Work Text:
Come and get some
Skinning the children for a war drum
Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns
It's quicker and easier to eat your young
Eat Your Young - Hozier
Regulus stared out across the ballroom, sipping lazily on a glass of champagne and wishing that it was something stronger, much stronger. He was already bored of the senseless conversation flowing around him, bored of the adults sharing stories and fake laughing at one another. It was supposed to be a party, it was supposed to be fun and entertaining, and yet the most entertainment came from his brother getting kicked out at his own arrival.
Sirius was always trying to save someone, the bloody bleeding heart he couldn’t put away. But Regulus knew that his older brother had new brother, new family, in the Potters and their lives. Last Christmas though, he had been at Regulus’s side, sneaking them both whiskey out of a flask and charming the few girls that dared come over to speak to them.
“Black,” said Rosier, and Regulus nodded to his fellow Slytherin, his fellow Quidditch teammate. Rosier was a Chaser to Regulus’s Seeker, he was a little taller, a little broader in her shoulders and chest, and he was also a little older than Regulus, not that it seemed to matter. Rosier had taken an interest in Barty Junior, Regulus’s best friend and the Keeper of their team.
“Rosier,” acknowledged Regulus, his eyes sweeping over the ballroom again and finding his cousin Narcissa sitting in a corner. She was the prettiest of her sisters, her long straight curtain of blonde hair, her dark grey eyes, her beautiful high cheekbones and perfectly straight nose. She was elegance and grace, a true beauty in her dark green and gold ball gown, her long green gloves covering nearly her whole arm.
He felt his blood boil as Lucius Malfoy approached her, he was seven years older than them, and the word slime couldn’t describe him better.
“Regulus?”
Regulus took his eyes off of his cousin as Barty Junior said his name, seeming to appear out of nowhere. His tall thin frame was even more accentuated in his dress robes, he was too thin really, his father had to be adjusting his food portions again.
The war within the Crouch household, between father and son was one that Regulus had seen within his own family, had sat and watched with Sirius and their father. Sirius always lost, always ended up in his room with no food and a mark on his body, never the face though.
Well except for that last Christmas, when their mother slapped him and scratched his face to make a point. He left after that, disappearing into the dark and cold outside of the townhouse, leaving in a storm of anger and sadness.
Sirius had never belonged to the House of Black, or at least he had never belonged to the currant House of Black. Regulus at least knew how to play the game, he could pretend to be one thing while holding his tongue and thinking a hundred different things.
“Let’s go,” said Rosier and as one the three of them went out the large double doors into the garden. While it was clearly snowing, the flakes floating down to the ground, a spell had cast over the area, keeping the softly falling snow out of the hair and off the clothes of anyone walking through.
“Bloody peacocks,” sneered Rosier, kicking one of the all white birds out of the way as they walked farther into the garden.
Regulus smoked a cigarette while Rosier attacked Barty Junior’s mouth with his own, pulling the taller boys face down to his as they hid half behind Regulus and half in the shadows of a large bush. Regulus would truly rather leave the pair, knowing exactly what they were going to get into the next few minutes.
“Please?” asked Narcissa, ignoring the couple behind Regulus and reaching for the cigarette in his hand. Regulus offered her a fresh one, letting her light it with her wand, the pair of them turning to watch the party from the large garden.
“This place is huge,” said Narcissa before taking a long puff off of her cigarette, looking delicate in a way Regulus couldn’t quite describe.
“It’s disgusting,” said Regulus, knowing and not caring that he sounded like a prick, like an ignorant city kid who lived and breathed London. He was exactly that, Narcissa was too, they all grew up in the townhouse, the five Black cousins.
“Andi lives out in the countryside, but…” and she trailed off, turning her head away before taking another long puff.
“Right,” said Regulus, not pushing because he knew better. The truth was they didn’t talk about the missing holes in the family tree, they didn’t talk about Sirius who walked out of the family or Andromeda who left with a baby bump and a broken engagement that Narcissa was now expected to take on.
What was one sister for another? What was a trade in girls when they were only good enough for their breeding stock?
Regulus knew that his cousin Andromeda lived out in the to Diagon Alley when she knew they would be out and about. She was the one that bought Regulus cigarettes and sent him photos of her daughter, she told him about Muggle music and what he missed on the newest episodes of Dr. Who.
She was a lifeline.
“Are the two of you done yet?” asked Narcissa, dropping the butt of her finished cigarette and turning to Rosier and Barty Junior, “they’ll come looking.”
Regulus ignored the low groan and only turned his head when Barty Junior stood beside him, fixing his hair with a steady hand and a smile. Rosier looked like the cat that got the cream as he wiped his mouth and fixed his robes.
“I need a drink,” said Barty Junior, his voice slick like oil and just as wanting. “All they have is fucking champagne though.”
“I know where the wine cellar is,” said Narcissa, her voice low as she nodded her head back towards the ballroom.
Regulus watched as his cousin and friend disappeared, instead taking out the flask Sirius had sent him that morning, full of amber liquid and smelling of burning logs, smoky and sharp. The whiskey burned in the back of his throat as he drank heavily, knowing that Narcissa would bring him back something good. She had great taste, he hadn’t been lying about that.
“What are they getting all excited about?” sneered Rosier, kicking another passing peacock, and Regulus rolled his eyes until he saw the parting in the crowd inside.
His blood ran cold at the sight, he would never be able to get over the cold calm that seemed to come over every room He entered. Mr. Riddle was a true fanatic, but he was able to play up the charm of his handsome face, of his smooth as silk voice, he was able to smile and bat his eyes out of any trouble.
Or murder his way out of it.
He watched as his oldest cousin, as his married cousin Bellatrix walked in draped on his arm. Rudulphus was either more stupid than Regulus thought or uncaring to the fact that the Dark Lord was fucking his wife. In fact, Regulus wouldn’t put it pass his cousin-in-law to not even notice it happening under his own roof, allowing them to fuck in his marriage bed.
He had to admit that maybe Sirius did have it right, maybe it was better to run away from all of this bullshit.
Regulus watched as his parents went up to the Lord, shaking his hand and smiling as they always did. Ready to invite him to another dinner, ready to give him as much money as he wanted, ready to give them anything, including Regulus’s service.
Regulus knew what was now expected of him, to swear himself over to an insane man just as his cousin gave over her body and mind to him. He watched as Bellatrix smiled, gloating over everyone even as the Lord dropped her arm and the pretense of the game.
They were all trapped, he could see it as Lucius smiled and shook hands, his eyes searching for Narcissa, his future bride. He could see it as Barty Junior glared at his father and mother, a bottle dangling from his finger tips, the wine red like blood on his lips. He could see it as Rosier kicked another bloody peacock, letting out his anger and frustration of who he was on the innocent creature.
He felt it as he finished his whiskey and Narcissa handed him a full bottle of wine, giving one to Rosier, and then raising her own bottle up.
“Merry Christmas,” said Narcissa as Rosier started drinking, her bottle knocking softly against Regulus’s.
“Yeah,” said Regulus, meeting the Dark Lord’s eyes from across the party and feeling a shiver of dread go down his spine, not knowing that he would be dead in another two years because of the demon staring him down. “Merry fucking Christmas.”