The Marauders: Year Four

The Peace of Madness

The Peace of Madness

"Kreacher has done his bidding," said the house elf, appearing with a crack in Regulus's bedroom. Regulus was crouching in the corner of the room, his knees pulled to his chest, face buried in his arms. He'd been there since Kreacher had left, rocking himself slightly. Kreacher stood a few feet away, awkward, and he wrung his fingers. "Master Regulus, Kreacher has done it, he has done his bidding," he repeated again, trying to make his master happy.

Regulus nodded, though, without speaking, continuing to rock himself.

Kreacher crept closer. "Kreacher does not like it when Master Regulus is crying."

Regulus murmured, "I'm not crying." He really wasn't. Yet. But he wanted to. Oh how he wanted to. He didn't dare. Not here. Not in the Noble House of Black. The walls here could feel weakness, he was certain of it, and it seemed to Regulus that all he had done lately was be weak...

How long had he dreamed of meeting this Dark Lord that his parents spoke to highly of? He'd wanted nothing more than to impress Voldemort, to earn the man's trust as one of his followers, to make his parents happy and be Great just as Mother said. He'd wanted to be the son that they wanted, the son that Sirius would never be... but it seemed like every time he was in the presence of the Dark Lord, he saw or heard something that made him sick to his stomach with the injustice of it.

He'd seen things that disturbed his soul and put him on edge tonight.

Even the memory of it made him rock even harder in the corner of the room.

It just just been so unfair, so wrong...

The Dark Lord had tortured Honey Pettigrew in his usual way, but when she still refused to call her son to her, he had hissed and turned away. "There's nothing you can do to make me do it," she'd said firmly.

Voldemort's smile had grown. "Nothing? Nothing you say?"

Honey had stood her ground. Well, figuratively speaking, of course, as she was laying in the cage, trembling.

That was when the girl had come in, with thick, pretty blonde curls, wearing a pair of soft pink pyjamas. She was Regulus's age and her eyes were dull with defeat and seemed soulless. She had shuffled in slowly, as though sleepwalking...

"Maggie," Honey had choked the name out, "Maggie. No, no, not my Maggie. No."

"Then call. Your. Son." Voldemort hissed.

Tears had poured over Honey's cheeks like great waterfalls.

"Very well." Voldemort raised his wand to the little girl's head.

"NO!" Honey screamed, "No, no. Please. No... anything, I'll do anything..."

"Call. Your. Son."

"Please --"

The Dark Lord looked across the room. "Release the imperius curse."

"Yes, my Lord," said Druella Black, standing wild-haired and eyed beside her daughters - well, two of them, at least - Bellatrix and Narcissa.

The horrible witch drew a deep breath and instantly the vacant expression in the little girl's eyes dropped away and she blinked in surprise and fear as she looked around the dark room at the flickering torches and the looming, terrifying faces of the Death Eaters - some of which were wearing black masks with gruesome faces under their hoods. She panicked, frantic, and backed right into the Dark Lord, who hissed horribly at her and held his wand all the tighter against her head, making her freeze as he squeezed her arm to hold her in place, wrenching her shoulder up in an awkward way. "Mummy?" Maggie croaked, her voice raw form disuse.