Smile When You Dive In

Chapter 36

The tip of the wand pressed hard into his wrist. His eyes were trained on it, waiting.

It was May, he would remember being warm. The back of his neck was damp, but he couldn't tell if that was from the heat or the nerves.

The other man was sitting so close to him that he could hear his breathing. He tried to match his own to it, struggling to remember that he had to breathe to live. When the Dark Lord looked up into his grey eyes, Regulus swallowed.

They were alone in the room, which had been a surprise to him. He had expected it to be a public declaration. That was how Snape and Lucius and Bella had all made it seem, a pledge of allegiance. He didn't know which was worse, the thought of all of those pairs of eyes on him, or the one pair that currently were.

Voldemort wet his lips, pointed tongue darting out as Regulus watched intently. The pressure of the wand let up, and he swallowed the inhale that threatened to form a gasp, expecting the moment to have arrived. So close, Regulus could see his pupils dilate, could feel the warmth of his fingers resting on his own arm. It was an image that would be etched into his mind for the rest of his life.

"Do you have any questions, Regulus?" His voice was soft, and his words were not what Regulus had expected. Perhaps it was a test, Regulus thought. But having become so comfortable around the man, believing that he could foresee his reactions to what he said, and also knowing that he could read his own thoughts if he so wished, Regulus asked anyway.

"Why is it a snake and a skull?" Voldemort laughed then, as Regulus had half expected him to. As though it wasn't a question he had expected, something novel. It brought forth a memory, James Potter on the Quidditch pitch, reserved as he told Regulus that he was funny. The way James had looked at him back then, as though he was interesting and a little amusing.

"You know the beliefs of Salazar Slytherin," It was a statement, but Regulus felt himself nodding in confirmation, "he believed what we do, Regulus. In the power we hold. The need to protect it. Hence the snake, in his honour."

"And the skull?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"The snake emerges from the skull. The skull represents exactly what you'd imagine, death. Slytherin may be dead, but his beliefs live on in us. In you, the next generation." He smiled once more, and Regulus looked up to his face at the mention of age, trying once more to work out how old the man was. If he saw Regulus thinking it, he didn't answer. Instead, he continued, "have I told you before, Regulus, that I can trace my family line all the way back to Salazar Slytherin?"

"No, my Lord." Regulus found himself mildly impressed by that, and would bet that Bellatrix was very impressed by that. After a moment, the Dark Lord spoke again.

"Are you ready to continue?" Any sense of calm that had fallen over Regulus during their conversation was now lifted, but he nodded nonetheless.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very good, Regulus." He preened.

Once more, the wooden tip pressed into his soft skin, capturing Regulus' full attention. He could feel something stirring within, though whether it was real or imagined, he could not say.

"Are you willing to devote yourself to the cause of blood purity?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Are you willing to follow orders, to give whatever sacrifice is necessary, to bleed for the cause?"

"Yes, my Lord." As Regulus spoke, he felt like he should be hesitating, but his mouth was moving of its own accord. He found himself frozen, watching the end of the wand begin to light, felt stuck, the same way he always had under his mother's intense gaze. The next question, Voldemort seemed to word carefully, to consider more fully before asking. He questioned Regulus' response, his loyalty. Regulus was eager to prove himself.

"Do you give yourself to me, Regulus, trust me to make the decisions that will bring about change?"

It was different from the other questions, about Voldemort, rather than the cause. He thought back to the first time they had met, when he'd told Regulus that he was nobody's master. In the weeks and months that had followed, he'd learned that it wasn't strictly true. Several of the men that attended the meetings called him 'master', usually grovelling and pitiful. It had happened so gradually that Regulus had not noticed until he asked the question. But still, he answered obediently.

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort smiled. He had passed the test.

"Then I offer you my protection, my watch. My guidance. Everything you offer, I will take, mould, shape. You will not regret this. I offer you my mark, Regulus Black."

A thin red light trickled from the wand, winding itself around Regulus' arm. That didn't surprise him. What surprised him most was that it didn't hurt, right away. He had expected it to sting, or burn, but he felt nothing. That was, until the light pierced his skin, invading his bloodstream and filling his arm with a soft red glow.

Slowly, the image appeared. The skull first, black eyes blooming from the roundness, a mouth forming along a curved line before opening wide. Voldemort's wand was still on him, as were his fingers, holding Regulus in place. The snake burst forth from the skull's mouth and then it burned. Regulus felt as though his skin was on fire, felt the urge to pull his arm away, to run from the room. But the grip on his arm tightened as he shut his eyes, and he was faintly aware of the Dark Lord speaking softly to him, soothing him.

When he opened his eyes again, it was done. The image on his arm stilled, the redness fading. Voldemort ran one finger along the mark, and he felt the burn once more, one he suspected would become familiar, less painful with time. He took a shaky breath and remained seated. Regulus didn't think he could walk yet if he tried, still in utter shock. After some time, the Dark Lord stood and told Regulus that they ought to rejoin the group, that he ought not to keep them from his delightful company for too long. He was thankful that his legs carried him on, following behind. Meanwhile, his eyes stayed fixed on the black ink now permeating his skin, considering the permanence of what he'd just done.