The Dark Awakening.

The Master’s gift to him. That densely concentrated body of dark knowledge, bearing the twin properties of Mental Corruption and mental seduction.

She had delivered the bone box to Grimmauld Place with her own hands. Watched Regulus open it right in front of her. When she returned, she reported every detail to the Master, who reviewed her memories and concluded that the Dark Awakening’s corruption was gradual but inexorable. Even if the initial response was feigned, sustained contact would eventually assimilate the host.

Now she could see it.

The composure he’d maintained all evening was cracking apart, and his mouth was twisting into an expression she had never seen on his face.

The Master was right.

Bellatrix let out a shrill, wild laugh. Her whole body shook with it, and somewhere in the middle the laughter turned wet, tears rolling from the corners of her eyes. Whether it was the body’s reflex at the peak of madness or something else, even she couldn’t tell.

"You feel it, don’t you!" she screamed at Regulus, her voice warping through the laughter. "It’s biting you! It’s crawling through your bones! You’re afraid of it..."

Her lips peeled back further, baring every tooth. "No. You love it!"

Her wand came up. A Killing Curse tore loose, riding a surge of even more violent magic. Two purple beams followed immediately, launched from different angles.

Regulus flickered between the rubble. A Side-Shift dodged the first green bolt, and his wand flicked upward, conjuring a mass of grey magical substance at the tip. It didn’t glow. It absorbed the surrounding light, dimming the air around it.

He knocked the first purple beam aside with it. The trajectory bent, skimming past his shoulder, striking the distant ruins. The second purple beam he avoided with a half-turn, letting it graze past him.

Across the gap, Bellatrix kept firing. Killing Curse, Cruciatus Curse, purple beams, Dark blasting hexes, so dense there was barely space between them.

"You’re finally using what the Master gave you," her voice threaded through the flashes, trembling with manic fervor. "You liar! You’ve been pretending this whole time. You’ve been gorging on it!"

Regulus ignored her. Part of his attention had sunk inward.

The Dark Awakening’s power was, for him, fundamentally a test.

Grey matter clung to his magic, and the increase in potency was real and unmistakable. His magic grew heavier. When he cast, there was a sensation of being lifted, carried. Spells hit with more weight, more oppressive force, a payload laced with the desire to dominate.

And this was only the result of that half-corrupted substance infusing his magic.

Powerful, yes.

But it was foreign. It wasn’t his.

His soul sat quiet. The light of Bellatrix the star burned steady in the depths of his consciousness, and the grey matter stayed exactly where it belonged.

All of this was performance.

The corner of his mouth pulled a little higher, a little wider.

Time to test the knowledge, too.

His magic poured outward in every direction at once, spreading from his body like heavy fog, blanketing a circular area roughly ten meters in radius.

The air turned leaden. Rubble sank deeper, as though gravity had thickened around it. The few fires still flickering on the ground bent under the pressure, shrank, and died. The air itself grew viscous. Every breath met resistance.

This was knowledge stored inside the Dark Awakening: a dominance-aspected magical release.

Regulus charged. Sprint Spell. His silhouette trailed grey as he cut a straight line through the wreckage, hurtling toward Bellatrix.

She stood inside her black barrier, but the oppressive weight bled through.

She felt it pressing her down. Her knees softened. The arm holding her wand sagged under it. It urged her to kneel. Urged her to submit.

She recognized it. The Master felt like this when he was angry. She knew this sensation intimately.

And that made her angrier, more unhinged, because it reminded her of the Master again, reminded her of the desecration she felt.

Inside the crushing pressure bearing down on her, she snarled and hurled curses outward.

But the spells began to veer off course after they left her wand, as though the oppressive force was dragging at them. They slowed.

Regulus turned sideways. Three green bolts sailed past without him needing to side-shift at all.

He looked at Bellatrix. The light in his eyes was growing brighter. He raised his wand.

A dark grey curse shot from the tip, silent, impossibly fast, and punched straight through Bellatrix’s black barrier.

The barrier didn’t stop it. It passed right through.

Bellatrix’s body locked rigid. Her eyes flew wide.

Soul Scorch.

The virtual personality had extracted this attack from the Dark Awakening’s stored knowledge. It and the black barrier likely came from the same system. Both were Voldemort’s creations. He’d taught the barrier to his Death Eaters for defense while keeping the means to pierce it for himself.

Here’s your shield. But the spear stays in my hand.

Very Voldemort.

Soul Scorch worked on the soul itself, a tier of torment entirely separate from the Cruciatus Curse. Like pressing a soul against an open flame. Agony beyond endurance, yet not a mark on the flesh.

Bellatrix’s face contorted to a degree that no longer looked human. Her mouth wrenched open and a piercing wail tore out of her.

Her body convulsed inside the black barrier. The wand nearly slipped from her fingers.

But Bellatrix was still Bellatrix. She was mad, and that searing agony actually carved a path back to her will to attack.

She endured the Soul Scorch, and in the gap between spasms she flung a Killing Curse. The motion was twisted, the angle skewed, but the spell was whole. Green light erupted from her contorted arm.

Regulus side-shifted clear and severed the Soul Scorch’s connection.

Bellatrix vanished. Apparition.

But she was still inside the dominance field. The space had been compressed, and the corridor warped as it formed.

Crack. She appeared a dozen meters away, but the fabric of her right shoulder and the layer of flesh beneath it hadn’t followed. They stayed behind. Blood seeped from the ragged tear.

She collapsed onto the rubble. Right hand bracing against the ground, left arm completely useless, right shoulder bleeding freely, barely an intact patch of skin left on her.

Regulus had already locked onto her landing point. Sprint Spell. By the time she blinked into existence, he was standing three meters away.

His wand leveled at her. Fear Projection.

A will-erosion class of mental attack, imprinting whatever the caster poured into the target’s mind.

What he poured in was dominance.

He demanded obedience. Demanded she kneel. Demanded she acknowledge that the person before her ruled her, ruled her mind, ruled the loyalty she felt had been desecrated.

Bellatrix was still crumpled on the ground. Her eyes rolled wildly in their sockets, mouth gaping, throat producing a garbled sound. Like she was cursing, or calling out, but the words had shattered, meaning left incomplete.

She obeyed only one person. But now someone was using her Master’s own methods to command her submission.

That feeling again. That desecration again.

"You..." The words squeezed through clenched teeth, blood-flecked saliva trailing from the corner of her mouth. "You aren’t worthy... you aren’t worthy to touch that..."

She struggled to her feet, swaying like she might collapse at any second, but the wand was still in her hand. She screamed, cursed, hurled spells, shrieked Voldemort’s name at him, but her voice had started to shake, and the density and force of her attacks were visibly declining.

No method left. No tactics. Cruciatus Curse, Killing Curse, blasting hex, everything thrown without aim, most of it missing.

Regulus stood a few meters away, watching her.

His expression was grotesquely mismatched to the scene. Mouth curved upward, eyes bright, grey magic seeping from his body, the whole of him radiating something deeply unsettling.

He was enjoying this.

Watching Bellatrix struggle and scream before him, hurling crooked curses from a broken body. He was savoring every second.

This was what the Dark Awakening contained. Domination... oppression. The compulsion to make lesser things submit. Contempt for the weak, unrestrained and unapologetic.

Right now he was a man corroded by those things. A man whose composure and control had cracked open. A man who had tasted power’s sweetness and begun to drown in it.

He didn’t hold back. Another Soul Scorch, then another, and Bellatrix’s screams detonated in rhythm with his casting.

She couldn’t endure it anymore. She couldn’t string together a curse, let alone a coherent word. Syllables splintered inside her howls, her body arching forward and snapping back, wails and shrieks pouring out in alternation.

But the madness was still there. She was still trying to raise her wand.

Then she Apparated again, and this time it was worse. A chunk of her left calf tore away. When she landed, she dropped straight to her knees.

Regulus didn’t pursue. His right hand flicked, and the fire whip lashed out from his wand tip. Black flames churning, thicker than before, longer, the dark red veins more densely packed.

Two turns of the wrist. The whip carved an arc through the air and cracked down.

It struck Bellatrix’s black barrier. The sonic boom detonated above her head, webbing the surface with fractures.

Second lash. Hairline cracks appeared at the point of impact, and the shockwave bled through, bouncing her body upward.

Third lash. The cracks widened. The barrier warped.

Fourth lash. Under the relentless strikes, the barrier’s structure finally began to disintegrate. Cracks radiated outward from each impact point, dark fragments of magic flaking from the surface.

The fifth lash hit, and the barrier shattered.

The impact hurled her off the ground. She crashed into a mound of rubble, wand still in hand, body no longer answering her commands.

She knelt there. No barrier. Left arm ruined. Right shoulder bleeding. A piece of her left leg missing.

She was still casting. 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

From her knees, with the only arm that still worked, body listing sideways, wand aimed roughly toward Regulus, she flung curse after curse. Green, purple, red, everything she had.

Most of them went wide.

Regulus stood a dozen meters away and watched the crooked spells sail past him. Not a single one connected.

He side-shifted to within three meters and delivered another Soul Scorch.

Her screams had devolved past the point where shriek and plea could be distinguished. Her body arched and slammed back down, the Soul Scorch searing through her will.

She finally lost all capacity to resist. She lay on the ground, limbs twitching faintly, lips still moving as though reciting something, but the sound had faded to nothing, like the whimper of a dying animal.

Then she fell sideways onto the rubble, and her wand slipped from her fingers, rolled twice, and came to rest against a broken pillar stump.

Her chest still rose and fell. Her eyes were still open. She was alive.

But her part in this was over.

At some point a small bird had landed on Regulus’s shoulder.

Orange-red, barely larger than a sparrow, each feather crisply defined, wings folded quietly amid the grey aura of his magic.

He didn’t spare Bellatrix a glance. He turned directly toward Rodolphus, standing by the doorframe.

Orion’s fingers tightened slightly on his wand the moment he saw the bird.

He recognized it.

Easter holiday. Regulus had shown it to him in the training room.

The taut wire inside Orion’s chest finally loosened.

He’d heard the plan in the study. He knew Regulus intended to use the Dark Awakening’s power for a performance. Regulus had said he could pull back. Orion had believed him.

But watching the transformation with his own eyes was different.

That expression had been too convincing. That look of relishing every moment had been too real. He’d watched the boy cast spell after spell at Bellatrix as she lay broken on the ground.

None of it had looked like him.

For one heartbeat, genuine uncertainty had flickered through Orion’s mind. He hadn’t let it show.

Now he saw the bird. The little Fiendfyre bird that only he had seen.

Regulus was telling him: I’m not lost. I’m still here.

Much better performance than last time. This time, even his own father had nearly believed it.

Orion stopped watching the battlefield. He knew what Regulus was going to do next.

That bird wouldn’t stay a bird for long.

His gaze swept the banquet hall, then drifted outside, where moonlight poured through the collapsed wall.

Regulus had said in the study that he wanted to rope the Lestranges into this. Orion had assumed he meant political entanglement.

Looking at it now, this wasn’t entanglement. This was erasing Lestrange Manor from the map.

Lestrange Manor burned to the ground. Rodolphus probably wouldn’t die in it, but Bellatrix was already half-destroyed. If Regulus wanted her dead, she’d be dead. If he didn’t, the Fiendfyre could be steered around her.

But Orion didn’t intend to interfere. If Regulus meant to go through with it, then his son’s outward impact was already sufficient. The rest was his call.

The aftermath would be considerable. Burning down a Pure-blood family’s manor would require a narrative for the Wizengamot. Lucius Malfoy, as an eyewitness, carried weight in those chambers.

Pressure from several major families through the Ministry of Magic could frame the incident as an internal family conflict. Bellatrix’s use of the Killing Curse was the linchpin. An Unforgivable was a ready-made justification.

"Go." A single word.

He pulled Walburga along, stepping over rubble, heading toward the collapsed section of wall.

Lucius followed with his arm around Narcissa. He didn’t ask why they were leaving. Orion said go, so they went. The Malfoys didn’t ask questions at moments like these.

Sirius didn’t move. He stood rooted in place, staring at Regulus in the center of the hall, his eyes full of anger and anguish.

He’d seen the bird, but he didn’t recognize it.

What he saw was the grey magic bleeding from Regulus’s body, the cracked expression, that brash grin that looked nothing like him, spell after spell cast at Bellatrix as she lay on the ground, each one drawing a scream.

Stacked together, these things assembled into a single conclusion.

The Dark Awakening. Voldemort’s gift.

Regulus had told him in a Hogwarts corridor that it had no effect on him. When Sirius had pressed, Regulus had told him to see for himself. He’d looked. Confirmed it was nothing.

And now?

This was no effect?

He’d lied.

Regulus had lied to him. Said the Dark Awakening was harmless, and then erupted right in front of him, becoming someone Sirius didn’t recognize.

He wanted to charge out there, grab Regulus by the collar, and demand answers. What the hell is going on? What did that thing do to you? Why did you lie to me?

He took one step forward. Orion’s hand pressed down on his shoulder, heavy. "Go."

Sirius turned to look at him. Orion wasn’t watching him. His gaze had left Rodolphus entirely and settled on the gap in the wall where moonlight spilled through.

"Now isn’t the time for questions." Orion’s voice was barely audible, pitched for Sirius alone.

Sirius clenched his jaw and let Orion push him toward the exit.

Narcissa glanced back one last time. Bellatrix lay on her side in the rubble, body still twitching, her wand resting two feet away.

Regulus stood nearby. On his shoulder perched a fist-sized bird of flame, and on his face hung that unsettling smile.

The image burned itself into her memory.

Rodolphus took her hand and pulled her through the gap in the wall.

Orion led the way. Rodolphus’s gaze ushered them out.

As Rodolphus passed Regulus, the boy turned to look at him.

That face wore an expression seamed with cracks. Grey magic drifted around him, and the light in his eyes was unnaturally bright.

His voice carried a strange texture. "Rodolphus. The Lestranges touched one of ours."

Rodolphus’s footsteps stopped.

The corner of Regulus’s mouth pulled a fraction lower. "Consider the repair costs waived."

Rodolphus stared at him. Confusion held his face for less than a second before the color drained from it entirely.

He Apparated on the spot.

Regulus didn’t watch them leave. He looked down at the Fiendfyre on his shoulder.

Bellatrix was still moving. Lips twitching, eyeballs rolling in their sockets, her whole body convulsing, though no sound came out anymore.

He looked at her for two seconds, then raised his head and took in the remains of what could no longer be called a manor. The little bird on his shoulder ruffled its wings.

He held out a finger. The bird hopped from his shoulder to his fingertip, cocked its head, and peered up at him.

Regulus let go.

The bird launched from his finger and, in midair, swelled and detonated.

The flames didn’t reform into a bird. They shifted into Fiendfyre’s true, unbound shape. Surging. Torrential.

A serpent of immense scale, its edges wreathed in fire that hissed as it burned.

From the other side, a dragon unfurled its wings through coiling tendrils of flame. Where the wings swept, flagstones cracked from the heat and instantly cooled to bleached, ashen fragments.

A third beast stepped from the fire on eight legs, each footfall pulverizing the stone beneath it.

They no longer answered to any hand. They tore at one another as they burned. The serpent coiled around the dragon’s wing. The dragon’s jaws closed on the serpent’s neck. Flame collided with flame, spraying molten stone.

Regulus stood at the center, feeling the loss of control, maintaining the barest thread of connection but making no attempt to rein it in.

Granite softened like wax before the Fiendfyre. Two centuries of structural-reinforcement charms failed instantly at those temperatures, magical protections stripped away layer by layer.

The banquet hall of Lestrange Manor, or what remained of it, began to collapse under the Fiendfyre’s consumption. Cracks in the vaulted ceiling spread at terrifying speed, stone blocks raining down and ceasing to exist the moment they touched flame.

Fire spilled from the hall into the corridors, through the entrance hall, swallowing wood and glass wherever it met a window frame.

Regulus stood at the center. Fiendfyre churned around him but didn’t touch him.

He watched it all, his expression flickering between light and shadow in the glow.

Then he looked down at Bellatrix on the ground. The Fiendfyre hadn’t reached her yet, but the ring was tightening.

The next moment, the air shifted without warning.

One second, nothing but the Fiendfyre’s blistering heat. The next, the warmth vanished.

Not gradually. The temperature didn’t drop. The flames didn’t weaken. But Regulus felt it.