Disclaimer: No, as a matter of fact I am not JK Rowling, which means I cannot possibly own the Death Eaters or the House of Black.
Regulus Black's left thumb and index finger had not budged from his glasses lens since entering the pub. Had his cousin Bellatrix not been drunk, she may have remembered that this was Regulus's subtle indication that the subject was making him nervous and he wanted it changed.
Then, drunk or not, Bella probably didn't care about his state of mind, particularly not mid-rant.
". . . I mean, it's just ridiculous, what the Ministry is doing," Bella slurred, waving her glass vaguely in the air. "I . . . I don't think they e'en honestly think that it'll stop ush—"
"Bella, you're drunk," Regulus muttered, wishing Rodolphus was around. In his way, Bella's husband was just as much of a fanatic as she was, but he could stop Bellatrix's drunken rants. He knew it was a security risk, which was a lot more convincing than the only excuse Regulus could usually think of to stop her, which was what she was saying was stupid.
"'M not," she retorted. "But it's not as if we aren't already riskin' death, fighting for the cause. It's not like legalizing it's gonna scare us, now ish it?"
Regulus found the possibility of death quite frightening, but she had a point in that it was hardly a new fear.
"S'mattor-o-fact," Bella continued, this time waving her wand instead of her tankard. Regulus eyed it cautiously, wary of another night that would end in her cursing somebody. " I think I'd rather be Avada Kedavara'd or whatever spell they'll use in itsh place than lang . . . langui— sit around in Azkaban."
"Reinstating burning would be more effective, yes," Regulus muttered, moving his glasses down and back up his nose to remind Bella he was clutching them like a lifeline. She didn't appear to notice, and he couldn't help but wonder if he was only encouraging her with his vague muttering.
"I mean, if Crouch thinks he can stop us by fightin' a house fire with . . . I dunno—"
"Fire?" Regulus suggested under his breath.
"—a torch," Bella continued, glowering at her younger cousin for interrupting, "he's got another think coming." Regulus was impressed. He hadn't thought she was to the meaningless metaphors yet. "Aurors don't have killin' in 'em, or at least most of 'em don't."
"I'll agree with you there, and I'll agree with you that it was a stupid move— it'll only anger some people more— but I won't agree with you that it was pointless," Regulus answered, biting down on his lip about five seconds too late, after the words had already left his mouth. He hadn't had enough Firewhiskey to claim it had been doing the talking, so he could only assume he had some subconscious death wish. Contradicting Bellatrix Lestange, after all, was never a good idea.
She just stared at him for a few minutes, trying to process this information. "Oh, really?" she asked at last.
"Yes, Bella, really," Regulus answered, tugging more urgently at his glasses. Still, it was better to be hanged for a sheep than for a lamb. "Whatever else, it sends the message that the Ministry means business. It's getting rid of the Aurors' legal barriers to bringing us in. Crouch is not going to put up with any more failed captures because the only thing that would keep someone like you in place, Bella, is breaking every bone in your body, or possibly decapitation, although the last would result in a rather bloody-minded ghost."
Rather than immediately curse him, Bellatrix seemed to contemplate this for a little while. "Maybe you're right. I still think it was pointless in the sense of accomplishin' something tangible."
"It doesn't have to accomplish something tangible," Regulus answered irritably. "At this point in the game, psychological warfare is practically required."
A long, slow grin crossed Bella's face, which was somehow scarier than her scowl. Her hand— the left one that until a few moments ago had been holding her drink rather than her wand, unfortunately— curled around Regulus's own half-balled fist. "You're learning," she announced.
An involuntary shudder ran through her little cousin. He was learning all right. Learning just how deep he was getting into an organization he wasn't sure he really believed in, and learning from his mother and Bellatrix just how thin the line between unwavering family loyalty and mindless pureblood loyalty really was. Unfortunately, Regulus's definition of family didn't necessarily end with those still on the tree, and somehow, in the desperation to please the mother who was never satisfied, he'd wound up on the opposite side of a war than his missing brother.
Regulus turned his right hand over, wrapping his fingers around Bella's wrist, and stood up. "You're getting too ranty to be in public," he told her softly. "Let's get you home."
"'M not," Bella mumbled.
"Yes you are. A few more Firewhiskeys and you'll be going on about his plans rather than Crouch's."
Regulus felt Bella stiffen a little in his hand, aware of who he was talking about. "I wouldn't . . . Regulus, you know I'd never—"
"You're too passionate to think when you're drunk, honey," Regulus interrupted. "Besides, Rodolphus told us to get you back before midnight, and how are you ever going to live down your 'There is absolutely nothing wrong with my memory' speech if you don't manage it?" Really, he just wanted Bella in bed, where she couldn't do much damage to anyone. Rodolphus would be amused, yes, but he was bright enough to let things go quickly when it came to his wife.
Reluctantly, Bella let him pull her to her feet and tucked her wand into her pocket. "All right," she mumbled. "Let's go home."
Regulus smiled grimly, happy to have his way even with a few white lies, and led her outside, still with his fingers curled around her wrist. After all, while the pub was wizarding, it was spelled to be invisible in a mostly Muggle village, and he didn't want Bellatrix deciding to amuse herself in untoward and incredibly public ways. He nodded to the barman and pulled her outside.
"Dad?" a young female voice asked as soon as the door swung closed.
The street was completely deserted, so Regulus assumed the girl must be speaking to him, and he looked around towards the voice. "Erm . . . no," he said a few seconds before he found her, standing on the sidewalk and wide-eyed, peering into the dark.
"Oh," she said. She had brown hair done up in a braid and looked about six. "Sorry. It's just that I can't find him or Mum and sometimes when Mum goes looking for him she tries the Dancing Dragon."
Regulus relaxed. At least, despite the Muggle clothes, he was talking to someone with a wizard for a father. "What are you doing out here so late, anyway? Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"Can't sleep. Someone broke the lock and I've gotta find Daddy and tell him."
"Thieves?" Regulus asked nervously. He had to get Bella home before she did something stupid, certainly, but it might also be a good idea to take this girl to an Auror or Muggle law keeper.
The girl stared at him for a moment and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't even know who you are. Why're you asking so many questions?"
"Because I'm concerned—" Regulus started, but Bella interrupted him.
"What's your name, little girl?" Her wand was in her hand— funny, Regulus could have sworn she'd put it up— and there was a nasty glint in her eyes.
The girl hesitated. "Nymphadora," she said. "But everyone calls me Nym. Why? Did Mum or Dad send someone looking for me?"
"What about your last name?" Bellatrix asked.
"You're not supposed to give strangers that," Nym told her, staring at this woman as if she'd gone insane. "Didn't they tell that you in day school?"
"You're in the wizarding world at the moment, Princess," Bella answered, jerking clumsily out of Regulus's grip. Regulus made a move to restrain her again, but she slid out of his reach. He'd tried to do it too many times. "Your last name may make you safer here."
Nym looked skeptical.
"And if it doesn't . . . if your daddy never taught you that, it means you're a Mudblood," Bellatrix continued. It was amazing how much clearer her voice was out in the cold March air than it was in the pub— as if she wasn't drunk at all, as if the anticipation of an attack— maybe even a kill— was sobering. "It just means your getting yourself into more trouble by existing. And maybe I ought to get you out of that trouble." She raised her arm.
"Bella, lay off," Regulus said quietly.
Bella's nasty smile, however, only widened.
She was still acting drunk, Regulus realized, only not drunk from alcohol— drunk from power. This was how Bella thrived, those few moments before she killed someone just for having the wrong parents. It sickened Regulus. He was dimly aware that there was too much prejudice in his background for him to have problems with laws, but killing—but genocide— was so much more than laws.
The girl evidently knew enough about the political climate to realize how much danger she was in. Her eyes widened to the size of Galleons, and Regulus realized something.
"Bella, lay off," Regulus repeated, more urgently. He grabbed her wrist to emphasize his point. "Those are Black eyes."
"They look gray to me," Bella answered, pulling out. "And I don't see why the color matters."
"They are gray," Regulus answered, reaching for her arm again. She jerked out of the way, but at least it kept her from aiming. "That's my point. They're Black family eyes." He turned to Nymphadora, who was watching this exchange fearfully. "Your last name's Tonks, isn't it?"
She nodded.
"What does that matter?" Bellatrix demanded.
"Bella," Regulus growled. "That is Andromeda's daughter. You aren't thinking about killing your own niece, are you?"
"Meda knew the risks when she married filth."
Regulus grabbed her wrist again, and this time it was with both hands. Bella tried to pull out, but he held on stubbornly. "So that's it, then? It doesn't matter that she's your own sister's blood? That . . . that— dammit, Bellatrix— that she's part of the House of Black?"
"Don't question your elders, Regulus."
Part of him cringed. Bella had never taken that tone with him before— the cold, emotionless tone she took with her victims. She'd been condescending, she'd been pitying, and on few enough occasions he remembered all of them, she'd even sounded proud, but she'd always spoken to him as if she felt something when she looked at him, and somehow this indication of nothingness was worse than her fury.
At the same time, he rallied. He'd keep his doubts about Mudbloods to himself, but he could afford to be open about his opinion of Black blood. "I'm not questioning you, Bella," he said quietly. "I'm telling you're wrong. I don't like killing for fun, but if that's how you get your kicks. . . ." He shrugged. "I'm not, however, going to sit here and watch you kill your unarmed, untrained niece because you're drunk and looking for a fight."
Bella yanked. Hard. Her arm slid between Regulus's fingers, and he stumbled forward with the force. "I thought you'd understood, Regulus," she said. Her voice wasn't fathomless anymore; she was enraged. Regulus knew he was in for the Cruciatus if he didn't move fast, but somehow that was an improvement. If she thought you were human enough to loose her temper at, she wouldn't kill you just yet.
"Oh, I understand. And I'm not entirely sure our Dark Lord is pureblood," Regulus replied.
"He's descended from Salazar Slytherin, of course he's pureblood."
"I'll let you in on a secret from my father's research, Bella— Salazar Slytherin's line ends," Regulus snapped. "I think he's lying."
Bella's face darkened further, her usual dark beauty twisted entirely out of shape. "How dare you . . . ?"
"By putting things together in my moments of sanity. Yes, I have them," Regulus answered. Before she could aim at him, he pulled out his own wand and strode over to the girl, grabbing her arm. "Do you think you can trust me?" he whispered.
"I . . . dunno."
"Try."
Bella's mouth curled again into a nasty smile. "You aren't trying to defy me, are you?" she asked.
The Slytherin sarcastic streak took over, despite feeble protests from self-defense mechanisms. "I'm not trying, Bella dear. I am."
"Sectumsempra."
It wasn't what Regulus had been expecting, but it was nearly as painful as it ripped his chest open. He bit his lip, pointed his wand at his chest, and thought every healing spell he could think of, but he wasn't sure if that accomplished anything or Bella just didn't put enough effort into it to make the cuts really deep.
Bella looked down at her wand, and Regulus realized she was swaying slightly. Thank Merlin she was drunk, really. "Missed," she mumbled.
"You were aiming at her—?" Regulus cut himself off, grabbed Nymphadora's shoulder with his other hand, and Apparated to Diagon Alley— the first safe place he could think of to land— before she did any more damage.
Author's Note: The idea of writing a multi-chapter fic concerning Regulus and Nymphadora Tonks occurred to me about halfway through In the Waiting Room of St. Mungo's, which was, incidentally, not a story with which I could do so. Somehow my soft spot for Mr. Black worked its way in and I wound up with a workable plot. . . . I can't guarantee the regularity of updates I have with Double Trouble, but at the same time, as much fun as that AU is, there is something a little more satisfying to a Marauder era girl about slotting an original story more of less into cannon. . . . So, opinions, anyone? You know you want to review! Cheers! — Loki