[Harry Potter] Fic: For Family Pride, Regulus-centric
Title: For Family Pride
Challenge: deatheaterdrabs Week 8 [Author's Choice], prompt: It is a fact that cannot be denied: the wickedness of others becomes our own wickedness because it kindles something evil in our own hearts. - Carl Jung
Word Count: 636
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Regulus was the one all the hopes and Family dreams rested on. It would ultimately be his undoing and his greatest strength.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within. They belong to J.K. Rowling.
Warnings: The use of Crucio on a minor always warrants a warning, I suppose. And references to forcing a minor to hurt someone.
Author's notes: Just a little idea I had concerning Regulus childhood, how he would have grew up believing he had to accept everything from his parents because his brother certainly wasn’t living up to expectations.
“Father.”
Mr. Black looked up from his morning newspaper, face impassive. “Go play with your brother, Regulus. It’s summer.”
“But father!” Regulus adopted a petulant whine. “Can’t we practice more of those spells?”
Heavy black brows drew together in the only outward display of annoyance. “Mind your English, boy. It’s may I, not can I. You can do anything. You may not speak to me like that. What spells do you speak, anyway?” Orion shook out the pages of his newspaper, continuing with his reading. “You speak of spells like they are rare forms of life. Not wise, one would think you care little for what you’re learning.”
Regulus bowed his head, long, dark hair hiding his face away from sight. He was suitably ashamed and it had only been minutes since he had walked through the door to the study. His father had a way with putting anyone in their place, even his own son. “Yes, Father, I’ll remember to watch what I say.” He was only ten, but next year he would be going to Hogwarts and he had the Family image to preserve since his brother couldn’t be bothered to do the same.
“And?” Orion prompted. “What of the spells?” He didn’t even glance up from the Prophet.
Flushing, Regulus hastened to recall what the group of spells he had been learned in December had been called. They were the ones he was most interested in and wanted to learn more about - but he couldn’t for the life of him bring their proper name to mind. Spells that bewitched the mind and fooled the senses, those were spells with actual purpose. Not like the Unforgivables, which his Father had taken to instructing his two sons in after Sirius had returned home from another year at Hogwarts.
“T-The …” the boy fished around for a worthy way to describe them. The name started with a C, he was sure of it. A latin word, too. What was it? “Um.”
“Um is not a word,” Orion bit out testily. “Either speak, boy, or disappear from my sight.”
Regulus held his tongue lest he say something smart. He wasn’t a Gryffindor, too bold for his own good. No, that was Sirius. Would always be Sirius, he thought bitterly. “I want to learn more from the … Coerceo Collection.” Barely - just barely - he restrained the pleased smile that threatened to break free. He had remembered!
A scream ripped from his throat as unexpected Crucio hit him. The boy kneeled on the blood red carpet, shivering violently and gasping after the curse had been lifted. It wasn’t unusual to be punished, but never without good reason. What had been the cause? Had he said something wrong again? Was his answer wrong?
“Too slow,” drawled Orion, setting his paper aside and finally standing, eyes gleaming dangerously. He held his wand aloft, ready to strike at any moment. “And not what I wanted to hear. The Coerceo, really? That’s child’s play! What growing young boy wants to toy with the senses? What good is restraining your opponent, surrounding them with false delusions? No, you need to make them feel it. Shall I show you?”
Before Regulus could object, his Father had already hissed, “Imperio,” and there was a pleasant haze in his mind, wiping all thoughts away like a hand against a chalkboard. He felt relaxed, calm; ready to do what he was told at a moment’s notice. “Go play with your brother,” a little voice whispered in his head, “put him under the Cruciatus and see how much he screams.”
Regulus obeyed blindly. He was only ten the first time he cast an Unforgivable and the feeling would never leave him alone until the day he died. Dark Magic was unlike any other. It kept you wanting more.
Challenge: deatheaterdrabs Week 8 [Author's Choice], prompt: It is a fact that cannot be denied: the wickedness of others becomes our own wickedness because it kindles something evil in our own hearts. - Carl Jung
Word Count: 636
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Regulus was the one all the hopes and Family dreams rested on. It would ultimately be his undoing and his greatest strength.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within. They belong to J.K. Rowling.
Warnings: The use of Crucio on a minor always warrants a warning, I suppose. And references to forcing a minor to hurt someone.
Author's notes: Just a little idea I had concerning Regulus childhood, how he would have grew up believing he had to accept everything from his parents because his brother certainly wasn’t living up to expectations.
“Father.”
Mr. Black looked up from his morning newspaper, face impassive. “Go play with your brother, Regulus. It’s summer.”
“But father!” Regulus adopted a petulant whine. “Can’t we practice more of those spells?”
Heavy black brows drew together in the only outward display of annoyance. “Mind your English, boy. It’s may I, not can I. You can do anything. You may not speak to me like that. What spells do you speak, anyway?” Orion shook out the pages of his newspaper, continuing with his reading. “You speak of spells like they are rare forms of life. Not wise, one would think you care little for what you’re learning.”
Regulus bowed his head, long, dark hair hiding his face away from sight. He was suitably ashamed and it had only been minutes since he had walked through the door to the study. His father had a way with putting anyone in their place, even his own son. “Yes, Father, I’ll remember to watch what I say.” He was only ten, but next year he would be going to Hogwarts and he had the Family image to preserve since his brother couldn’t be bothered to do the same.
“And?” Orion prompted. “What of the spells?” He didn’t even glance up from the Prophet.
Flushing, Regulus hastened to recall what the group of spells he had been learned in December had been called. They were the ones he was most interested in and wanted to learn more about - but he couldn’t for the life of him bring their proper name to mind. Spells that bewitched the mind and fooled the senses, those were spells with actual purpose. Not like the Unforgivables, which his Father had taken to instructing his two sons in after Sirius had returned home from another year at Hogwarts.
“T-The …” the boy fished around for a worthy way to describe them. The name started with a C, he was sure of it. A latin word, too. What was it? “Um.”
“Um is not a word,” Orion bit out testily. “Either speak, boy, or disappear from my sight.”
Regulus held his tongue lest he say something smart. He wasn’t a Gryffindor, too bold for his own good. No, that was Sirius. Would always be Sirius, he thought bitterly. “I want to learn more from the … Coerceo Collection.” Barely - just barely - he restrained the pleased smile that threatened to break free. He had remembered!
A scream ripped from his throat as unexpected Crucio hit him. The boy kneeled on the blood red carpet, shivering violently and gasping after the curse had been lifted. It wasn’t unusual to be punished, but never without good reason. What had been the cause? Had he said something wrong again? Was his answer wrong?
“Too slow,” drawled Orion, setting his paper aside and finally standing, eyes gleaming dangerously. He held his wand aloft, ready to strike at any moment. “And not what I wanted to hear. The Coerceo, really? That’s child’s play! What growing young boy wants to toy with the senses? What good is restraining your opponent, surrounding them with false delusions? No, you need to make them feel it. Shall I show you?”
Before Regulus could object, his Father had already hissed, “Imperio,” and there was a pleasant haze in his mind, wiping all thoughts away like a hand against a chalkboard. He felt relaxed, calm; ready to do what he was told at a moment’s notice. “Go play with your brother,” a little voice whispered in his head, “put him under the Cruciatus and see how much he screams.”
Regulus obeyed blindly. He was only ten the first time he cast an Unforgivable and the feeling would never leave him alone until the day he died. Dark Magic was unlike any other. It kept you wanting more.