Chapter 4
-The Daily Prophet-
The Black Heir, Wizarding World’s Most Eligible Bachelor?
By Yazan Ryder
Whispers echo through the hallowed halls of pure-blood society, and this writer has it on good authority that the next heir to the esteemed House of Black has been named. And no, dear readers, it is not the rebellious, ever-infamous Sirius Black. Instead, the coveted title falls to none other than his younger brother—Regulus Arcturus Black, a mere sixth-year student at Hogwarts.
Was this a long-planned move, or a desperate bid to erase a certain disgraced son from the family tree? (See page 6 on Purebloods who had been disinherited.) One thing is certain: The Black name will remain as dark and enigmatic as ever. Stay tuned, darlings—this tale is far from over.
The Black family has once again given high society something to murmur about over their goblets of elf-made wine. Insider whispers confirm that Regulus Arcturus Black—yes, that Regulus—has officially reclaimed his status as one of pure-blood society’s most eligible bachelors.
Curious why? Well, if you haven’t been keeping up (shocking, really), his engagement to dear cousin Narcissa Black was rather abruptly called off in July. As for the reason? That remains a well-guarded secret. Some claim it was a mutual decision, while others insist it had everything to do with Narcissa’s increasingly close ties to a certain Malfoy heir.
It had barely been a week since his return to Hogwarts, yet every meal, free period, and Quidditch practice had turned into a spectacle. Girls from every pureblood family flocked to him, eager and relentless, their presence a constant, cloying nuisance. It was exhausting—tiresome beyond belief. But if the attention grated on him, Barty and Evan, have found endless amusement in his predicament.
Of course, he had The Daily Prophet to thank for this mess. The paper had seen fit to declare him the most eligible bachelor in all of wizarding Britain, ensuring that every pureblood daughter with a marriage-minded family was now throwing themselves at his feet. It was insufferable. Random witches throwing themselves at him.
“Ah if it’s the most eligible bachelor of wizarding Britain!” Evan teased as Regulus dropped into his seat at the Slytherin table for breakfast, looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“Tch, you no I am not really up for grabs by anyone, Rosier. Might you forget, I’m actually betrothed to your sister.” Regulus let out a quiet huff, irritation clear on his face as he reached for the teapot. "If I ever get my hands on the idiot who wrote that article, they'll regret it," he muttered, pouring his tea with practiced precision, as if the simple act could somehow restore the peace that had been stolen from him.
It was peaceful—far too peaceful for his liking—until a random Ravenclaw, who looked like a seventh-year, tapped his shoulder.
Regulus eyed the ravenclaw girl, waiting for her to speak.
“My father has written to your father about betrothal contracts.” Regulus ignored her, resuming back to his breakfast.
Though he ignored the girl, she still went on. “I think it’s best for us to get to know one another, you know? I’m sure your father will gladly accept it as my family is sacred twenty-eight.”
Regulus couldn’t care less.
“Scram.” His tone was mono, his eyes were fixed on his breakfast not caring for the Ravenclaw’s presence.
“Have you not heard of what I just said?” Asked the girl.
“I heard you, and I am not interested therefore leave. Otherwise I’ll hex your hair to fallout.” He threatened and sooner after his threat the girl quickly fled, away from him.
“At this point,” Regulus couldn’t make out what Barty was saying as he was stuffing his mouth with bits of everything. “You’ll drive the entire female purebloods away with that attitude of yours.”
“Then let them. Least I’ll have peace and quiet.”
The familiar rustle of wings filled the Great Hall as the morning owl post arrived, a flurry of feathers and parchment descending upon the students. Dozens of owls swooped down from the enchanted ceiling, their sharp talons releasing letters and parcels with practiced ease. Regulus barely spared them a glance—until he noticed an alarming number of them heading straight for him. One after another, owls landed near his plate, dropping scented envelopes, elaborately sealed letters, and even a few small packages. It was obviously gifts from witches who had no interest in him except for the title of Lady Black and the vault that comes along with it.
He sighed, setting down his teacup with an air of practiced indifference. "Brilliant," he muttered under his breath, watching as the pile of unsolicited correspondence grew before him. "Just what I needed."
“Looks like fame has come upon you, mate.” Evan smirked.
Regulus stared blankly at the growing pile of letters and gifts before him, his expression unreadable. The scent of expensive perfume and enchanted parchment clung to the air, sickly sweet and suffocating. With a quiet sigh, he drew his wand, barely lifting his wrist as he muttered, "Incendio."
Flames erupted at once, consuming the heap in a bright, crackling blaze. The scented parchment curled and blackened, wax seals melting into nothing as the letters turned to ash before his eyes. He watched impassively, expression never wavering, as the last remnants crumbled into a pile of soot.
Across the table, Evan let out a low whistle. "Dramatic," he remarked, sounding far too entertained. “Though it looks like your problem has been solved, I guess.” Evan shrugged, handing over today's Daily Prophet.
By Yazan Ryder
It has come to this writer’s most delighted attention that none other than Regulus Black, heir to the esteemed and noble House of Black, is now officially engaged! And his betrothed? The lovely Pandora Rosier, a name just as illustrious in pureblood circles. Sources whisper that the two have been friends since childhood—could this be a love story years in the making?
But wait, dear readers, the most scandalous detail of all comes from none other than Mr. Antoine Rosier himself, who was positively beaming as he shared the news exclusively with The Daily Prophet! The wedding, he revealed, is set for the second week of July next year. The date is set, the families are pleased, and now only one question remains: Could we be expecting a new Black heir before the end of their Hogwarts years?
And if you think this is all mere speculation, think again! A most reliable witness has come forward, claiming to have personally seen the Black and Rosier families dining together at Rosa Lee’s Tea Shop. But here’s the juicy part—Regulus and Pandora were said to be especially close, their touches lingering just a bit too long, their glances filled with something unmistakable. I daresay, dear readers, if this isn’t love, then what is?
Regulus’s gaze swept over the crowded table, searching—needing—to see him. And then, there he was.
The wizard sat among his peers, posture tense, his fingers gripping the Daily Prophet like it had personally wronged him. Regulus watched as his expression darkened, his jaw clenching, the creases between his brows deepening. Then, with a sudden, sharp motion, he crumpled the paper in his fists, as if trying to erase the very words printed on it, then setting it on fire.
“You two are alike.” Bart snorted. “A match made in heaven as muggles say it, but unfortunately it’s not what fate wants.” He shrugged.
Regulus didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Instead, he just looked at him—at the wizard that wears scarlet red, who had once been his, the wizard he had once belonged to. But no, not anymore. Not ever again.
He stared, his mind spinning with ghosts of a future that would never be. What would they have been like if he had been given a choice? If the world wasn’t carved into lines he could never cross? Would they still be together—truly together? Would they have grown old side by side, their lives entwined, their children carrying echoes of their love?
A bitter laugh slipped past Regulus’s lips, quiet and hollow. What a foolish, impossible dream. Love like theirs had no place in the world they lived in. Reality was cruel, and he had never been given the luxury of choosing anything.
His mark burned on his left hand, a reminder of the dark lord seeking for progress with his recruitment. It was barely more than a week, let alone he hasn’t come up with any sort of plan of how he’ll pitch it to the others.
Of course, Barty and Evan had come up with the most outrageous plan yet—kidnapping them, dragging them into a nearby broom cupboard, and forcing them to take the Mark.
Regulus almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Almost.
Because, as ridiculous as it sounded, if they didn’t come up with something better soon…
This might actually have to do. Not that Regulus liked the idea, but with the amount of pressure he is in and the amount of school work he has, there is no way he could fit his dark duties in between classes, homeworks, and practices. Let alone there’s still the slug club he has to attend, not that it’s important.
Though, as absurd as Barty and Evan’s idea was, it did spark something in him—a far better plan.
The members of the Slug Club weren’t just any students. They were heirs to some of the most powerful, well-connected wizarding families in Britain. Their names carried weight, their influence stretched far beyond Hogwarts, and—most importantly—many of their family ideals were already aligned with the Dark Lord’s vision.
Hell, some of their parents were likely already seated within his inner circle.
If he played this right, he wouldn’t need force. He could make them want to join.
It was a sound plan, Regulus could only hope that he won’t fuck it up.
Regulus began to observe his fellow Slytherins with renewed purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the faces around him. It didn’t take long for his gaze to settle on the Carrow twins—a year younger than him, yet already notorious for their cruelty. They reveled in tormenting younger students, their wands quick to cast hexes just for the thrill of it.
Convincing them to join the Dark Lord’s cause? That would be almost too easy.
They already enjoyed power, and already took pleasure in watching others cower before them. All they needed was the right push—the promise that under the Dark Lord, they could wield their magic without restraint, without consequence.
Regulus smirked to himself. Some pieces were already falling into place.