers to take part in Merlin-knows-what?”

“It’s an honour that he allowed me to join,” Regulus said quietly, meeting his father’s eye.

Orion looked at him as though the urge to strike him again was rising and just barely restrained.

“He’s right, Orion!” Walburga cut in, her voice bright with uncontainable pride. “Can you imagine what the others will say? The Rosiers, the Lestranges, the Malfoys. Oh, they’ll be positively green with envy! A sixteen-year-old, bearing the Mark! The youngest yet, aren’t you? What an honour! We must write to-”

Regulus shifted uneasily. “I didn't do it for show, Mother”

Walburga halted mid-sentence, blinking at him in mild surprise. Then her expression shifted. Her smile sharpening into something tight and approving.

“Yes. Yes, of course. You’re absolutely right. This isn’t some debutante affair. This is ... this is sacred. Let them find out in time. Let them see what kind of man you’ve become.”

She reached up to smooth his hair back from his brow, both hands cradling his head with a theatrical tenderness. Her fingers lingered, almost possessively. Regulus allowed it.

"That’s quite enough, Walburga," Orion said sharply. "You’re the one filling his head with this nonsense, and I won’t have it."

He stepped forward and seized Regulus by the upper arm, his grip firm.

"You and I," he said calmly, "are going to have a word."

Chapter 3: To Be Chosen

Notes:

Warnings:
- Emotional family conflict (as always)
- Family estrangement
- Ideological radicalisation
- References to war and death
- Implied past corporal punishment

He was sixteen. Not of age. Not yet a man, not in the eyes of the law, nor in the eyes of his father. And though Regulus Black now bore the mark of a follower - no, of a chosen - he felt unwell.

He had imagined this moment differently. He had imagined stepping into the hall with the dignity of purpose, the quiet steel of conviction. Instead, he had come home to screaming. To being struck. To his mother’s tears. And now this: the quiet.

His father stood with his back half-turned, facing the cold fireplace in the study, one hand resting on the mantelpiece. The room smelt faintly of fire whiskey and cigars.

Regulus remained near the door, his shoulders stiff, head bowed. The fire had long since died, and his fingers were cold.

He knew the cane stood in the study. It always had. The last time Sirius had tasted it, he had been sixteen too. Regulus swallowed. His mouth was dry.

Regulus wasn’t used to being in proper trouble. He’d been told off before, obviously, and punished when it was expected. But for the most part, he had always made a concerted effort to avoid attracting that particular sort of attention. He knew better than to provoke his parents. In truth, they had usually been far too preoccupied with trying to rein Sirius in to spare much concern for him. And he’d always made a point of keeping his head down and doing what was asked of him. It was easier that way. Even with Sirius gone, blasted off the family tree and vanished from their lives, Regulus had never quite expected to find himself here. Centre stage.

“I suppose you’re going to punish me,” he said, after a long silence.

His father didn’t look at him.

“A punishment is meant to change one’s behaviour,” he replied, his tone smooth and unhurried. “I rather think you’ve made your choice already. You’ve branded yourself for life, child. And for what?”

Regulus straightened. He stood at a crossroads now. He could simply take the telling-off, mumble that he was sorry, and let the whole thing pass. Or he could try - pointlessly, perhaps - to explain himself. A part of him believed it was hopeless. But this was his father. Of course he wanted him to understand. To see the reasoning behind it. To be proud. After all, they believed in the same things, didn’t they? The difference was only this: Regulus had chosen to act on those beliefs. Orion, for all his talk, remained content to do nothing.

“For a better world," Regulus decided to explain himself.

Orion turned now, slowly, and regarded him with that impenetrable, unreadable gaze. It wasn’t anger on his face. Nor disappointment. Something more like… incredulity.

Regulus pressed on.
“Isn’t that what you always taught me? To keep our blood pure. To build a better world for wizards, for our kind. Well, I’m standing up for what we believe in. All of us! The Dark Lord sees the rot in the Ministry. He sees the way our bloodline is being diluted. How Muggles are being pandered to. He wants to restore the old ways. Proper order. Wizards ruling wizardkind. Dumbledore and his lot would rather throw it all away to appease the rabble. But the Dark Lord, he understands strength. He understands loyalty."

“You sound like a pamphlet,” Orion said coldly.

Regulus flushed.

“I believe in what he stands for,” he said, more fiercely now. “And I want to be part of it. He’s building something that matters. That’s more than can be said for half the men wasting their lives in the Wizengamot, droning on about cauldron thickness regulations while our world crumbles.”

Orion’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you think Grindelwald said much the same?” Regulus opened his mouth, but his father cut him off. “'It's for the greater good'. He promised vision. Power. Pride in magical heritage. And where are the young men who followed him, child?" He paused before answering his own question: "In Nurmengard. Buried. Forgotten. Do not flatter yourself. You are not the first clever boy to think he might change the world with a wand and a sigil. The ideals remain! The principles we were raised to uphold, they’ve not vanished. But the men who once fought for them are either buried or wasting away in prison cells."

Regulus lifted his chin. “Some things are worth dying for.”

Orion stared at him. For a moment, Regulus felt a chill, like something shifting behind his father’s eyes. And then Orion gave the faintest shake of the head, as though seeing him for the first time.

“I always thought you were more reasonable than your brother,” he said. “But you’re even more blinded than Sirius.”

Regulus bristled. “I’m nothing like Sirius.”

“Oh, I quite agree. Sirius would never be fool enough to call submission courage.”

“That’s not what this is.”

Orion took a step closer, and now Regulus felt the air shift. The weight of that old, quiet menace his father wore like a second robe.

“Isn’t it?” he said. “You think branding yourself with his mark makes you free? You have no idea what you’ve joined, boy. None.”

Regulus didn’t flinch, but his fists were clenched now at his sides. He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. But he said nothing.

“Who took you there?”

"That's not impo-"

“I asked you,” Orion said crisply, “who took you to the Dark Lord. Who brought you to him? Who offered you up?”

Regulus bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He’d been told not to tell. Strictly forbidden. But something in Orion’s tone made him hesitate. If he said nothing, his father would assume the worst and perhaps do worse.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Of course you can.” Orion’s voice was taut with disbelief. “I’m your father.”

“There are forces greater than a father.”

“I see,” Orion said, his mouth twisting. “Let me guess. The Dark Lord, is it?”

“No,” Regulus said, his voice quiet but clear. “My own conscience.”

Orion stared at him for a moment. Then he inhaled, mouth slightly open, and exhaled slowly, as though he had to force his temper back into its cage.

“Very well,” he said coolly. “You won’t name them, so I shall hazard an educated guess... Was it your Aunt Druella’s brother?”

“What?” Regulus frowned. Evan's father? What did he have to do with it? “Uncle Leander? Why would he-?”

“So it wasn’t him?” Orion asked sharply, watching every flicker of his son’s expression.

“No. Of course not. Why would Uncle Leander take me? Evan’s not even allowed to join yet. What sense would that make?”

He didn’t say aloud how much the thought unsettled him. His uncle terrified him, in a way even his mother didn’t.

Leander Rosier had been a Death Eater for as long as Regulus had known the term. He had the same volatile temper as Walburga but none of the theatricality, instead he had the strike capability of Orion. Evan had gotten smacked so severely when they were children even Regulus had second hand trauma from that. Say what one liked about his own father, he was strict, yes, but never arbitrary. One always knew where the line was. But Leander Rosier? His fury had a randomness to it. Regulus had half expected his uncle to cuff him round the ear the moment he realised he was about to take the Mark.

“He wants to get back at me,” Orion said suddenly, low and bitter.

Regulus stared at his father. “I don't think I understand..."

“He thinks there’s still a score between us,” his father said darkly.

Regulus frowned, confused and alarmed. What on earth had passed between the two men?

“Right…” he murmured, unsure what else to say. He hoped he didn’t sound too impertinent.

"There’s a debt unpaid. And what better way to twist the knife than to get to my son?”

Regulus felt a queasy unease settle in his stomach. Whatever this was, it sounded serious. And he had no desire whatsoever to end up on the wrong side of someone like Evan’s father. Why hadn’t his own father warned him? He’d grown up with Evan practically as a cousin. Evan was one of his closest friends. Surely, if Orion had harboured real concerns about Leander Rosier, he wouldn’t have let his son spend half his holidays under the man’s roof.

“Father, with all due respect, no one is trying to settle old scores with you,” Regulus said carefully, measuring each word.

He hoped, sincerely, that his father wouldn’t now retreat into hauteur or start treating him like a child again. They were speaking as men. At least, Regulus was trying to and he wished to keep it that way. He’d been raised to show respect to his elders, particularly his parents, unless he fancied the back of a hand for his trouble.

“It’s an honour that I was permitted to join,” he added, his voice tightening slightly. “Truly. I’ve wanted this for as long as I can remember. I’ve always...” he hesitated for a moment, “...always wanted to do something. To live by the path of principle that’s been laid out for me. To make good on the values I was brought up with.”

Orion let out a long, exasperated breath and rolled his eyes in a manner most unbecoming of a man of his stature.

“A little less idealism, if you please,” he muttered. “There’s no great moral glory in joining a circle of men who make a pastime of torture and murder.”

Regulus felt as though he’d been slapped verbally, if not physically. What a crude and appalling way to characterise the cause. How could his father, of all people, be so dismissive? So deeply cynical about something that mattered so very much?

“Some people deserve to die,” Regulus spat. “They are the leeches of society. The scum that only weighs us down, or hinders us from living up to our true potential.”

Orion turned his head slowly, as if stifling disbelief.

"Of course there are those who deserve to die. But you are not one of them! Yet you may end up dead! And do you truly imagine the Dark Lord will grant you the privilege of deciding who is worthy of life and who is not? Don’t be naïve. He doesn’t care. He’s a fanatic. A man like that exists to be used by families such as ours. Yet you, in all your folly, have chosen to let him use you.”

Regulus didn’t answer.

Orion’s voice hardened. “What happens when he tells you to eliminate your own brother? In case it’s escaped your notice,” Orion said, “you and Sirius have found yourselves on opposite ends of a bloody war. You think it won’t eventually come to a head?”

“The Dark Lord has never asked me to kill Sirius.”

Orion gave him a look. A long, bitter, incredulous look as if he were staring at a madman who didn’t know he’d lost his mind.

“No,” he said, voice low and sharp, “not yet. But do you really think he will only ever ask you to do things that feel noble? That suit your delicate little conscience? That’s not what it means to be a servant. Or a soldier. Or a-“ he made a sound of contempt “-a knight, if that’s what you’re still calling yourselves these days. You will serve him or die. That is the bargain. And you are a fool if you don’t see it.”

“I won't die, Father! My morals align with the cause,” Regulus said through clenched teeth.

“Really?!” Orion thundered. The word echoed through the room. “Your morals don’t even align with your parents’, and you’ve lived under our roof for sixteen years!” He strode forward. “You fret about a house-elf being punished, yet you imagine you’ll be able to torture and murder other wizards without blinking?”

Regulus’ fists were balled at his sides. “Anyone who stands up against the Dark Lord has it coming.”

Orion’s face twisted. “I suppose that includes your brother.”

“I don’t have a brother.”

“Yes, you do!” Orion roared. Regulus flinched properly this time, but Orion didn’t care. His voice was thunder now. “And even your Dark Lord knows it! That’s precisely why he’s using you. You don’t see it, but I do. He wants Sirius. And he knows the only sliver of hope he has of reaching him is through you.”

Of course his father assumed everyone desired his favourite son as fiercely as he did. In Orion’s eyes, it was simply inconceivable that anyone might choose Regulus over Sirius. Why would they? The notion that someone might prefer him was, to his father, laughable. Unthinkable.

“Maybe you think you can sway your brother. Convince him. Bring him home like a lost dog..." Unfortunately, that had been true. Not for the Dark Lord’s sake, but Regulus had tried to make Sirius see reason. To stay. Later, to come back. It had taken him far too long to admit it was hopeless. Even now, part of him still hoped, absurdly, that Sirius might yet turn back. He told himself it was useless. And most days, he believed it. But not all. "... You don’t know him at all. Your brother is the most stubborn, idiotic, utterly infuriating boy to ever disgrace this house. He would die for those idiots he calls friends. Merlin, you couldn’t even convince him not to leave his family, could you?”

That landed. Regulus blinked rapidly, his throat tightening. That was unfair. Cruel. Uncalled for.

How, in Merlin’s name, was it his fault that Sirius had run away? That he’d turned his back on all of them?

He looked away, and suddenly he wanted to scream, or cry, or throw something through the window. But he didn’t. He stood there and tried not to cry tears of rage.

"Your brother is the most impulsive creature to ever disgrace the name Black. If he hasn’t already aligned himself with that ragtag band of fools opposing your Dark Lord, I’ve no doubt he soon will. You know precisely the sort he chooses to consort with: Every manner of blood traitor and half-breed this world has to offer." 

When Regulus glanced at his father again, he though that Orion looked unsteady. As if he were battling some emotion he’d never admit to. His face was drawn, his mouth tight, and there was a glassiness to his eyes that Regulus almost mistook for tears. But no. That had to be a trick of the light. His father didn’t cry. Not Orion Black.

"You’re going to end up murdering your own brother,” his father said coldly. “If he doesn’t kill you first, which is even more likely" Of course he believed that! "Because that’s what happens when two idiots like you join opposite sides of a war.”

Regulus’ voice came in a whisper.

“The Dark Lord is fair.” Orion looked like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “He gives everyone he deems worthy the chance to join,” Regulus continued, eyes gleaming now. It was true, Sirius was of pure blood. And when the war was won, Regulus would see to it that he was given a chance to redeem himself. And if Sirius squandered that chance, he’d have no one to blame but himself. Surely, even he wasn’t that foolish. “The Dark Lord doesn’t care where you come from. If you are strong, loyal, and pure, you have a place. He rewards loyalty.”

Orion stared at him. Then gave a short, hollow laugh.

“‘Worthy’,” he said bitterly. “Is that what you think you are?”

Regulus’ voice broke as he forced the words: “You don’t understand him.”

“No,” Orion said grimly. “But I understand you.”

“You don’t understand me at all,” Regulus accused, his voice low and trembling with quiet fury. “You’re not even trying to.”

“I don’t need to try!” Orion snapped, temper flaring at once. “Sirius may take after your mother, but you, you are like me.”

That stopped Regulus cold. People had said as much before, in passing ... relatives, even the odd professor. But never had his father admitted it aloud. For a moment, he was too stunned to reply. 

He wasn’t entirely sure whether it was meant as praise or a reprimand. Perhaps his father hadn’t decided himself. Regulus loved him, of course he did, and Merlin knew he wanted Orion to see him as more than a boy acting out some foolish rebellion. But the resemblance his father claimed? Regulus couldn’t feel it.

Orion was detached from most things, uninterested unless something demanded his direct involvement. He dismissed reason, even when the reasoning matched his own. Regulus rather hoped he didn’t project that same air of cold indifference. Surely he was more open than that? More thoughtful? He liked to think himself sensible, at the very least.

His father sighed, the lines on his face deepening.

“Child,” he said, his voice now softer, almost weary, “I don’t want to fight with you. I truly don’t. I’m tired of all this... endless conflict.”

Then why was he always fighting? With Sirius. With Mother. And now, evidently, with him.

“I’m only asking one thing,” Orion went on, more measured now. “When the moment comes, don’t act against your own conscience. There are some regrets a man never learns to live with.”

Regulus gave the barest of nods. He could do that. He always did, didn’t he?

“Sirius is still your brother,” Orion added, and there it was: the inevitable shift. “Don’t let your loyalty lead you to fratricide.”

Of course! Of course it came back to Sirius. It always did. The anger returned.

"Did you warn Sirius not to murder me, too,” Regulus said coldly. “Or is it only him you’re concerned for?”

Orion let out a soft, mirthless laugh. There was a glint in his eye that gave Regulus pause: Grief.

He turned sharply and pulled open the drawer of his writing desk. For one breathless moment, Regulus braced himself, convinced that Orion might be reaching for something with which to strike him. His father had always kept a well-worn leather slipper tucked away in that desk drawer. A quiet fixture of authority, summoned whenever either he or Sirius had crossed the line as boys. It had left a lasting impression, quite literally, on more than one occasion.

But instead, his father retrieved a bundle of envelopes bound neatly in black twine, and cast them across the polished wood with a dull slap.

“Here,” he said. “Read them. Your brother didn't even bother to open them.”

Regulus stared down. His brother’s name was written in Orion’s firm, elegant hand on every envelope: 'Sirius O. Black'. The addresses varied, though most bore the same two:

'Gryffindor Boys’ Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry'

and

'Guest Room, Potter Cottage, Mill Lane, Godric’s Hollow'.

The sight turned Regulus’ stomach.

“I’ve no desire to read your letters to Sirius,” he said, voice hard. “I am already quite aware he’s your favourite. No demonstration is necessary.”

Orion’s expression did not harden. It did not flare with temper, as Regulus half-expected. Instead, it clouded.

“Did we inhabit the same household for the past sixteen years?” his father asked, voice low. “Did you not see the way your brother behaved? Did you not watch me, again and again, do what was expected of me? Punish him. Reprimand him. Try to turn him around. And in the end, all I did was drive him further into the arms of those blood traitors.”

That wasn’t how Regulus remembered it.

Yes, Sirius had rebelled. Yes, he’d been punished. At times, the punishments had gone too far. But really, whose fault was that? Regulus had been raised with the same rules, the same expectations. Their father had been strict with both of them. And yet only one of them had chosen disgrace.

Sirius had made his own bed. And Regulus had made a different choice. A better one. He had embraced the cause. Fought for the values they’d been raised with. The values of their name, their blood, their family.

“No,” he said, tight-lipped. “Sirius chose them. As I chose this.” He lifted his marked arm. Orion looked at it with disgust. "After everything Sirius has done, you’d still welcome him back with open arms," Regulus said bitterly. "Only he doesn’t want to come back. He made his choice. And I’ve made mine."

It sounded convincing. Almost.

He had told himself that Sirius didn’t deserve to come back. That they were better off without him. But still, something in him bristled at the thought of his brother never returning. He wanted it not to matter. Wanted to believe he’d given up. He hadn’t, if he were honest. Everything he accused his father of was true for him as well, wasn't it? And that, perhaps, was the real betrayal.

"Don’t be absurd," Orion replied coolly. "You parade about trying to be a man, yet sulk like a boy consumed with envy. Let me enlighten you, Sirius believes you are our favourite. He hurled every insult under the sun at me before he left, then concluded his tirade by claiming you were the better son, that we’d always cared more for you than for him."

That, Regulus thought, sounded precisely like Sirius: dramatic, illogical, maddening. The very notion was ludicrous, though. Yes, Regulus was the better son, wasn’t he? Or at the very least, he had always tried to be. A small, treacherous part of him wanted to ask: Did Father think him the better son? It would have meant something. Quite a lot, actually. But he swallowed the question. No need to sound like a schoolboy desperate for praise. In the end it didn't matter. His parents loved Sirius more than him. Everyone always liked Sirius more than him.

"You both fancy yourselves men, do you? But you carry on like a pair of squabbling children. Frankly, the pair of you could do with a good hiding! Though it's rather too late for that now. And Merlin knows, I’ve tried that route before, and neither of you emerged the wiser for it.”

Orion looked quite spent, the usual steel in his voice now worn thin with exasperation. He studied Regulus for another long moment, then turned back to the fireplace.

"Go to bed," he ordered abruptly. "Before I say or do something I regret."