Succession || Regulus Black
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- Parts 9
MatureComplete Tue, Nov 19, 20241h 28m
Two brothers stood before each other, the older one on his knees, the younger one holding a wand to the tip of his nose. A bloodied nose, bleeding from the altercation that led them here. At the edge of that wand lay the incantation to a killing curse, ready to surge and destroy them both at the same moment.
"I'm not going to beg for my life, Regulus. Nothing I do or say can convince you, can it? You've already made your choice."
If he didn't beg, then he was dead. God, Sirius was so stupid. Regulus truly didn't wish for this, and he wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy. But sparing Sirius would result in the Death Eaters after him and Wren. He promised Wren he wouldn't do this to her. Sirius was wrong. He didn't make his choice, it was made for him.
With the flick of his wrist, Regulus stole Sirius's life.
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The war was going badly. Hope wore thin, worn down by funerals and betrayals. And Hermione Granger was tired of watching the people she loved die. So she turned to something older than wand magic. Something forbidden. Buried in the bowels of the Black Family Library, there it was: Vinculum Sanguinis. Blood magic-raw, binding, and irreversible. She wasn't summoning a spirit. She was summoning a soul. Regulus Arcturus Black: traitor to Voldemort, presumed dead, drowned by his own mission. The ritual was agony. It called for a drop of her blood, a binding vow, and a name spoken with intent. She gave more than a drop. When the circle of runes lit up with searing gold, and the air crackled like a storm breaking, Regulus appeared-naked, furious, and alive. "You called me," he said. His voice was low and sharp, like a blade drawn in the dark. Hermione collapsed, the toll of the ritual stealing her breath. "We're bound. Soul to soul. You're mine now." His eyes-those same steel-gray Black eyes-narrowed. "And you are mine." Regulus learned quickly. He was colder than Sirius, quieter. But once he understood what had become of the world-what Voldemort had turned into-he didn't hesitate. "We end this," he told her one night. "Not for the Order. Not for Potter. For family." He moved through the shadows. Undetected. Whispers of a third side rose. The war paused. Every living Black turned to him. Even the cursed ones. Even Draco. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His presence said enough. They followed. He wasn't there for sides. He was there for blood. And anyone threatening Hermione Granger was already marked for death.
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