December 1979

“Master, that half-blood, Snape, wants to see you.” Bellatrix wound herself around the Dark Lord’s body almost like a snake, pressing her cheek to his. “Shall I tell him to go away? Or Crucio him?” Her eyebrows raised hopefully and she got a cheery smile at the thought.

“Did he say what he wants?” Voldemort took hold of her arm and pulled her onto his lap, where she giggled like a schoolgirl. He delighted in her innocent mannerisms, even if they were blatantly false and misleading.

“No, my Lord. He said it wasn’t any of my business!” Her pout created a sour look on her otherwise lovely face. “I don’t like him. Can I Crucio him?”

Voldemort was busy massaging her rear end with one hand under her tiny skirt, imagining how later he’d enjoy spanking that perfect tush to a glowing red. Bellatrix reveled in their games even more than he did; she was, in fact, the creative mind behind most of the ideas. “No, not just yet. I’ll see if it’s important, and if it isn’t, you can torture his worthless carcass as much as you want. Happy?”

“Oh, yes!” she gushed, flinging herself at him and squeezing him tightly. “Master, you’re so kind!”

Gently pushing the woman off his lap, he stood up and straightened his robes. With Bellatrix padding along behind him, he walked the short distance from his bedroom into the Death Eater meeting hall where his throne was located. He’d never actually called it a throne, though clearly it was, and he knew his followers took it as such. It was only fitting to have visible reminders of his authority over them, lest they get the idea they were equals. Something akin to a laugh gurgled up into his throat, nearly choking him, and he set to coughing violently.

“My Lord!” Bellatrix gasped. “Help him, you good-for-nothing!” she screamed at Severus.

“I’m fine, Bellatrix,” Voldemort assured her, dragging her by the skirt backward toward himself. She looked poised to attack and devour the young man kneeling at his feet.

Severus kissed the Master’s robe, then rose to his feet, removing his mask. “My Lord, it’s come to my attention that you’ve begun utilizing our allies, the werewolves,” he began, dancing delicately around the subject. “I heard one of our companions was mauled…killed by them.”

“And your point is?” answered Voldemort, his red eyes boring into Snape’s.

“We need not suffer more deaths of your followers.” Severus took out a parchment onto which he’d copied the Wolfsbane formula, leaving the original copy at Philana’s shop. “This—”

Before he could finish, Bella snatched the paper away and presented it to the dark wizard, who held up a hand to silence Snape while he pored over the potion and its effects. After reading it thoroughly, he asked but one question: “Does it work?”

“Yes, my Lord. I…I’ve been given a guarantee that it is effective.” Why did he feel this reluctance to simply admit Lupin gave it to him and that it worked?

“Make it, then,” Voldemort ordered. “A large supply.”

“That’s not possible, my Lord. It—”

A Cruciatus from Bella’s wand sent him howling to the floor. It lasted only a few moments, for the Dark Lord lifted her wand with a slight nudge of his finger while casting her a disapproving glance, then told Snape to rise.

Panting, wiping the wetness from his eyes, Severus got up on his hands and knees, not thinking clearly from the pain, and too enraged to arm himself before spitting, “You stupid bitch, what the f-k was that for?”

Her wand aimed again, but Voldemort said in a cold voice, “Bellatrix, I told you to wait.”

“My Lord, he defies you!” she cried, looking mortally wounded. “You gave him a command and he refused!”

“Severus, explain.”

Severus finally got back onto his feet, his fingers gripping his own wand at the ready now. “Forgive me, my Lord, I meant no disrespect. Before that banshee ambushed me, I meant to say the potion must be made on the day of the full moon, and can set no longer than four hours before being consumed.”

“I see,” said Lord Voldemort, handing the parchment to Bellatrix. “Can you make this?”

While she studied the formula, Severus struggled unsuccessfully to contain his derisive laughter. Bellatrix make the potion? It was like asking an imbecile to translate the works of Chaucer into Swahili!

“I think I can, Master,” she said with a sneer at Snape.

“My Lord, it must be flawless or it won’t work,” Severus countered, drawling as he sneered back at her. “If she mucks it up, as we must assume she will, the werewolves will be as dangerous as ever to our men.”

“I will not!” Bella’s outstretched wand flung a purple curse hurtling right at the young man. Snape blocked it with his own, but delivered no retribution. He realized all too well who the favorite here was, and it wasn’t him.

To his surprise, Voldemort physically took hold of her arm once more, though he didn’t bring her to his lap as before. He hissed, “Bellatrix, I warned you once. If you persist, I will be compelled to punish you.”

Her wand arm fell limply to her side as her jaw began to tremble. Severus noted her subdued attitude, her watering eyes. Oh, good Lord, no! She’s going to cry! Not that he could care less if she sobbed herself right into the grave, but he didn’t want to bear witness to it. Besides, she was in all probability doing it for sympathy, to get the Dark Lord to turn his wrath on Severus.

“Master, I’ll be more than happy to make the formula on the full moon whenever you need it,” he said hurriedly. “That’s really all I came for. If there’s nothing else…?”

Voldemort glanced from Severus to Bella, a thin smile forming on his lips. The boy must fear he’d be blamed for causing her to break down! If he weren’t afraid of choking on his own laughter again, he’d have guffawed. “Good work, Severus. I’ll notify you when I require your services.”

“Yes, my Lord, thank you.” He bowed, wheeled, and bounded from the room to the wretched sound of Bellatrix’s mournful wailing.

He didn’t see Voldemort turn to the woman and wipe a tear from her cheek, to stare at it in puzzlement, or hear what he said. “I’m not angry with you, Bellatrix. I’m not going to punish you.”

“You’re not?” she hiccupped, blinking rapidly. “I only wish to serve you and protect you, my Lord.”

“I understand that. Now go make yourself beautiful for me; I’d like to pick up where we left off.” As Bella started off he said, “Once I control the wizarding world, you have my permission to kill all the werewolves. Will that please you?”

Bella spun back, her face alight, her sorrow forgotten. “I can? Oh, thank you, Master! Thank you!” She ran back, threw herself at his feet, and proceeded to profusely kiss his robe, then jumped up and skipped from the room.

Voldemort smiled again to himself. It was so easy to please women; he couldn’t understand why other men had such a difficult time of it. Then again, they were inferior to him. He shrugged and followed Bellatrix back to the bedroom.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

“Narcissa?” Lucius moved over to the bed where his wife sat, motionless. “Honey, are you alright?”

Narcissa looked over at him with mournful eyes that bespoke deeply held grief and angst. She tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she simply shook her head.

Lucius sat down beside her, encircling her with one strong arm. With the other hand, he tipped her face up and over to look at him. “You’re worrying me. Tell me what’s wrong. It’s—it’s not the baby, is it?”

“No, Lucius, the baby’s fine.” She heard him let out a relieved breath. “I came back from my mother’s house a little while ago. Aunt Walburga was visiting, and she said Regulus is…missing. He hasn’t been home for over a week.” Her voice went up a bit at the end.

“Have they checked with his friends?”

“Some of them,” she said softly.

“You don’t think he ran away like his despicable brother, do you?” The very notion that Regulus might have run off to join the blood traitor was nauseating.

“I don’t think so. He’s a Death Eater, Lucius, he’s not exactly welcome in those circles.” Narcissa sighed and snuggled closer to her husband. “His mother is very upset; she said Uncle Orion is beside himself. What if Reg is hurt somewhere?”

“Did you check with Severus? It seems they’ve been spending a lot of time together lately,” Lucius suggested.

“No, I didn’t think of that. Would you mind?”

“I’ll owl him right away,” the man promised. “Won’t you come down to supper now? Father’s waiting for us, and I wouldn’t want him to think I forgot why I came up here.” With a sly wink he pulled her into a hard embrace.

“May I ask you another favor?” inquired his wife.

“Ask me anything.”

“If Reg isn’t with Severus, will you go to the Dark Lord and request that he summon my cousin? I wouldn’t put you in this position, but I don’t know what else to do,” she pleaded. “We’re all so worried. It’s not like him to do this.”

“Of course I will,” Lucius answered. He wasn’t terribly concerned, to be honest. The boy had probably gotten tired of family life and needed a little time away. At Regulus’ age, he needed some independence. At the same time, Narcissa was right, it wasn’t like Regulus to disappear; wherever he was or whatever mischief he might be getting into, the Dark Lord’s call would bring him back. He sincerely wouldn’t want to be in that kid’s shoes when the Black family got ahold of him!

He sent Narcissa ahead of him downstairs while he dashed off a quick note to Severus, tied it to his owl’s leg, and sent it off. By the time supper was through, he’d hopefully have a response.

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

Severus had sent back a note with Lucius’ owl. He hadn’t seen Regulus in over a week, either. He’d assumed Lord Voldemort had sent him on a mission somewhere—either that, or Regulus was sulking at home. Apparently the latter was incorrect.

Lucius didn’t relish going to the Dark Lord to beg a favor, yet he’d promised Narcissa. What if Lord Voldemort didn’t appreciate having his follower asking him to call someone ‘just because they were worried’? Possibly Regulus had been sent on a mission, which would solve everything, but he highly doubted it. Any mission lasting that long would involve more trained, mature Death Eaters. And to be honest, he truly was concerned about the little dork, who may be annoying, but he was a nice kid. And so, standing outside the castle, swathed in his heavy-duty winter Death Eater robes (he prided himself on being the only one who had Death Eater robes for every season now), he balanced his wand across his gloved palm in one last attempt to locate the boy.

“Point me to Regulus Black.” The wand remained stubbornly motionless as it had for the rest of the family who tried it, which he found most bizarre. Perhaps Black was too far away…

He went on in and removed his mask. As there was nobody in the front, he went on to the meeting room, casting a disparaging glance at the empty throne. And people called Malfoys pretentious! “My Lord, are you here? Master!” He rolled his eyes as Bellatrix came sauntering in. Seriously, did she EVER go home? Had she divorced Rodolphus without his knowledge?

“So, blondie—sorry, I mean Lucius—what brings you here?”

A multitude of unflattering things leapt to his tongue, but he held them in check. Reg was this skank’s cousin, too. If he played his cards right, he wouldn’t need to entreat the dark wizard, he could let Troll-zilla do it! Always best not to be indebted more than necessary.

“I came to tell you your cousin appears to be missing, Bella. His family and my wife are most distressed.”

“What cousin? Sirius?” She let out a loud cackle. “Why should I care about a blood traitor? He’s not family!”

“Not him, Regulus! No one’s seen him in ten days,” Lucius explained with just the right amount of anxiety.

Without a word Bella drew her wand, placed it on her palm, then intoned, “Point me to Regulus Black.”

“I already tried that,” Lucius said wearily. “All of us tried it. We’ve also checked with his friends, who are clueless as to his whereabouts.” He paused as if in thought, slyly glimpsing her way to see if she was piecing it together yet. Come on, Bella, it’s not that tough. You live with the Master, for criminy’s sake!

“I’m going to ask the Dark Lord to find him,” she announced suddenly, scurrying from the room, her voice trailing off as she ran. “He knows everything, he’ll be able to…”

Smiling at his clever manipulation and subsequent lack of obligation to the Dark Lord, Lucius rocked back on his heels, arms folded over his chest to wait. He was becoming more than bored, frankly apprehensive by the time Bella returned half an hour later, looking somber. Lord Voldemort followed her in, causing Lucius to drop automatically to his knees. After a quick prostration, he rose.

“I’ve called him, Lucius. He hasn’t come,” stated Voldemort in a very displeased tone. “By virtue of the fact your wands don’t point him out, he may have taken leave of his senses and fled. He could be a good distance away.”

“Forgive me, my Lord, but I don’t believe he ran away,” Lucius said quietly.

“He’s a loyal follower,” Bella interjected, surprising Lucius with her agreement. Of course, she’d been the one to bring Regulus to the Dark Lord, so she must defend her choice. “Master, is there a way to tell if he’s injured, unable to respond?”

“No.” Voldemort walked between them on his way to the throne, where he parked himself. He took out his wand, making Lucius flinch, then waved it in strange, almost seizure-like motions while mumbling something to himself. He finished to find his Death Eaters gawking at him in fascination. “Attached to your Dark Marks are spells you don’t comprehend. The one I performed tells me the vitality status of a particular follower. I regret to say Regulus is dead.”

XXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOOXXXOOO

The news of Regulus’ death sparked more than sorrow in the Black household. His father, Orion, upon hearing the grim news, succumbed to a massive heart attack so rapidly that Healers were unable to save him. The deaths of both her son and husband had driven Walburga to the point of breakdown, bordering on madness, leaving what was left of the Black family utterly distraught.

Mid-December, two weeks before Christmas, they gathered at church for the funeral of Orion and memorial for Regulus, whose body had not been found. On one side of the aisle, in the front pew, Walburga sat sobbing inconsolably next to the coffin of her husband. Beside her was Druella, next to Bella, then Rodolphus. Directly behind them sat Abraxas, Lucius, and Narcissa. Like good, proper Malfoys, the men sat emotionless, even though Narcissa knew both held affection for Regulus, and Abraxas had been good friends with Orion.

From her vantage point on the end, Narcissa had an exceptional view of her family and those on the opposite side of the aisle. As she watched, feeling horribly sad, yet detached and unable to cry, Glenna came in walking beside Jack and sat down in the front row, across the casket from Walburga. Narcissa wondered idly when Death Eater Mulciber and his wife and daughters would show up. The Mulcibers and Blacks had been family friends for generations. Her interest piqued when the Snape family came trooping in and settled into the pew right behind Glenna and Jack.

Severus, who prided himself on not showing what he was feeling, betrayed himself twice in the space of a heartbeat to Narcissa’s observing eye. She noted his grief in the slump of his posture more than his face, yet when he saw Glenna, Narcissa could almost feel his heart leap. His eyes widened and his mouth opened just a touch, then he regained control and slid in beside his mother, averting his eyes from his old flame.

Narcissa felt Lucius’ hand crushing her own in a show of support and love; she looked over at him and tried to smile, failing miserably. Why was it the only time they came to church was for weddings or funerals? Her father, her uncle, her cousin… Poor Lucius and Abraxas must be as torn apart as she, not only from these recent deaths, but the remembrance of the rest: Lucius’ mother, brother, sister, niece. How did they bear it?

She placed a hand over the small bulge of her abdomen to caress the unborn child. Life in the midst of death; joy in the midst of sorrow; miracle in the midst of tragedy.

In the back of the church, no one noticed a young man slink in under cover of a borrowed invisibility cloak and sit in the very back, careful not to make a sound. They didn’t hear him rail silently in his mind against the youth who had no coffin, no urn, nothing except a portrait that smiled and gave a silly little salute before strolling off to play Quidditch. If the damn fool Regulus had listened to him, none of this would have happened! He’d be safe, he’d be alive. In spite of their animosities and differences, things could have been so much better between them. No one saw the tears for the brother he loved slipping down his cheeks to drop onto his chest.