fic: The Crypt for derryere
Title: The Crypt
Author/Artist: circeniko
Giftee: derryere
Rating: PG-13
Word Count(for fic): 1,393
Characters/Pairing: Regulus, Voldemort and Sirius, Regulus/Sirius if you squint.
Warnings: General Voldemort creepyness, deathfic.
Author/Artist's Notes: The crypt is the one underneath Cantebury Cathedral, in case anyone is interested.
Summary: Regulus is running out of choices.
If Regulus had not been so terrified, he might have noted with interest the sculpted arches that he was passing under, the frescoes on the walls, the engraved lamp sconces, but the threat of his imminent and most likely horrifically painful death was filling his mind. If only he hadn’t taken the locket; someone must have caught him at it, most likely Lucius.
Behind him, Crabbe gave him a nudge, and he increased his pace. It wouldn’t pay to make his guards angry with him. There was enough anger lying in wait for him as it was.
Finally the passage ended at a set of large, wood doors flanked by two spiral pillars. As he passed them something uncoiled itself from the base of one of the pillars and hissed at him. His heart jumped and his last few steps through the door were more hurried than he liked.
He entered a chamber filled with pillars that held the canopied stone roof far from the ground, really quite beautiful if he could have spared his attention for it, but what was at the end of the chamber was far more interesting at the moment.
Voldemort stood in front of a raised stone tablet, with torches on either side of him. With his hood raised and handsome features partially obscured he looked like some pagan priest.
Despite the heat of the torches, Regulus shivered. At that moment, under his lord’s eyes, he was completely unable to remember why he had ventured such a betrayal.
It all came back to him a moment later when Voldemort spoke. “I warned you what would happen should you prove unfaithful, Regulus.”
“My Lord, I don’t-“
Voldemort stopped him with an upraised hand. There was silence for a moment, and then Voldemort continued. “How disappointing the Black family has proved to be, and you showed such promise, once.”
Regulus said nothing, not wanting to further anger the man.
“I had hoped that you would be the one to help me with my victory, but if you will not, then I will have to have another.”
Regulus saw where this was going. “No, my Lord!”
“You were warned, Regulus,” said Voldemort quietly. “The Black family will be serving me, one way, or another.”
He gestured, and from the shadows behind one of the pillars a man stepped out. He was cloaked and hooded, but Regulus already knew who it was.
Voldemort chuckled, an ugly, dry sound, and said to the man, “Take off your mantle, my pet, that this disobedient child may see you.”
The man pulled his hood back and long black hair fell free, blue eyes glittering in the torchlight.
“Sirius,” breathed Regulus.
He looked like Sirius, right down to the long curve of his neck, the sweep of his eyebrows, but he wasn’t talking, and that wasn’t typical, wasn’t Sirius. Sirius, who didn’t know how to keep his big mouth shut, and now Regulus as wishing desperately that he would say something, anything.
But it was Voldemort who was talking, not Sirius.
“This place is magnificent, don’t you think, Regulus? It was built by muggles to bury their dead, but now it serves a far greater purpose.” He motioned, and Sirius took a bottle of wine from a side table that Regulus hadn’t noticed before. He filled two goblets and brought them to Voldemort.
Regulus’ heart began to pound so loud that he couldn’t breath, that he had to gasp to get any air at all.
“You’re hyperventilating,” said Voldemort mildly. “You needn’t worry, you’re far too valuable to simply poison, and if I really wanted you dead, Regulus,” the words were spoken with silken promise, “then it would be much more painful than poison could ever be.” He set one of the goblets on the table, drew a tiny, clear bottle from underneath his robes, tipped two drops into the goblet that he held, and then capped the bottle and put it down.
“I thought you said that you weren’t going to poison me,” Regulus rasped, aware of how foolish he sounded, but unable to stop himself.
“It’s not poison, it’s simply a way to extract the truth from you. Veritaserum.” He stood up and Regulus instinctively jerked backwards. Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “You have nowhere to run, Regulus, but if you insist on being difficult…” He gestured to Sirius.
In one swift movement Regulus was seized, and held, trembling, in his brother’s grasp.
Voldemort lifted the goblet of wine and looked into its swirling depths. He spoke. “I have an affinity for underground places, tunnels, crypts…..caves, but you already know that, don’t you?” He forced the cup suddenly against Regulus’ mouth.
Regulus sputtered, trying to prevent the liquid from getting down his throat, but then Sirius was prying his jaw open and Voldemort was hissing in his ear.
“Drink, you stupid child!” He calmed when it was apparent that Regulus had ingested some of the drink. “It’s a shame that I’m in such a hurry; there are so many more….pleasurable ways to do this, and you’re both such beautiful boys.”
The potion was beginning to affect Regulus. His eyes kept tearing up, and his thighs itched. Sirius slid his hands down Regulus’ arms and held his wrists in a firm grip. Voldemort was speaking, but Sirius’ hands were distracting. Suddenly a blow knocked his head to the side.
“Pay attention!” said Voldemort angrily. He circled Regulus, the sound of his robes on the stone loud in the quiet chamber. Finally, he stopped in front of the brothers, and reached out to hold Regulus chin steady, looking in his eyes. “Where did you take the locket, Regulus?”
Regulus breathed a sigh of relief in his head, even as his mouth involuntarily opened and words spilled out. “To Hogwarts, my Lord, to the North Tower.”
Regulus was lucky that Voldemort’s mental energies were focused on keeping Sirius under control, or his quiet relief might have been noticed. As it was, Voldemort was too happy with the information to notice his captive’s relief. He was in motion before Regulus could take a breath, heading for the doors, pausing only to leave Sirius instructions. “Watch him, don’t let him leave. I’m certain that I’ll find some,” he paused, “…..use for him.” He eyed the way that Sirius was still holding Regulus, then smiled with dark eyes, and added, “For both of you.” And then he was gone, the sound of scales on stones following him.
Sirius’ grip on Regulus’ arms loosened, and he stepped forward, looking warily over his shoulder at his impassive brother. He only had a short reprieve. When Voldemort returned he would pry the truth out of Regulus, and no misleading answers would satisfy him. He only had a short time to make it certain that Voldemort would never find the resting place of the locket.
He wished that he could take Sirius with him, anything would be better than being Voldemort’s minddead lapdog, but there would only be enough for one, and perhaps one day someone would find the locket and destroy it, destroy the part of Voldemort that resided in it. He could only pray that such a day would come, a day when Sirius and all who had suffered because of Voldemort would be free.
He walked to the table and picking up the small, glass bottle and the remaining cup of wine, turned to face Sirius, that in the last moments of his life he might have sight of his beloved brother. With unsteady hands he emptied the bottle into the goblet and in one swift movement tipped the contents of the goblet down his throat and waited. It shouldn’t take long. The effects of an overdose of veritaserum were almost immediate.
As his vision began to dim he heard a great scream of rage in his head. It made him stumble and reach out blindly for support. One hand found a pillar and he leaned against it weakly, head falling. From behind him he heard Sirius make a horrible choking sound, and then there were hands at his shoulders, turning him around, cradling his face. Arms eased him down, a muted voice was in his ear, but his world was turning dark, and the last thing that he felt before death took him was wet drops falling on his face.
Author/Artist: circeniko
Giftee: derryere
Rating: PG-13
Word Count(for fic): 1,393
Characters/Pairing: Regulus, Voldemort and Sirius, Regulus/Sirius if you squint.
Warnings: General Voldemort creepyness, deathfic.
Author/Artist's Notes: The crypt is the one underneath Cantebury Cathedral, in case anyone is interested.
Summary: Regulus is running out of choices.
If Regulus had not been so terrified, he might have noted with interest the sculpted arches that he was passing under, the frescoes on the walls, the engraved lamp sconces, but the threat of his imminent and most likely horrifically painful death was filling his mind. If only he hadn’t taken the locket; someone must have caught him at it, most likely Lucius.
Behind him, Crabbe gave him a nudge, and he increased his pace. It wouldn’t pay to make his guards angry with him. There was enough anger lying in wait for him as it was.
Finally the passage ended at a set of large, wood doors flanked by two spiral pillars. As he passed them something uncoiled itself from the base of one of the pillars and hissed at him. His heart jumped and his last few steps through the door were more hurried than he liked.
He entered a chamber filled with pillars that held the canopied stone roof far from the ground, really quite beautiful if he could have spared his attention for it, but what was at the end of the chamber was far more interesting at the moment.
Voldemort stood in front of a raised stone tablet, with torches on either side of him. With his hood raised and handsome features partially obscured he looked like some pagan priest.
Despite the heat of the torches, Regulus shivered. At that moment, under his lord’s eyes, he was completely unable to remember why he had ventured such a betrayal.
It all came back to him a moment later when Voldemort spoke. “I warned you what would happen should you prove unfaithful, Regulus.”
“My Lord, I don’t-“
Voldemort stopped him with an upraised hand. There was silence for a moment, and then Voldemort continued. “How disappointing the Black family has proved to be, and you showed such promise, once.”
Regulus said nothing, not wanting to further anger the man.
“I had hoped that you would be the one to help me with my victory, but if you will not, then I will have to have another.”
Regulus saw where this was going. “No, my Lord!”
“You were warned, Regulus,” said Voldemort quietly. “The Black family will be serving me, one way, or another.”
He gestured, and from the shadows behind one of the pillars a man stepped out. He was cloaked and hooded, but Regulus already knew who it was.
Voldemort chuckled, an ugly, dry sound, and said to the man, “Take off your mantle, my pet, that this disobedient child may see you.”
The man pulled his hood back and long black hair fell free, blue eyes glittering in the torchlight.
“Sirius,” breathed Regulus.
He looked like Sirius, right down to the long curve of his neck, the sweep of his eyebrows, but he wasn’t talking, and that wasn’t typical, wasn’t Sirius. Sirius, who didn’t know how to keep his big mouth shut, and now Regulus as wishing desperately that he would say something, anything.
But it was Voldemort who was talking, not Sirius.
“This place is magnificent, don’t you think, Regulus? It was built by muggles to bury their dead, but now it serves a far greater purpose.” He motioned, and Sirius took a bottle of wine from a side table that Regulus hadn’t noticed before. He filled two goblets and brought them to Voldemort.
Regulus’ heart began to pound so loud that he couldn’t breath, that he had to gasp to get any air at all.
“You’re hyperventilating,” said Voldemort mildly. “You needn’t worry, you’re far too valuable to simply poison, and if I really wanted you dead, Regulus,” the words were spoken with silken promise, “then it would be much more painful than poison could ever be.” He set one of the goblets on the table, drew a tiny, clear bottle from underneath his robes, tipped two drops into the goblet that he held, and then capped the bottle and put it down.
“I thought you said that you weren’t going to poison me,” Regulus rasped, aware of how foolish he sounded, but unable to stop himself.
“It’s not poison, it’s simply a way to extract the truth from you. Veritaserum.” He stood up and Regulus instinctively jerked backwards. Voldemort raised an eyebrow. “You have nowhere to run, Regulus, but if you insist on being difficult…” He gestured to Sirius.
In one swift movement Regulus was seized, and held, trembling, in his brother’s grasp.
Voldemort lifted the goblet of wine and looked into its swirling depths. He spoke. “I have an affinity for underground places, tunnels, crypts…..caves, but you already know that, don’t you?” He forced the cup suddenly against Regulus’ mouth.
Regulus sputtered, trying to prevent the liquid from getting down his throat, but then Sirius was prying his jaw open and Voldemort was hissing in his ear.
“Drink, you stupid child!” He calmed when it was apparent that Regulus had ingested some of the drink. “It’s a shame that I’m in such a hurry; there are so many more….pleasurable ways to do this, and you’re both such beautiful boys.”
The potion was beginning to affect Regulus. His eyes kept tearing up, and his thighs itched. Sirius slid his hands down Regulus’ arms and held his wrists in a firm grip. Voldemort was speaking, but Sirius’ hands were distracting. Suddenly a blow knocked his head to the side.
“Pay attention!” said Voldemort angrily. He circled Regulus, the sound of his robes on the stone loud in the quiet chamber. Finally, he stopped in front of the brothers, and reached out to hold Regulus chin steady, looking in his eyes. “Where did you take the locket, Regulus?”
Regulus breathed a sigh of relief in his head, even as his mouth involuntarily opened and words spilled out. “To Hogwarts, my Lord, to the North Tower.”
Regulus was lucky that Voldemort’s mental energies were focused on keeping Sirius under control, or his quiet relief might have been noticed. As it was, Voldemort was too happy with the information to notice his captive’s relief. He was in motion before Regulus could take a breath, heading for the doors, pausing only to leave Sirius instructions. “Watch him, don’t let him leave. I’m certain that I’ll find some,” he paused, “…..use for him.” He eyed the way that Sirius was still holding Regulus, then smiled with dark eyes, and added, “For both of you.” And then he was gone, the sound of scales on stones following him.
Sirius’ grip on Regulus’ arms loosened, and he stepped forward, looking warily over his shoulder at his impassive brother. He only had a short reprieve. When Voldemort returned he would pry the truth out of Regulus, and no misleading answers would satisfy him. He only had a short time to make it certain that Voldemort would never find the resting place of the locket.
He wished that he could take Sirius with him, anything would be better than being Voldemort’s minddead lapdog, but there would only be enough for one, and perhaps one day someone would find the locket and destroy it, destroy the part of Voldemort that resided in it. He could only pray that such a day would come, a day when Sirius and all who had suffered because of Voldemort would be free.
He walked to the table and picking up the small, glass bottle and the remaining cup of wine, turned to face Sirius, that in the last moments of his life he might have sight of his beloved brother. With unsteady hands he emptied the bottle into the goblet and in one swift movement tipped the contents of the goblet down his throat and waited. It shouldn’t take long. The effects of an overdose of veritaserum were almost immediate.
As his vision began to dim he heard a great scream of rage in his head. It made him stumble and reach out blindly for support. One hand found a pillar and he leaned against it weakly, head falling. From behind him he heard Sirius make a horrible choking sound, and then there were hands at his shoulders, turning him around, cradling his face. Arms eased him down, a muted voice was in his ear, but his world was turning dark, and the last thing that he felt before death took him was wet drops falling on his face.