The Good Die Young

Gregory Goyle, known as Goyle to many, was not handsome. Although not as smart as Snape, Goyle was a Slytherin, and Slytherins have a sense of cunning and ambition. Some say that was the reason why Goyle joined You-Know-Who: for power. If you were to ask Gregory, however, he'd answer with a shrug. It was expected of him to follow in his father's footsteps, just like Draco followed Lucius.

"Boy!" snaps Goyle Sr. "Get your robes on, quickly! Our Master calls."

Gregory grunts his assent and slowly takes his time to finish his breakfast. Once finished, he quickly dresses. Both father and son Apparate to their lord's side.

"You're late," The Dark Lord greets them coolly, with anger in his serpentine eyes.

Both men drop to their knees kissing the hem of their Lord's robes.

"My Lord," Goyle Sr. mumbles. "We are sorry for our lateness. It will not happen again."

"And why are you so tardy, Goyle?"

"I needed to finish my breakfast, my Lord." Goyle Jr. whispers so softly that it wouldn't have been heard if the room was not completely silent.

"Are you saying, child, that food is more important than me?" the Dark Lord asks, softly and dangerously.

Both Goyles shiver at the Dark Lord's deadly tone.

"N-No, My Lord." Goyle Jr. protests weakly. "I w-would nev-"

"I think young Goyle needs to be punished. Don't you agree, Bella?" the Dark Lord says, his gaze settling on the masked Death Eater that's standing to his left.

"Oh, yes, My Lord." Bella nods, taking off her mask. "Let me be the one to punish wittle Gregory."

Goyle Jr. raises his eyes to the female Death Eater and stares. Her hair is still not that healthy but Goyle knows that it's because of the years she has spent at Azkaban. At least it isn't tangled; Goyle wonders how it would feel through his callused fingers. Bella's eyes are dark with lust and her nipples are erect against the thin layer of her robes.

"Patience, Bella, patience." Voldemort strokes her cheek, and Bella leans into the touch.

Conjuring a throne with a wave of his wand, the Dark Lord sits; then the pain begins.

Later, Goyle Jr. is levitated and carelessly dropped onto a soft queen-sized bed. He manages to sit up after a moment, although his muscles protest. Moaning in pain, he unsteadily rises to his feet but it doesn't last. An Impediment jinx is thrown his way and he is harshly dropped back onto the bed.

Grunting, Goyle Jr. blinks a couple of times to clear his blurred vision and his eyes lock with those of his captor.Gray eyes, the color of a Black. Goyle knows this from the hours spent studying the Pureblood genealogy.

"Gray eyes," Goyle repeats out loud.

"How astute of you to observe my eyes, Mr. Goyle," a rough feminine voice remarks.

The female Death Eater smirks and with a wave of her wand she conjures a long gleaming knife.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," Goyle acknowledges, glancing at the knife. "Is it noon yet? Are we having lunch?"

"Lunch?" Bellatrix laughs, her laugh sounding like a harsh bark.

She closes the distance between them by straddling his waist; the knife is still in her hand with the tip pointed towards his throat.

"I suppose I will have some apples for lunch." She smiles, pressing the tip of the blade to Goyle's bobbing Adam's apple.

Later that night, Goyle lies in bed unconscious. There is dried blood on the sheets. A Death Eater enters, his mask hiding his face from view.

"You incompetent fool," the Death Eater remarks while digging in his black robes for his wand.

"Avada Kedavra!"

If young Gregory was awake, he would know that it wasn't just any Death Eater that got the best of him. It was his father, Goyle Sr.

Goyle Jr. did not know his fate.

They say the good die young. Once upon a time, Gregory Goyle was as decent as a Slytherin could be.

Once upon a time...