Torjours Pur // Regulus

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Diplomacy. It was a simple concept, yet simple minded people had no grasp of it. Whilst Bellatrix herself held a very good understanding of it and was adept at executing it, these dimwits were really testing it. The witch tapped with her fingernails on the dark wood, her eyes icy cold as she spoke up.
“I would appreciate it, Crabbe, if you would keep your idiotic opinions on the subject to yourself. You might appreciate it more, as I then wouldn’t have to cut out your tongue.”

Quiet. Lovely.

“Now as you all know, and as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, recruitment is of the essence,” she continued, her voice even, her fingers now wrapped around her wand instead of tapping on the table. “Pureblood families are our main yield, so to speak. If there is a tainted blood – half-blood – who can efficiently prove him or herself to the Dark Lord, they are also applicable. As you well know, mudbloods and blood-traitors are completely off limits. For recruitment, yes, but perhaps not for target practice.” If Bellatrix was capable of smiling at all, it was about the prospect of hurting such filth.

A man two seats on her left spoke up. “And age?”

She couldn’t bother turning to look at him. “Somewhat irrelevant if the dedication and talent is there. No snot-nosed little brats who think they know everything after two years at that wretched school.” His question had reminded her of one particular family member she had been planning on paying a visit. Her lip curled in a smile.

“Try not to hurt yourselves; I have somewhere to be.” The witch stood up and when the men thought they were free, she leaned forwards slightly, palms on the table before her a sadistic smirk now having formed on her face. “You know what to do.”

There were many fun things for Death Eaters to do, after all...

She promptly left the room, walked far enough out of the hideout (nobody daring to come in her way) and Appirated. Before her, instead of the dark Death Eater hideout, was another dark building, perhaps just as grim. 12 Grimmauld Place had long been the residence of the proud and noble House of Black. Bellatrix had the blood of Black flowing through her veins, even if she now went by the surname of another prosperous Pureblood family. Any muggle who lived on this particular street could be glad they hadn’t decided to go for a walk at the time Bellatrix arrived, as she would have had no qualm taking care of them there and then. For now, she had other matters.

Being a Black, getting into the house wasn’t all that difficult. Very quite easy, actually. Bellatrix admired her aunt and often visited when she was younger. The dark haired woman toyed with her wand in her hand as she walked down the narrow hallway, dress wafting silently around her boots. She had heard that the Blacks – excluding the horrible bloodtraitor, Sirius – had been away for a while, and she had hopes that Regulus wouldn’t be away now. Bellatrix was hardly the type of person who made her presence know, and simply walked through the house. She reached perhaps one of her favourite rooms and entered it silently – the Family Tree Room.

All those wizards and witches were her family, her heritage, her pride. Of course, there were always exceptions. Her eyes fell upon the scorched figure next to hers that used to belong to her sister. She sneered, reaching out to put her hand against it, digging her fingers in as if it would hurt the woman behind it. What a foul, horrible woman she had turned out to be... Consorting with those cockroaches. Disgusting. Apparently, they had even spawned a tainted child, who wasn’t worthy of the little Black blood that flowed through her. One day, Bellatrix knew, she would wipe out every Black that didn’t deserve to be. Bellatrix let go of the wall. One day.

She heard a soft but unmistakable sound of life in the house and her lip twitched upwards, eyes still cold but now also anticipating. House-elves didn’t wear shoes – another Black was here. Let’s hope it’s the right one.

@regulusablack

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Lounged full length on his emerald draped four poster he one-handedly dawdled a red and gold rag that Kreacher had provided him as a toy for his little cat. The grey tabby batted at it with the casual pleasure that matched her masters. Above the bed was a sprawling copy of the housecrest that Regulus had painstaking painted in the idle and uncertain summer between his fourth and fifth year. The room was tidy almost unnaturally so considering it belonged to a sixteen year old boy, even the owl cage that rested on a heavy mahogany dresser was immaculate the daily phophets that lined it free from dropping, the only sign of disorder was the sprawl of parchment that spilled across his desk, one title could be seen written in a neat copper plate hand ‘The breeding of superior hounds a detailed treaties of betterment through bloodlines’.

The house was silent apart from the usual creaks of an old house chatting to itself, his mother and father were attending some ministry do of much importance that he not yet being of age was considered to young to attend. Not that Regulus minded much, once he would have, not so much because he would enjoy the event of which he would probably find a tense affair of attempting to appear more worthy, talented and interesting than he felt himself capable of, but because being excluded had always made him feel even less worthy than he considered himself – as if he was one step from being disowned.

Then the silence was broken by the ‘crack’ of a house elf appearing in the middle of the room, Regulus didn’t jump, flinching was a habit he schooled himself against but Hisspitt the little tabby dropped the cloth and with a hiss dissapered under the bed. ”Master has a visitor, lady Bellatrix, would you like me to attend her?” The elf croaked in his froggy baritone as Regulus rolled up right and began slipping on his black leather house shoes. ”No Kreacher I will greet her, please prepare refreshments.” With another crack the elf vanished and Regulus checked himself in the full length mirror combing his hair and checking his black and silver robes for stray cat hairs, satisfied with his appearance he descended the staircase to seek out his cousin.

He guessed that rather than waiting to be greeted or even taking a seat in the parlour to await his convenience his ever assured cousin would have already penetrated the house, either to seek him out or to enjoy the pleasures of Grimmauld Place unaccompanied. Making an educated guess he entered the drawing room where he was pleased to find his cousin before the vast tapestry depicting the noble lineage of the Black family. ”What a pleasure to see you cousin, would you care to join me in the parlour for refreshments, or is your business urgent?” He made no move to touch her in greeting, his was not a family that touched.