𝐑𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬

Bloodlines of Betrayal

**Title: Bloodlines of Betrayal**

The grandeur of Malfoy Manor loomed over the gathering like a grim specter, its cold stone walls illuminated by flickering torchlight. Regulus Arcturus Black stood rigid, dressed in pristine robes of black silk. His wand felt heavier than usual, tucked securely in his inner pocket. Tonight was the night he would officially become a Death Eater—a servant of the Dark Lord.

At sixteen, he had been groomed for this moment his entire life. The Black family’s legacy demanded loyalty to the cause, to blood purity, to Voldemort himself. Yet, as he stood in the hall filled with hushed whispers and expectant gazes, a strange unease crept over him.

“Regulus,” his father, Orion Black, spoke in a low tone. His commanding voice had a rare edge of tension. “Remember who you are. Do not falter.”

Regulus nodded, masking his apprehension. “Yes, Father.”

The hall fell silent as the heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing Lord Voldemort. He swept in, his maroon robes trailing like bloodied shadows. His serpent-like features were sharp and calculating, yet there was an undeniable magnetism to him. The room bowed in unison.

“My loyal followers,” Voldemort began, his voice silken and commanding, “we welcome a new member to our ranks tonight. Regulus Black.”

Regulus stepped forward, his heart pounding. He knelt before the Dark Lord, extending his arm as he’d been instructed. But as Voldemort reached for his wand to brand the Dark Mark, he hesitated. His crimson eyes, unnervingly sharp, locked onto Regulus’ face. The room seemed to hold its breath.

“H-How old are you?” Voldemort’s voice faltered slightly, breaking the ritualistic atmosphere. The question caught everyone off guard. Whispers rippled through the crowd.

Orion Black stiffened. “Do not answer him, Regulus.”

But Voldemort’s piercing gaze did not waver. His voice rose, filled with an intensity that silenced the room. “HOW OLD ARE YOU, KID?”

Regulus blinked, confused. His father’s warning rang in his ears, but the Dark Lord’s demand was undeniable. “Sixteen,” he answered cautiously. “Why do you ask, my lord?”

Voldemort took a step back, his expression shifting from incredulity to something darker, something deeply personal. “Sixteen...” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

Regulus glanced at his father. “Dad, why is the Dark Lord asking about my age?”

Orion’s face had gone pale. His usual composure cracked, his jaw tightening. “Tom, this is neither the time nor the place.”

But Voldemort’s focus remained locked on Regulus. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of memories long buried. Sixteen years ago, a night of reckless abandon with Orion Black. Sixteen years ago, a fleeting obsession that had burned brightly before fading into the background of his ambitions. Yet here stood the boy, a mirror of himself—with Orion’s sharp cheekbones and his own dark, piercing eyes.

“Is this my son?” Voldemort’s question was a dagger, slicing through the tension in the room. Gasps erupted among the Death Eaters.

Orion’s voice broke through, firm and unyielding. “Tom, enough.”

Regulus’ eyes widened, his chest tightening with confusion and dread. “What? No... That’s impossible. My father is Orion Black.” He turned to Orion, searching for reassurance. “Right?”

Orion’s silence was deafening.

Voldemort’s laugh was humorless and cold, a bitter sound that reverberated through the hall. “Your father?” He stepped closer, his towering presence bearing down on Regulus. “Orion, did you really think you could hide this from me? Did you think I wouldn’t recognize my own blood?”

“He is a Black,” Orion snapped, his voice cutting. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

But the deflection did little to dissuade Voldemort. He turned to Regulus, his eyes softening—an unsettling contrast to his usual cruelty. “You have my blood, boy. My magic flows in your veins. Did you never wonder why you are so gifted? Why you stand out even among the Blacks?”

Regulus stumbled back, shaking his head. “No. No, this can’t be true. You’re lying.”

Voldemort’s expression hardened. “I do not lie about matters of power and blood.”

For years, Voldemort had suppressed his fascination with Orion, a curiosity that had simmered into a quiet obsession. Orion’s enigmatic nature and the singular night they shared had lingered in the back of his mind, a distraction he couldn’t afford. But now, standing before the evidence of their union, that obsession ignited with fervent intensity.

The room erupted into chaos. Death Eaters exchanged frantic whispers, some backing away as if the revelation might shatter the very foundation of their beliefs. Orion stepped forward, placing himself between Voldemort and Regulus.

“Tom,” Orion’s voice was low, warning. “This changes nothing. Regulus is a Black, and he will serve you as such. Leave the past where it belongs.”

“No,” Voldemort said sharply. His eyes burned with a mix of anger and determination. “He is my heir.”

Regulus’ mind reeled. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The man he’d feared and revered in equal measure was claiming to be his father. He looked at Orion, desperate for an explanation.

“Is it true?” Regulus’ voice cracked. “Tell me!”

Orion’s silence spoke volumes. Regulus staggered back, his vision blurring with unshed tears. He’d always idolized his father, always strived to live up to the Black family’s expectations. And now, it was all unraveling.

Voldemort extended a hand toward him. “Come with me, Regulus. Embrace your true heritage. Together, we will reshape this world.”

Regulus stared at the outstretched hand, his heart pounding in his ears. He wanted to refuse, to scream, to run. But deep down, a part of him couldn’t deny the pull of the truth. He was more than a Black. He was the son of the Dark Lord.

Orion grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “He is my son. You will not take him.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed. “He has a choice. And I believe we both know what that choice will be.”

Regulus looked between them, torn between two worlds, two identities. His voice trembled as he spoke. “I... I don’t know what to believe. But I need time. Time to figure out who I am.”

The hall fell silent. Voldemort’s expression softened again, but this time, it carried a hint of triumph. “Take all the time you need, my son. The truth cannot be denied forever.”

Orion’s grip tightened, his jaw clenched. “You will not manipulate him, Tom.”

But Voldemort had already turned, his maroon robes swirling around him as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Regulus to grapple with a revelation that had shattered everything he thought he knew.

As you can see I am a huge Tom x Orion shipper