Only the Brave

Chapter 46: Stalemate

Tom Riddle used to be quite handsome, Regulus learnt when he saw him inside Mr. Borgin's head. Young, and ambitious, he had nice black hair—wouldn't have guessed—and sparkling eyes with that glint of dangerous wickedness Regulus tends to like in people.

It was a strange realisation, made stranger still by the fact that had he not broken himself into pieces, he might be handsome still. Disturbing, to say the least, to have this knowledge.

What would it be like to look upon the man and not feel repulsed, Regulus wonders as he watches Riddle walk about the potions lab in Black Manor. He stops to ask a few questions here and there, enquiring about progress, and why things aren't moving faster, and where the bottlenecks are.

Severus is trailing him like a lapdog, which is embarrassing. Boot licking will only get you so far. Like any good Dark Lord, Riddle does enjoy flattery and empty worship, but there's a reason Regulus is favoured. A reason why he's the boss of this lab, and the one Riddle calls to his side when he needs some errand or task completed that he trusts few others with.

Bellatrix is still the top woman, much to Regulus' annoyance. Riddle tells her more than he tells anyone else. If there was such a thing as being Voldemort's confidant, it would be Bella. Regulus isn't sure if he can ever compare, but perhaps he doesn't need to. Perhaps being the second most favoured is enough. After all, he needs to keep some level of autonomy if he's going to keep up with his research. The only reason he wants to be close to Riddle at all is to take him down and have him not see it coming.

"My Lord," Moray, the same lackey that went to Borgin and Burkes with Regulus, calls from the door. "The Lestranges have arrived."

With a rustle of robes, Riddle crosses the lab towards the exit, where Regulus has been standing the entire time. Their eyes meet, and Regulus holds his gaze for a moment longer than he should before bowing his head in mock deference.

"My Lord," Regulus says. "I've arranged for the games room to be readied, as requested."

"Good," Riddle replies, then he's walking away, Regulus following.

The games room is like any other room, except it's a bit more spacious. There are no bookshelves here, only a large fireplace, a circular table ideal for cards, and comfortable looking armchairs. None of them are in use at the moment.

Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan are standing in the middle of the room with an air of self-importance that makes Regulus want to roll his eyes. On the floor at their feet are two people. One man and one woman—girl. The man is shaking, face pressed against the carpet and hands covering his head. The girl is not. She looks up from where she's been made to kneel, defiant. Regulus respects her bravery. They're both gagged.

"My Lord," Bellatrix says, throwing herself on the ground at his feet. It's getting old, Regulus thinks. Surely Riddle can't possibly enjoy her dramatics? Every single time. It's quite repetitive.

Rodolphus and Rabastan bow deeply, but do not succumb to hysterics. Thank Salazar for that. Just then, Regulus feels an oncoming bout of aches and twitching. Lovely. Regulus puts his hands in his pockets to hide the shaking of his fingers, praying no one notices. He doesn't fancy explaining to the people present that he's poisoning himself on a regular basis.

"Rise, Bellatrix," he says. "What do we have here?"

Rodolphus puffs his chest out a little with an air of importance that Regulus thinks is frankly unwarranted. The only reason Riddle looks at him twice is that he's the husband of Bellatrix. Already bored out of his mind, Regulus goes to lean against the table, and it's only partially to support himself while the wave of weakness from the poison passes.