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PROLOGUE
three days
REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK SAT quietly at his assigned place at the large table in number twelve Grimmauld place. The Dark Lord droned on about his plans for a new world. For a better world.
A symphony of thoughts were being conducted in Regulus's head, sealed tightly lest his master find them. Because those thoughts are the type of ones that get you killed around here. They all made an oath to serve him. But the boy, not yet a man, was not sure anymore.
For Regulus knew something that the others didn't. He knew the secret to Voldemort's success. And his downfall.
He couldn't trust anyone else with this information. Not his deranged cousin or his power hungry parents. They'd just use it for their own benefit. So, Regulus Black's world was quiet.
His hands folded perfectly, on the table. His robe collar taught and his face placid. Show no joy. Show no fear. Show nothing. That's what Severus had taught him in 4th year. Then no one will know your thoughts, your dreams and your secrets.
The Blacks had been good this month. Bellatrix had managed to be tamed for the time being and so they were all in his good graces. The Rosier's, however, after Evan ran away with a muggle girl, were on a knife's edge.
He could see the way his words plunged the blade into their stomachs and how the impossible tasks that he set for each of them twisted the knife. The self-righteous smirk that found itself on his face yanked blade out, leaving them to shake in their own, pure, blood.
He stayed stoic, determined not to bring shame to his family name in quite possibly, his last few days. Ever since he found out. Ever since he followed the Dark Lord after that dreaded mission and saw him hunched in the alley, muttering incoherently. Ever since he saw a soul, already fractured, break a million more times. He knew that this was not what it seemed.
The new world that the Dark Lord was bringing was not Regulus's vision, perhaps Bellatrix's considering her insatiable blood lust, but not his.
Regulus was born a lover, not a fighter. Some, like his brother, might call him a coward. But, what Sirius doesn't count are the everyday braveries that some people take on. He looks to fighting wars and jumping off of towers for his source of courage, when, for some, just stepping out of bed and facing your world is just as brave.
He knew that he believed in the pure society. How could anyone think to mix their blood? And he believed that wizards should hold court over the muggles. They were exceptionally inferior in every possible way.
However, Regulus Black also had a moral compass. And he knew that this wasn't right. But, he wasn't his brother. He didn't make a mess of things in a big bang. He stuck to the shadows and to the script. Waiting, for someone else to slip up so he may act under that cloak.
He resisted the urge to tap his fingers on the table as the Dark Lord wrapped up his speech. However, the more he focused on the plan that was writing itself in his head, the quicker time passed. Funny how having a purpose did that.
Soon enough, people were getting up one by one. In order, like the dolls that Narcissa had played with as a child. Perfect china faces set, hands clasped just so, only saying the right things.
One mistake and they're dropped to smash on the floor. Discarded little pieces of ceramic, deadly to step on, but impossible to put back together. Their rosy cheeks tainted with the dirt of the floor. Eyes unmoving, a single tear at the thrill of flying and then the gruesome realization all too late.
Regulus Black didn't want to smash. But it seems as if he had to.
