I am back! It's a shorter one than usual, but as someone might know I'm sick and studying my arse off. I might faint soon because I've been throwing up everything I've eaten too, so I hate life right now (I have a phobia of vomit).

I know the TW is scary, but it's not that bad. It's just to make sure you are ready for the content.

LEAVE COMMENTS PLEASE. THE MORE COMMENTS, THE FASTER I WRITE.

TW: Mentions of Rape

Luna's hands shook as she held onto Regulus' shirt. He held her closer, uncaring for the time passing and for the sun hiding outside of the window of their room. He didn't care he would be late for dinner; he cared that Luna had just found out about Barty being stuck as a prisoner in Grimmauld Place's basement.

"But he is alright, right?" she whispered.

He fixed the pillow behind his head, trying to see Luna's hidden face against his chest. He could feel her tears against his skin as she tried to hide the fact that she was crying. Even after everything, Luna cared for Barty – perhaps she could see the fragility in him that many seemed to miss, perhaps it was the memory of the sweet boy that exchanged romance books with her during the summer.

"He's alive," he answered.

'Alive' was worth a lot these days. In the past week, violence had grown terrifyingly fast, which made Regulus visit Luna in person instead of sending a letter, having to beg her face-to-face to not leave the inn unless for classes or extreme emergencies.

Now, they were lying in bed together, wearing their sleeping clothes, ignoring that it was still day and that they had just taken lunch.

"We are doing what we can for him without putting ourselves in danger," Regulus said. "He's eating well, he's resting when the tremors stop for a while, and he seems to be able to keep a conversation going for a while even though he's tired."

"Who said so?"

"My mother. She checks on him twice a day, I only see him when I deliver supper. He doesn't talk to me much. He barely looks at me," he admitted.

Luna lowered her head to his chest again, sniffling her continuous crying to make a little understanding hum.

"He was tortured and punished in front of all of you. He was in your parlour floor without clothes or dignity. It's really not that surprising that he's talking more to your mother, who wasn't there, than talking to you, who saw it all happen and has this tainted image of him," Luna said, voice a bit muffled by Regulus' shirt. "He's just scared you pity him now."

"I do pity him."

"Don't let him know that."

"Why?"

She twisted her head to turn to glare at him.

"Nobody likes to be pitied, Regulus!" she exclaimed. "I was pitied once. Soon after my parents' divorce, my mother was struggling to keep ends meeting and my father didn't have money to pay for child support yet. We went to ask for help from the government. The people working there looked at us as if we were pitiful creatures, shaking in the snow, begging for food like a medieval peasant. It was horrible! It didn't feel helpful, it felt simply humiliating. There was no respect in their eyes, because they all saw me as something less than them, something worthy of pity, not of help. It made all of them look selfish, condescending and patronising," she exclaimed. "I would never want a friend to look at me like that, especially if they saw me in that situation."

Regulus' eyes softened as his hand reached to brush the back of her head, gently smoothing her blonde hair. Still, his forehead wrinkled for a moment. He held her tighter.

Though he didn't wish for it, his mind conjured Luna's figure in place of Barty's – naked, harmless, scared and helpless. It was, unfortunately, a possible scenario, though a difficult one to think of. Luna liked women, too, and while partial to men, she had admitted taking a few girls into her arms. If that side of the war continued to win and gain followers, more and more people accused of indecent and unnatural 'crimes' such as those would be brought to what Voldemort called 'justice'.

"Your heart's double its beats," she whispered. "I can hear it and feel it."

"I'm scared," he admitted.

"Of what?"

"Of what might happen to you if you were in Barty's place," he said. "I couldn't do anything for him, and we were publicly friends. Everybody knew we were close, and yet I could only intervene once it was done."

He, unfortunately, had started noticing a partial treatment towards male convicts. He had not seen it, but he had heard of the one female 'criminal' (if a woman accused of bearing the bastard child of a pureblood man could be considered a criminal) had not been treated so kindly, her dignity and honour put to the test when threats of the most unthinkable sorts of violence came up. Nothing had happened, they had assured Regulus, but the idea of growing violence scared him.

Luna was a beautiful woman. One look at her and some of those men's minds would go straight to the darkest places.

"They aren't going to get me," she said gently.

He hated that she was the one comforting him, not the other way around. But she knew that he was the one seeing and feeling all the tortures and horrible ideas those men had. She was trying her best to remain strong for him because she could see the cracks in him. And while he was grateful for her not mentioning it and for forcing her strength to remain through his trembling act, he hated himself for not sheltering her from it.

"If you are, and if I'm not there to stop it, please, Luna, promise me that you'll be compliant," Regulus said slowly. "Do what they tell you, follow the orders. Survive in every manner that you can until I can come get you, until I can save you."

Luna rested her chin on his stomach, big green eyes staring at him with a small smile.

"I don't need you to save me, Reggie. I can help myself," she said, smirk shaking a bit. "I might not be the best dueller there is, but I can hold my own until I can get away. And, if per chance, I am caught, I won't fight too hard to the point of getting someone angry at me, I'll be obedient and keep my head down – I'll be smart. I know how to talk my way around the trouble." She pushed herself up to reach his face, kissing his lips chastely. "Don't worry about me, Regulus. I'll be fine."

"They haven't done it yet, Luna, but... they are talking –" he started.

He couldn't say it. The word alone was horrible.

"Rape," she guessed.

He just stared at her. The word in her sweet voice felt like blasphemy, as if it was a sin that she knew the meaning of the word alone. Had he been a religious man, Regulus would've cursed God for allowing such an angel to get in contact with the filth of men and monsters on that planet.

"It happens in every war, it happens everywhere in the world. It's one of the most horrifying faces of violence, it destroys not only the person that survived it, but the family and the community around them. It used to be about forcing the population to have children that looked like the enemy, about creating a group of people that would become pariahs and would hate the population as much as the enemy. Nowadays, it's about power, it's about making sure those people know that you are stronger than them, faster than them." She slowly sat up, leaning away from him. "I know. I'm a woman, Regulus. I'm in danger of it even when we're not at war. My mother is a nurse, she's seen plenty of women getting there, hurt and terrified after people they loved or that they didn't even know hurt them. There's nothing that you can say or that they can imagine that hasn't already been done to one of us."

Any sort of happiness seemed to disappear from her face for a moment. His heart ached.

"They are pretty creative," he whispered, baffled.

"Every man think they are, until they meet someone a lot worse than them," she said, going back to a little smirk. "Didn't you think biting your brother's ear was terrible back then? Well, now I'm certain that you think a bite can't be that bad."

Ashamed, Regulus' face burned and coloured as he looked away. He gave a breathy, uncomfortable chuckle, reaching his hand to stroke her face gently, committing to memory every detail.

He promised himself that if those men that he was forced to work with were creative, if someone as much as looked as Luna, he would be a lot more creative than them.

Regulus had to gulp down his fear and anger. Still, his thoughts created more than one scenario that ended up with a faceless man begging him – not for life, but for a swift death, eager to find some sort of relief and comfort after days and nights of impossible and unbearable, creative methods of causing pain, shame, disgust and loneliness.

Any man that dared touch Luna would meet hellfire under his hands and pleased eyes.

"I'll make Voldemort himself regret his decision of taking you if he as much as mentions your name," Regulus told her.

Luna gave a little dismissive laugh, leaning for another kiss.

"I'd be content with you just staying for dinner," she said.

"As you command, my love," he said, lying his head back against the pillows and enjoying her company for one moment more.

Lydia Zabini had gained a nickname that Regulus despised but understood its origins: 'Black Widow'.

Voldemort himself had thought it was a clever little joke from Abraxas Malfoy as the spider in questions was known for eating its mate after their coupling in the search of proteins for the eggs, but Abraxas had chuckled to himself by bringing up the colour of her skin, which Regulus thought was quite silly. Lydia wasn't a dark black woman, after all her mother had been a white socialite, and bringing up time and time again the little nickname connected to her father's side of the family seemed stupid. But he had to agree 'Black Widow' fit her like a glove. After all, those small creatures were more poisonous than rattlesnakes.

There was a reason for Orion Black to like Lydia Zabini and enjoy her company whenever they met organically in social gatherings, and it wasn't (just) because of how beautiful she was. Rare were the occasions Orion met someone more dangerous than him, smarter than him and more ambitious than him. And Lydia was all three of them, and she knew how to hide it well under red lipstick, silks and white teeth bared into dazzling smiles.

Rattlesnake vs Black Widow.

Black Widow wins.

No surprise when Voldemort, aware of Orion's respect for the woman, called for his son to mission of recovering her.

It had started as a normal, daily breakfast in Grimmauld Place before Orion left for work and Regulus went to classes. Even Walburga had things to do that morning, going to Druella for tea to deal with a few 'feminine problems', whatever that meant Regulus wasn't eager to ask. In general, it was a quiet affair.

Until He came in.

Lord Voldemort – though Regulus still called him 'Gaunt' sometimes in his mind – came unannounced, intruding their early morning as if his birthright to do so. He was dressed in common, smart, dark-brown wizarding robes that clashed horribly with Walburga's blue morning dress that she had worn in case of meeting Abraxas (Malfoy's colours and all that), so the sight of him sitting beside her comfortably as she, stiff and rigid, drank her tea was silently funny to Regulus.

Walburga was unhappy at the interruption, fingers curling around the teacup like talons of crows begging to scratch Voldemort's eyes out. She wished nothing but to banish the rude man when she hadn't time enough to even put her proper shoes, let alone put on her face of makeup, as she did every day.

Orion, however, was a lot less tense, buttering his toast with indifference, though the twitch of his lip betrayed his annoyance against the surprise presence. He knew that the man had no business with him, which left them with the dreadful realisation that Regulus was about to receive a new mission after the last one almost killed him.

Pleasantries were exchanged quickly, but Regulus stared, forcing his shields to stay in place as he chewed his morning eggs.

"As you know, of course, your son has proven himself quite resourceful to our cause," Voldemort was saying to Orion.

Regulus felt his stomach fall, making eggs suddenly unappetising. He bowed his head down slightly, not daring to meet Voldemort's eyes as he was addressed, pretending his gratefulness and bashfulness were the owner of his stiff shoulders. He knew something was coming. The Dark Lord never gave free praise; there was always something coming in exchange for presents he didn't ask for.

Orion put his knife down.

"He was always a resourceful boy, My Lord," Walburga said, voice sweet.

"And what resource do you see now, My Lord? It must be urgent to receive such eager attention at this hour," Orion added, tone mild.

"Only one thing can receive such attention from a man, my dear old friend," Voldemort said.

Regulus nodded to himself. "Power," he answered.

Voldemort's lips curved faintly as if he had caught Regulus in a prank.

"A woman," he corrected, letting the word linger. Regulus blinked, confused. "Well, a widow... twice. Such a talent of hers."

Regulus' hand holding the fork started to tremble.

He had imagined it was coming. Voldemort had been asking questions about Lydia Zabini for a while at that point, hence why Regulus had danced with Evan's betrothed, a cousin of that woman. He had a bit of information that the man probably hadn't gotten, but nothing that it was worth of his attention yet.

Regulus' connection to Lydia had led her back to popular attention after her first husband had passed, which got her to find a new husband – the deceased. That alone could've been reason enough for Voldemort to put him after the woman, but the fact that rumours about Orion and Lydia circulated whenever they met in social occasions certainly didn't help Regulus go by unnoticed.

"Lydia Zabini," he said the name.

Walburga's lips pinched together in distaste, whitening at the corners. She was silent.

"The Black Widow," Voldemort added.

Orion made a little amused sigh, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes, yes," the Lord Black said. "Graves in her marriage bed, blood in her wedding gown. We all heard the stories." He leaned forward to get his cup of juice. "And what is my son to do for that woman? Woo her? Wrestle her? Keep himself alive through the wedding night? For I must say that I only plan on accepting any marriage of his after he's done with the Academy, My Lord, and I ask you to respect our family's tradition."

'Tradition' wasn't correct, but it was something that Voldemort might understand.

It was a joke on the surface, but Regulus could see it for what it was. A warning against the mission and against the connection with her again.

"Regulus is smart. That's why I chose him," Voldemort said.

Regulus forced his body to go into stillness even though his chest ached with the memory of his last mission and the memory of that woman's eyes over his, smart like a fox, knowing like a goddess. She was something he needed to be careful with, a lot more than Konstantinos and his creatures.

He cleared his throat.

"If you require me, My Lord, I shall go," he said.

Satisfied, the other man smiled and inclined his head.

"Portugal, she's hiding there," Voldemort said. "She's connected to a lot of the mercantile class – businessmen, bankers, politicians; all whispering in her ear, paying her absurd amount of money and giving her power over the country n exchange for her cards and counsel. She calls in fortune. I call it power, and I want it by my side, and Portugal isn't on our side yet. It's unsafe to lose her to our enemies."

While Portugal has its problems in the magical world (especially due to lack of magical population at the last few decades due to their desire of isolation from the rest of the magical world), they weren't keen on jumping in battles and wars unless their stability was in danger (more than they left it). Of course, they wouldn't be on Voldemort's side – but they wouldn't be on Dumbledore's either. Voldemort had to know that he just was looking for an excuse to get Lydia Zabini into his reign.

Walburga moved, shifting in her seat while her gold bracelet made a little noise. Her eyes darted to Regulus in unease. She, too, remembered his last mission and how it felt sitting beside his bed after his attack. She couldn't say it, but she was afraid... perhaps more than Regulus himself was.

Orion took a sip of his juice, smirking faintly into the rim of his cup.

"Ah, Portugal! Beautiful, lovely country," he said. "Warm, good wine, beautiful and dangerous women. Be careful. Try not to let her feed you too much, son."

Regulus kept his face smooth, but his eyes went to his father, registering every layer of the barb. He couldn't miss the odd and out of place implication. Lydia was not known for her culinary talents, on the contrary, it was a running joke that she had to marry men rich enough for several house-elves or cooks since it was dangerous to eat her cooking.

Voldemort laughed, finding the exchange amusing. The happiness in his face died down quickly, going back to his seriousness.

"You will bring her back to England for me despite of what she says. Convince her, charm her, bed her, drag her by her hair if you must – she will serve me. Her talents are wasted on Portuguese business men that will never achieve the level of power I shall, they think themselves kings of commerce, but their accounts will be empty in a few years. She belongs to me as an English woman, where her sight and counsel can be put to proper use for a good cause, our cause."

Walburga swallowed down her anger.

"If she sets her sights on my son?" Walburga asked.

The question hung in the air, reckless and bold.

Fortunately, Voldemort dismissed it almost completely as a woman's worry. He turned his head slowly towards her, smile thin and sharp.

"Your son is, certainly, not that easily ensnared," he said. "It's my understanding he managed to break up a long courtship without much problem for either party. Miss Lupin, I believe it her name. Yes, yes. Her. For a young man to slip an ambitious young lady's claws, he can do it twice."

A tremor went through Regulus, but he masked it.

Walburga raised her chin, silently challenging Voldemort into saying anything else about her son's love life.

Regulus folded his hands in front of him on the table. His voice took a while, but when it came it was low and steady.

"If I am to carry out this mission better than last time, My Lord, I request the right to choose the men I take with me," he said.

Curious, Voldemort raised his eyebrows. "Why?"

Regulus inclined his head.

"Portugal is unfamiliar terrain. I will need men I trust and men I can keep in line without being too forceful to save time," he explained.

Walburga narrowed her eyes as they darted to him in startlement. There was steel in her son's tone that she had heard in her own voice when she scolded him and Sirius, but never in his voice. A strength she had observed in Orion's tone while he ordered his men around, but never in her son's voice. It was a man's voice, not a boy's. It was control and power.

"Interesting," Voldemort hummed like a content cat. "And whom do you trust, young Black?"

"Mulciber is good in muscling through anything. Snape is good for stealth and discretion. And I want..." he hesitated, as if deliberating. Everybody knew he had a name at the tip of his tongue, but he took his time. "Barty Crouch Jr."

The silence was heavy as lead.

Voldemort hummed again, this time dangerously. His eyes narrowed, tongue flickering against his teeth like a snake, or as if he was tasting something in the air – betrayal.

"Crouch?" he asked.

"He'll do. He's in my basement, it's quite convenient," Regulus pressed forcing some lightness that didn't exist in his voice. His stomach twisted. "He'll be useful. He has no loyalty to his family, only his cause, and there's no ties outside that would sway him now that you've broken it all up, My Lord." He glanced at Voldemort and then at his mother, then back at the man, almost as if he was embarrassed of continuing. "And with Lydia Zabini being such a beautiful woman, it is known that she can bend any man into submission of her whims and desires. Barty's... unnatural desires render him useless to her, less vulnerable to her charms. Better to have a man who cannot be tempted by her than risk losing one that can... and will."

"And yet you take Mulciber, someone that is known for being easily swayed by women?" Voldemort asked.

Regulus smiled.

"I need him to get into her house, I don't need him to come out," he said with a cruel smirk.

The words tasted like ash. He was bartering with his friend's biggest shame and secret in exchange for his freedom. It was a manipulative manoeuvre that stung worse than any curse he had felt. Guilt.

Walburga's lips parted. She said nothing.

"Will you be swayed?" Voldemort asked.

"A beautiful woman is a beautiful woman and a man has needs, but one can stop himself from stupidity before it's too late," Regulus dismissed.

Voldemort's gaze lingered on Regulus for a long time, assessing him. Then, at last, flooding relief into Regulus' veins and heart, the Dark Lord laughed in a soft, hissing manner.

"Clever, as I expected, young Black! Utility even in defect. Your eyes are admirable," he said.

"Any man willing to serve has its use, My Lord, even those with mental defects," Regulus said, head bowing again.

Across the table, Orion's smirk deepened. He saw it for what it was: Regulus trying to give Barty a chance to escape, a chance to redeem himself. Any of the options would be fine and would give Regulus no more than a few minutes of torture as a punishment as long as he completed the mission. It was clever, though dangerous.

"Very well, then," Voldemort said at last, rising him from chair. "You may have your men, including the boy. See that he remembers his place, for he's going as your ward and responsibility."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Now, don't be too late for class, Young Regulus. You have a lot to learn to step into your father's shoes," the man added.

Walburga's fingers dug into the table's edge. She couldn't believe that her son was being sent away again, this time into foreign dangers of the arms of a woman whose very name was dressed in mourning clothes. She loathed the thought of Lydia, loathed the way her husband reacted to it, loathed the look Regulus had when she appeared. And she hated to think what would happen if he fell under her spell.

She could deal with Luna Lupin. She could tolerate the girl if that meant Regulus was safe and sound. She was a blank slate when she got to her family, someone that learned quickly when to speak and when to be quiet, when to look up and down, when to blush and when to Occlude. Lydia was a grown woman that had her own ways and manners, someone that openly hunted for men of power and money only to leave them in their grave to find someone better soon after.

"Prepare yourself. You leave Friday," Voldemort said.

And, as he had come, he left.

Orion put his juice against the table again, making more noise than usual.

"Well, son," he said, infuriatingly calm. "Try not to end up in her web or her bed, both are hard to come out off. If you do, perhaps learn a thing or two about how to fend off predators next time."

The last thing seemed to be in good humour. Walburga glared at him so severely that Orion's good mood died.

Regulus exhaled slowly, pushing his plate away while dealing with his nausea. The eggs had gone cold, and his stomach was rolling. Still, while scared, he was satisfied with what he had gathered.

He had his men. He knew exactly where Lydia was (to the house, even, by Evan's girl's mercy). He had his safety. And yet, deep down, he knew that he was sailing towards a rocky shore and there was little any wind could do to make the trip smoother.

SO... we have violent-thought-Regulus back!

Also, anyone want to guess who is Lydia based off on when connected to Regulus' Odysseus Arc? My mythology besties will love that.