THE END IS NEAR - ?egulus ?lack

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𝓣he summer stretched out like a storm on the horizon, inevitable and all-consuming. For Regulus, it felt like a slow descent into darkness. The days passed in a blur of expectation and quiet dread. Walburga and Orion Black were relentless, ensuring their youngest son remained on the path of pure-blood loyalty. Conversations at Grimmauld Place were filled with thinly veiled praise for Voldemort and his growing influence. Regulus played his part well, his calm demeanor masking the storm of doubt and fear brewing within him.

Barty, on the other hand, thrived. The Crouch household was a cold, rigid place, but it was clear that Barty had never felt more alive. He spent his days devising excuses to slip away unnoticed, always careful to avoid his father's scrutiny. Barty Sr. loathed the Death Eaters, and if he ever suspected his son's allegiance, the fallout would be catastrophic. But Barty Jr. didn't care. He was chasing the approval of a far greater father figure-the Dark Lord himself.

Angelina tried to keep her distance from it all, retreating into herself as the days turned into weeks. She avoided Barty as much as she could, but he was relentless. He wanted her by his side, wanted her to share in the glory of the Dark Lord's favor. "You belong with us, Angelina," he'd say, his voice soft yet insistent. "You're one of us."

She wasn't sure when she stopped resisting, but eventually, she found herself drawn into the web. One day, the summons came-a special request for her presence at a gathering. Barty wouldn't tell her much, only that it was important, and that she had to come. Despite the gnawing fear in her gut, she relented.

The meeting took place in a hidden manor deep in the countryside. Angelina arrived with Barty, her heart pounding as they stepped into the grand, dimly lit hall. The air was thick with a strange, almost suffocating energy. The room was filled with familiar faces-Lucius Malfoy, cold and composed; Bellatrix Lestrange, her eyes alight with manic fervor; and others from the old pure-blood families. They moved with a confidence that only came from unwavering belief in their cause.

Angelina's breath caught when she saw Regulus standing near the front, his face pale but determined. His parents flanked him, their expressions unreadable masks of pride. The tension in his shoulders betrayed him, but he stood tall, resolute. His eyes met hers for a fleeting moment, and in that glance, she saw everything: fear, regret, and something that could have been love, buried under layers of duty and expectation.

Voldemort stood at the center of it all, his presence commanding and terrifying. His voice was smooth, almost hypnotic, as he addressed the room. He spoke of loyalty, of power, of the glorious future that awaited those who stood with him. One by one, the new recruits were called forward to receive their Dark Marks.

Regulus was the first. He stepped forward with a calmness that belied the turmoil within. Voldemort placed the tip of his wand on Regulus's forearm, and the mark burned itself into his skin. Regulus didn't flinch, his gaze fixed ahead as he returned to his place, his arm now bearing the symbol of eternal servitude.

Evan Rosier followed, his usual bravado slightly muted as the mark was seared into him. Then Barty-eager, almost ecstatic. He knelt before Voldemort like a man meeting his god, his voice steady as he pledged his allegiance. The Dark Mark appeared on his arm, and Barty's grin widened as he returned to Angelina's side.

Finally, it was her turn.

Angelina hesitated for a fraction of a second, her feet rooted to the spot. Barty's hand on her back pushed her forward gently but firmly. Her pulse roared in her ears as she approached Voldemort, his crimson eyes boring into her. She knelt, her hands trembling. His wand touched her forearm, and a searing pain shot through her. She clenched her jaw to keep from crying out as the Dark Mark took shape on her skin.

When it was over, she rose on shaky legs and returned to her place beside Barty. Her arm burned, the mark a stark reminder of the choice she had made-or perhaps the choice that had been made for her. She glanced at Regulus again, but his gaze was fixed on the floor, his expression unreadable.

The meeting continued, but Angelina barely registered the words. She felt numb, the weight of her decision pressing down on her. As the Death Eaters dispersed, she lingered near the edge of the room, her mind racing.

Regulus approached her quietly, his face drawn. "Angelina," he murmured, his voice low. "I didn't want this for you."

She looked up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And yet here we are," she said bitterly.

Regulus didn't reply. He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers for a brief, fleeting moment before he pulled away. "Be careful," he whispered. And then he was gone, swallowed by the darkness.

Angelina stood alone, the mark on her arm still burning, a painful reminder of the path she could no longer turn away from.

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