HP fanfic: The Measure of A Man (Regulus)
Feb. 24th, 2012 07:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
janetlinWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
darkarts_ldws round four, challenge one: ritual scarification featuring Regulus Black and a canon character of the writer's choice.
Title: The Measure of A Man
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: none, other than the prompt
~*~
Regulus had always been in awe of his eldest cousin, Bellatrix, though sometimes he was intimidated by her: her age, her maturity, her intense nature. Everything she did was so... big and passionate, it was easy to feel small and insignificant next to her. But next to her is where Regulus was drawn, and Bella seemed flattered and pleased to have a protégé. He dreamed of the day he would work side by side with her to purge the Wizarding world of Muggle-borns and their sympathizers; he felt giddy at the thought of making her proud of him.
"You mustn't embarrass yourself by succumbing to the pain when the Dark Lord marks you as his own," she advised. Regulus shook his head. He would never shame her by being such a coward.
Bellatrix smiled and combed her fingers through his hair like he always wished his mother would. "You're a good boy," she said. She was quite pretty when she smiled. Well, a real smile like this. Regulus knew she had another smile that could make your blood run cold, but this one was like a secret between them. "You will bring glory to the House of Black some day, I know it."
Regulus had lived in a euphoric haze for days after that conversation, but in time it faded to doubt and fear. What if he wasn't strong enough to withstand the pain? He had never experienced anything worse than the occasional tussle with Sirius when they were children. Surely a great wizard like the Dark Lord would be capable of much more. He knew that he had to make himself feel pain, real pain, and he had to become used to it so he wouldn't cry out like a baby when whatever it was happened.
He began by digging the point of his quill into his hand, then a fork he snuck out of the silver cabinet, but he soon realized the fork wasn't sharp enough, and his hand wasn't nearly sensitive enough. So he bought a silver knife from a potions shop, the sharpest edge for the precision needed in cutting herbs. The man at the counter warned him to be careful, and Regulus wanted to laugh at him.
He knelt in front of the mirror in his bedroom, trying to calm his racing heart. "Glory to the House of Black," he murmured as he pressed the knife against the soft inside of his thigh, "glory to the House of Black." He flinched as the knife broke his skin, but no sound escaped his lips other than his mantra. He saw Bellatrix smile at him, and heard her whisper, "good boy." He let the knife dig deeper, twisting it until he finally whimpered. There. That was the line he would have to cross, and gradually move. He knew he could do better with practice, and he would practice every night.
He knew the wound would scar. He wanted it to scar. "Glory to the House of Black."
darkarts_ldws round four, challenge one: ritual scarification featuring Regulus Black and a canon character of the writer's choice.Title: The Measure of A Man
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: none, other than the prompt
~*~
Regulus had always been in awe of his eldest cousin, Bellatrix, though sometimes he was intimidated by her: her age, her maturity, her intense nature. Everything she did was so... big and passionate, it was easy to feel small and insignificant next to her. But next to her is where Regulus was drawn, and Bella seemed flattered and pleased to have a protégé. He dreamed of the day he would work side by side with her to purge the Wizarding world of Muggle-borns and their sympathizers; he felt giddy at the thought of making her proud of him.
"You mustn't embarrass yourself by succumbing to the pain when the Dark Lord marks you as his own," she advised. Regulus shook his head. He would never shame her by being such a coward.
Bellatrix smiled and combed her fingers through his hair like he always wished his mother would. "You're a good boy," she said. She was quite pretty when she smiled. Well, a real smile like this. Regulus knew she had another smile that could make your blood run cold, but this one was like a secret between them. "You will bring glory to the House of Black some day, I know it."
Regulus had lived in a euphoric haze for days after that conversation, but in time it faded to doubt and fear. What if he wasn't strong enough to withstand the pain? He had never experienced anything worse than the occasional tussle with Sirius when they were children. Surely a great wizard like the Dark Lord would be capable of much more. He knew that he had to make himself feel pain, real pain, and he had to become used to it so he wouldn't cry out like a baby when whatever it was happened.
He began by digging the point of his quill into his hand, then a fork he snuck out of the silver cabinet, but he soon realized the fork wasn't sharp enough, and his hand wasn't nearly sensitive enough. So he bought a silver knife from a potions shop, the sharpest edge for the precision needed in cutting herbs. The man at the counter warned him to be careful, and Regulus wanted to laugh at him.
He knelt in front of the mirror in his bedroom, trying to calm his racing heart. "Glory to the House of Black," he murmured as he pressed the knife against the soft inside of his thigh, "glory to the House of Black." He flinched as the knife broke his skin, but no sound escaped his lips other than his mantra. He saw Bellatrix smile at him, and heard her whisper, "good boy." He let the knife dig deeper, twisting it until he finally whimpered. There. That was the line he would have to cross, and gradually move. He knew he could do better with practice, and he would practice every night.
He knew the wound would scar. He wanted it to scar. "Glory to the House of Black."
