FicWad

‘Regulus Arcturus Black!’

The name sounded through the house, echoing from the basement to the attic and back, but the person it was intended for did not seem to hear it; there came no reply.

Angry footsteps ascended the stairs, angry footsteps that belonged to the voice that had called out the name mere seconds before, angry footsteps that belonged to the hand that roughly hammered on a wooden door. ‘Regulus!’

Still, no reply. So the angry hand opened the door, stepping inside the bedroom that had changed so much over the last few years – though it was one of the few rooms in the house to even have undergone change at all – and marched over to the bed, where, hidden beneath the bundle of blankets, a young wizard lay fast asleep, dreaming of magical Kingdoms, of mighty princes and incredible princesses, of power beyond imagination and land stretched out as far as the eye could see. He dreamt he was the hero, about to save the world.

The angry footsteps were his mother’s, and they came to a halt to his side. The angry hand was also hers, and lay on his shoulder, threatening to roughly shake him awake. And her angry voice called out again, this time far closer to his ear, ‘Regulus Black, you will wake up right this instant!’

And she shook. And he stirred awake. He yawned, and blinked against the morning light. Castles, princes, princesses and heroic duels evaporated into thin smoke as his surroundings took shape: fiery red walls decorated with depictions of all sorts of magical creatures, a chandelier that cast stars on his ceiling, a toy broomstick leaning against his wardrobe ... This was his bedroom, not his Kingdom.

Once aware of where he was, he seemed to notice his mother. ‘Good morning.’

‘Good afternoon to you as well,’ she said harshly; it was only half past ten, but that was far too late in her eyes. ‘I expect you downstairs in ten minutes. I need you in the drawing room.’

With that, she left, slamming the door shut behind her. She cast one last look at the door across the hall, and then made way for the drawing room herself, past all the familiar nooks and crannies of the place that would never change, no; life inside of number twelve went on as it always had, and no amount of riots could disturb it, nor could a suspicious illness that forced the Minister from power, or talk of a Dark Order greater than they’d ever known before, a possible return to War – a suggestion that all the activity with Dark creatures was part of a larger scheme ... No, none of this was allowed to disturb the happenings inside of number twelve, and therefore, it wouldn’t.

Regulus, in the meantime, had closed his eyes again. Just a few seconds, he’d told himself. Just a few seconds ... But a few seconds could easily turn to minutes, or hours, and so his eyes snapped open again, and his stomach gave a lurch – he would not risk falling asleep. He would do as he was told and go downstairs, to the drawing room, because he always did as told. He never spoke up, he never doubted anything he was told; he had his brother to fulfil that role.

And so he climbed out of bed, moved to where his mother had stalled out the robes for him to wear, dressed, and went downstairs.

He knocked on the door to the drawing room.

‘Enter.’

He did, and closed the door behind him before looking at his mother.

She sat behind the desk, holding a newspaper in her hand and sighing profusely as her eyes scanned headline after headline. Another child of wizarding parents found dead in Blackpool, presumably drowned. Boggarts on the loose in Bristol. More riots in Exeter after a march. Werewolf attacks in Dover. Deaths on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. It hit closer to home each time, and this was why her husband had made sure their home was secured with more than just the Muggle-repelling charm it carried all those moons ago, when Regulus had just been born and the world had not yet grown so twisted. Now it stood strong as an Unplottable location, armed with anti-intruder jinxes of varying degrees. They did not need any more trouble than they already had.

She turned her attention to Regulus, who eyed her with big, expectant eyes. She put down the newspaper and beckoned him closer.

He took a few steps in her general direction, hands clasped behind his back; he fancied himself quite the gentleman, standing stiff and upright, just as he had in his dream.

Then she started talking.

‘I hope you had a good night’s sleep.’

The sneer was almost audible. He tried his best to not let it get to him.

‘I’m sorry, Mother. It won’t happen again.’

She nodded and rose, turning her back to him and moving over to one of the tapestries on the walls.

Regulus followed her with his eyes.

‘It’s your special day tomorrow,’ she said, still fixed on the tapestry depicting their Family Tree.

And she was right; tomorrow, Regulus would turn seven years old, and that was an important milestone for him to reach. Seven years of life out of the womb, seven years of infancy, of gaining teeth and losing them again. Tomorrow he would no longer be an overlooked member of the family, shoved aside into playrooms on his own to pass the time, given picture books and stuffed animals – from tomorrow on, he would receive real books and study books and quills and inkwells and all there was to it. Yes, tomorrow was special.

When she finally turned to look at him, her lips had twisted into a sad smile. ‘The end of an era; the start of another, of—’

But what era, he could not hear, for she was silenced by the door that sprung open. Another young wizard came running in, panting, and exclaimed loudly, ‘Sorry I’m late, I overslept, it—’

‘Don’t let it happen again,’ she interjected harshly.

‘I’m sorry—’

‘Silence, Sirius! First you are late, then you think it fit to barge in on us – Why, even Regulus has mastered the art of knocking! I do not want to have to deal with any more of your trouble. Understood?’

She stared at him with a piercing glare that radiated fury; Regulus had to force down the smile that crept to his lips. There was something about seeing his brother get reprimanded that made him feel better about himself.

She continued, gesturing at the Family Tree.

‘Our bloodline stretches back centuries, and it’s filled with some of the greatest witches and wizards the wizarding world has ever seen – all have fought hard to uphold the purity of our blood’ – she turned to look at Sirius – ‘because, as I’ve said before: we have been blessed with immense power. It is our duty to preserve it, to protect it, and to pass it on to the next generation.’

Regulus nodded intently, soaking up all she said. He’d seen the family tree before, of course. He’d heard stories, some told by her, some by his father, some by other family members or the portraits on the walls. And still it caught his interest, because he knew that starting tomorrow, it would be his duty as well.

She pointed at his great-great-grandfather, whose moody portrait hung in one of the spare rooms they had around the house, the one his cousin Bellatrix so often slept in. She had told them of his feats before and repeated them now; he had been a formidable wizard and a most wonderful Headmaster of Hogwarts – the best the school had ever had.

‘Much better than that Muggle-loving half-blood they chose to replace Dippet, in any case,’ she concluded, before moving on to another name on the tapestry.

‘Who’s that black mark next to him, Mother?’ Sirius spoke up.

‘That is none of your concern ... Ah, look, here’s Belvina; sadly, she died the year after your birth, Regulus, you would have liked her. She helped establish Borgin and Burkes with her husband – he was the son of one of the founders and did not want to keep up the work until she came along, bringing with her such knowledge of all kinds of goods, quite impressive, really ... Ah, and these are your namesakes,’ she said, pointing to two figures named Regulus and Sirius. (A father and a son. Sirius once again came first.)

‘And this is my cousin, Araminta Meliflua, a noble witch. She died shortly before you were born, Sirius. You both would have loved her, she truly was special; she fought so hard to make Muggle hunting legal, worked tirelessly on a Bill only to have it rejected – several times, too ... such a shame,’ she sighed. ‘Here – Cassiopeia, do you remember her? She was imprisoned for that very reason and is still in Azkaban now. If only Araminta’s Bill had gone through ... so many innocents given to the Dementors.’

Regulus’ thoughts drifted off and he stared out of the window, imagining his mother’s cousin do everything she could to hunt the vicious beasts that walked on the street below, that operated those tin cages to go from one place to the other with even more speed, so they could eat wizarding children a whole lot faster.

He thought of his grandaunt Cassiopeia and her unfair imprisonment – she had been trying to save them by hunting down those who wanted to hurt them, and they threw her into Azkaban for it? He felt anger rising, anger at the injustices of the world, anger at the way Muggles seemed to have the final say in these matters.

‘—and that’s the end of it!’ Mother yelled, and it brought him back to the present. He had missed what it had been about, but the fury was clear in her eyes, and directed at Sirius, whose face could only be described as arrogant.

It was hardly a surprise; Sirius always angered Mother, and Father, too. It was a game for him, always questioning them with that smug smile of his even though he was old enough to know better than to argue.

But he would not let him ruin this moment.

So he asked, very innocently, ‘What must we do then, Mother? To be as good as they were? To protect our – er – the purity of ... the blood thing ...’

She smiled, anger leaving her eyes. ‘Oh, Regulus,’ she sighed. ‘What did I just tell you? Look at all the wonderful witches and wizards. True witches and wizards with pure, uncontaminated blood who went before you. Do you think we could’ve done all we did if we soiled ourselves with scum?’

Sirius snorted. Mother ignored him and continued.

‘You are already on the right track because those who went before you did the right thing. All you must do is make sure you stay on the right track, all you must do is make sure our blood remains uncontaminated and pure, because purity is what gives us strength. We are the pure-bloods, we are the chosen ones. Toujours Pur. Do you understand that?’

He simply shook his head. It had not answered his question.

She took a few steps towards him, leaving the Family Tree for what it was and instead crouching down to his level. ‘There is power in this world. Magical power. It has been passed on from parent to child for generations – it is now yours to wield. Remember that time you made Aunt Druella’s flowers wilt, last year? Magic. The time you had the biscuits dancing on the table? Magic.’

He nodded. This was nothing new.

‘We have this magical power because we were born to those with it. Only those born to true, pure wizards and witches – people who aren’t related to Muggles and their ilk – are capable. Others cannot comprehend the true nature of magic, so to mingle with them is to weaken our strength, to get rid of our much-deserved power ...’ She put her hands on Regulus’ and Sirius’ shoulders as she looked at both of them. ‘You will understand when you are older.’

‘But I want to understand now,’ he whinged.

Mother rose and made to walk over to the desk, but Sirius stopped her. ‘May I ask something? Because there are other witches and wizards – the impure kind, I mean. Mudbloods, half-bloods, they exist. What about them?’

‘They exist through our mistakes. We must not let them exist, Sirius. By properly guarding our magical heritage we can erase those monstrosities.’

‘But why?’

‘Because they are wild animals. Beasts. To even think of having relations with them ...’ she visibly shuddered at the thought, but it didn’t stop Sirius, who furrowed his brow.

‘But ... can’t they still be powerful?’

‘Have you not listened to a single thing I’ve ever told you? No! They cannot, it is impossible; we pure-bloods have repeatedly demonstrated our power surpasses that of anyone else. Listen to what I say: it is our heritage, our lineage, that grants us our greatness, and therefore, those without pure blood cannot even begin to comprehend the depths of true magical strength. There are some who claim to; they are fakes, frauds – shame to the lot of them!’

‘But Mother,’ Sirius pressed on, because he could never tell when to shut up, ‘there must be talented witches and wizards who aren’t pure-bloods; it’s simple statistics. What about them? Isn’t it ... unfair?’

Mother narrowed her eyes. ‘I don’t know who put those ideas in your head, but they have no place in this household. You are a Black! You ought to start acting the part!’

Regulus looked between his angry mother and his frustrated brother (who was glaring down, as if trying to kill the carpet).

Mother ignored him and turned her attention back to Regulus, her voice laced with fake sweetness.

‘Regulus, my dearer son, it doesn’t do to listen to him. Your brother’s not as clever as you. He doesn’t understand. But you do, don’t you? You understand.’

It wasn’t much of a question. It was as if she was trying to convince herself it was true.

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘Good boy,’ she said, flashing him a smile; Regulus beamed with pride. ‘I expected nothing less of you.’

Sirius remained silent.

Mother walked back to the desk. ‘Ready yourselves for the big day tomorrow, and make sure you are both on your best behaviour,’ she said sternly, and with that, they were dismissed.

Regulus left the drawing room with one last glance at the tapestry that held their Family Tree. Sirius rushed ahead, speed walking as if the room would bite him if he stayed a second longer.

When Regulus closed the door behind him, he felt a hand curl around his arm. By the time he registered it being his brother’s, he was already being dragged to their playroom, where, once inside, Sirius let him go and started barricading the door with toy boxes and any other heavy objects he could find.

Regulus rubbed his arm. ‘What are you doing that for?’

No answer. Sirius was sprinting from one end of the room to the other, dragging two chairs with him this time.

‘What’s going on?’ he pressed.

But Sirius continued, ignoring him. So he sat down on the floor (as the chairs were now helping lock the door) and watched him, coming up with explanations in his mind; Sirius was a spy, about to overthrow the Kingdom, and the Dark Forces were after him, so he needed to keep himself safe – and Regulus could be the King, taken as his hostage, to exchange for his life!

Excitement bubbled up inside him; yes, this was a game they were playing, there was no other explanation to it, and he couldn’t wait to get started – Kreacher could act as the Forces trying to get to Sirius, or they could ask permission to use the fireplace to ask Cissy to play along – or Andy or Bella, but they rarely wanted to – or perhaps they could even—

‘Reg,’ Sirius called, waving his hand in front of his face. ‘You back in the land of the living?’

He nodded. Sirius stood near him, and the whole room was empty. Well, the furniture all stood in front of the door.

Sirius tilted his head slightly. ‘You know Mother ... she’s not right. You know that, right?’

So it wasn’t a game.

‘It’s unfair to judge someone just because of their Blood Status,’ Sirius continued, and he sat down next to him as he did. Then he closed his eyes, as if desperately trying to remember what to say next. ‘It’s not about where you come from, but what you make of the magic inside you.’

He opened his mouth to say that he hadn’t a clue what he was talking about, but Sirius put his hands over his mouth to silence him as he continued his little speech.

‘Mother, she’s narrow-minded. She’s stuck in the past. She’s holding onto these ancient beliefs that really just don’t make any sense.’ He released his mouth, and instead lay his hand on his shoulder in a way that was likely meant to be comforting and reassuring, but made Regulus feel threatened more than anything. ‘We don’t have to be like her, you know. We can be different. Go our own way.’

It was clear to him Sirius had thoroughly rehearsed this little conversation somehow, though he didn’t really understand much of what it was about. Did he think Mother was lying? Did he think everyone was lying? Where was he getting these ideas from, anyway? The way he spoke, the way he acted ...

He shook off his hand and stood up. ‘What do you mean? Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?’

Sirius stood up as well, slowly, saying, whilst smiling as if it was time for his favourite story, ‘Reg, I won’t lie to you. Standing up for what we believe in may come with some issues ... But I’d rather face those than live a life of prejudice and hatred. We have got to be true to ourselves, no matter the cost!’

Regulus chewed on his lower lip as Sirius’ words echoed through his mind. We can go our own way. Was Sirius planning on leaving him behind, on leaving Mother and Father? And worst of all ... was he expecting him to go along with it? Now?!

‘You want to leave?’ he asked, just to be sure.

Sirius beamed and nodded. ‘Isn’t now the perfect time to? Mother and Father are busy with tomorrow, they won’t notice until nightfall at the earliest—’

‘But I don’t want to ... I don’t want to lose our family,’ he complained. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’

It was silent for a little while, as Sirius thought it through. Then he took hold of Regulus’ hands. Regulus did not pull away. This time, his touch truly was comforting.

‘I will always be by your side, no matter what ... we are brothers, this means our bond can’t be broken. I promise.’

Regulus leaned into him, hugging him tightly. He didn’t know what had got into his big brother’s head but the promise made him feel slightly better. If only Sirius did away with these ideas. If he didn’t ... he didn’t want to think about it, but he had the most awful feeling this promise wouldn’t last long in that case.

After all, today hadn’t been the first time he had seen the Family Tree, with all its black marks. And he knew what they were; for the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, there was no going back after leaving the family.