Chapter Text
By the time Regulus realizes he can afford to annoy the shit out of all of the wannabe Death Eaters in Slytherin, it's almost Halloween.
He's spent term so far keeping his head down, as much as is possible when he's the new Heir Black and everyone and their mother is gossiping about what happened over the summer. (Really, it's less keeping his head down and more spending a lot of time in his room and giving Barty the go-ahead to go after anyone who bothers him. Taking advantage of his best friend's eagerness to get into fights is probably something that Regulus is not supposed to do, but he pulls strings to keep Barty out of detention for it and that's what matters.) What Regulus has been trying to do is give the wannabe Death Eaters the impression that he's too high-and-mighty to deign to spend time with them (which is true), while also being an aspiring Death Eater himself (which is false).
But he's Heir Black. He's a prefect and Slytherin's star Seeker and top of the class in almost every subject (no one in their year can beat Evan at Charms). He doesn't need the wannabe Death Eaters to like him. Aside from Stephen Travers and the Carrow twins, most of them aren't even Sacred Twenty-Eight, and House Travers and House Carrow are some of the weakest houses, especially compared to the Blacks. If the news somehow got back to Regulus's parents that he was antagonizing them, he'd probably get vaguely approving nods from both of them.
The point is, he can afford to be rude. When he's worried that his brain might explode from the sheer stupidity going around, he can go after the responsible parties and knock them down one or two or five pegs.
He doesn't mean to out himself as anti-Voldemort. It just kind of happens.
He and Barty are coming back from the library, and when they descend down to the dungeon level, the sound of low voices and someone sniffling are echoing off the stone.
"We should find out what that is," Regulus mutters.
"Aww, you're such a good prefect," Barty replies, but he follows Regulus without complaint.
They follow the sound, which takes them around a few corners until they reach a dead-end hallway with a cluster of five students at the end. Regulus can recognize Amycus Carrow from incredibly far away, since they played quidditch together for two years until Carrow was kicked off the team to focus more on classes. Where Amycus goes, Alecto goes, and where the two of them are, Julius Mulciber, Severus Snape, and Stephen Travers are almost certain to be as well. With that in mind, he's completely unsurprised by four of the people in the hallway. Snape's not there. The fifth student is a Hufflepuff who can't be more than a second year. Regulus is willing to bet a thousand Galleons and his broomstick that he knows who's responsible for the sound of sniffling.
He raises his voice. Not much—just enough to make sure everyone knows that Regulus is the one talking now. "I didn't think it was possible for you to stoop lower than passing around a list of which of the Slytherin first-years are pureblooded. Amycus, I'll be delighted to hear your explanation as to how this will bring your grade in Transfiguration from a Troll all the way up to a Dreadful."
"Oh, finally lowering yourself enough to speak to us, Black?" Travers says. On a superficial level, he resembles his younger brother Thomas, who's a sixth-year and one of Slytherin's Beaters, but Thomas has never quite mastered a sneer that nasty. "And you've brought your guard dog, how sweet."
Regulus ignores him. Travers talks a big game, but Mulciber is the leader of the group. (He's not sure why. Mulciber's a sixth-year, and Travers and the Carrows are all seventh-years. But if it's important, he'll find out eventually.) "Or do you think bullying Hufflepuffs who weren't even born by the time you were old enough to spew nonsense will endear you to Voldemort?"
" Lord Voldemort," Mulciber says. "Show some respect."
He bites back the first five comments that spring to mind, all of which are different ways of explaining that he'd rather kiss an acromantula, and looks at the Hufflepuff. "You, get out of here. Don't walk around the dungeons alone."
"They won't let me leave," the Hufflepuff says softly.
Hufflepuffs. "They will, or they'll find out just how easy it is for me to ruin their career dreams. Go."
The Hufflepuff steps tentatively around Alecto Carrow. None of the wannabe Death Eaters move, although they're starting to look visibly angry. That's fine. When none of them move to block the way, the Hufflepuff speeds up, darting past Regulus and Barty and vanishing down the hallway.
"Bullying children," Regulus says. "Did none of you stop to think about how pathetic you look? Four of you against one tiny Hufflepuff?"
"Didn't take you for a do-gooder, Black," Alecto Carrow says.
"You think I'm going to stand by and let you show people from other houses exactly how incompetent you are? Your actions reflect on all of Slytherin. I have a vested interest in making sure you confine your stupidity to the common room. I'm sure my cousin Bella would hate to hear that some of the students who claim to aspire to be like her have been bringing shame to our house. She's a very proud Slytherin, you know. Much like Voldemort."
" Lord Voldemort," Mulciber hisses. "I won't correct you again."
"What are you going to do? It took four of you to match a Hufflepuff lower-year. I shudder to think how many people you'd have to recruit to do anything beyond irritating me. Besides, you shouldn't be calling him a lord. He certainly isn't titled, or he wouldn't have gone to all the trouble of making up a fake name. At the very least, those of you who are heirs shouldn't be lowering yourselves like that." (Travers and Carrow are both heirs to their houses. Mulciber isn't Sacred Twenty-Eight, and he most likely doesn't appreciate the reminder.)
Mulciber scowls. "And how would you know whether it's fake or not?"
"Please. He's obviously British, and there has not been a single other Voldemort here." Regulus actually doesn't know if that's true, but he knows it's true for the magical population, which is all these people will care about anyway. "It's clearly to obscure his origins. Personally, I suspect he's trying to hide Muggle ancestry. My cousin Bella is one of his favored lieutenants and even she hasn't been able to find out who his family is. Does that sound pureblooded to you?" He shrugs at them. "Go ahead, sign up to die if you want. His standards are high and most of you won't meet them. You'll find yourselves on the wrong end of Bella's wand more than once—I doubt you'll ever be important enough to be tortured by him personally. But are you really going to die for someone who preaches blood purity without proving his own ancestry? I wouldn't. In the absence of proof, he's a hypocrite."
"You talk a big game," Mulciber says. "But what are you going to do, die for Dumbledore? He's perfectly fine with letting us be crowded out by mudbloods. I'd rather follow a mudblood preaching blood purity than a blood traitor. At least the mudblood's got the right idea."
"You're a shame to Slytherin," Regulus comments. "Imagine thinking you can only fight for Voldemort or Dumbledore. What are you, a Hufflepuff? A Gryffindor? "
Barty snickers, like Regulus knew he would. "Seems more Gryffindor to me, to be so ready to die for no good reason."
"That's a good point." Regulus stares Mulciber down. "If you really care about blood purity, have some children, carry on your name. If this is about power, then I see no reason for you to devote yourself to a bloody war that will end in your torture if not your death."
Alecto Carrow says, "You talk to dear cousin Bella like that?"
"I do." (He doesn't. They don't need to know that.) Regulus tilts his head, considering Mulciber. "I can't save you from your own stupidity, obviously. And by the time you get that Mark on your arm, it's too late for you. But if you're interested in the idea of not dying in a pointless war that comes back with every generation, you know where to find me."
And he turns his back on them and walks away, Barty on his heels.
"That was quite a speech," Barty says once they're a few hallways away. "But what are you going to do if they come to you, pat them on the head and say 'good job'?"
"Of course not. I'll recruit them to my own cause."
Barty takes this in stride. "Which is?"
"I have no idea. Maybe I'll take my thriving circle of Dark Arts practitioners outside the bounds of Hogwarts. If we get enough people we might even be able to go legal."
"I like it."
"Thought you might." Barty's father is viciously anti-Dark Arts, which of course means Barty is viciously pro-Dark Arts. "Are you in?"
"Obviously."