Hibiscus
Regulus stared at Walburga, his grey eyes wide with disbelief.
"What?" he breathed, scarcely able to comprehend her words.
Walburga Black did not look up from her parchment, the scratch of her quill the only sound in the dimly lit study.
"Are you deaf, Regulus?" she asked, her voice laced with disdain.
Regulus drew in a shaky breath, the weight of her words settling heavily upon his chest. He swallowed, his throat dry.
"No, Mother. I heard you perfectly well," he said, voice taut with restraint. "When will it happen?"
Walburga finally set her quill aside, her sharp eyes gleaming in the candlelight as she regarded her son.
"Next week," she said, smoothing a crease from her sleeve. "Your father and I must finalise the arrangements with the bride’s family."
Regulus felt his stomach drop.
"Next week?" he repeated, his voice rising in pitch. "But I hardly even know her! And I’ve only just turned eighteen!"
The room seemed to grow colder. Walburga's lips thinned, and she slowly rose from her chair, her imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room.
"You dare raise your voice at me?" she hissed, each word sharp as a dagger.
A chill prickled Regulus' skin, and he instinctively lowered his gaze.
"Forgive me, Mother," he whispered, bowing his head.
Walburga resumed tidying her desk with precise, deliberate movements.
"Blame your brother," she said, her tone venomous. "It was Sirius who should have borne this responsibility. But he abandoned us. Abandoned you." She turned to face Regulus, her voice dripping with bitterness. "And now you must carry the burden he so carelessly cast aside."
Regulus felt a swell of anger and despair rise within him, a tempest of emotions he dared not show. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into flesh.
He flinched when he felt Walburga's hand on his shoulder, her grip cold and firm.
"Compose yourself," she said, her voice devoid of sympathy. "We leave in a few hours to dine at their manor."
Regulus nodded stiffly and retreated from the room, the heavy oak door closing behind him with a soft thud.
He ascended the grand staircase to his room, each step heavier than the last. Once inside, he stood motionless, his mind racing. The thought of marrying a stranger, of his life being dictated by duty, twisted like a knife in his chest.
He sank onto the edge of his bed, staring blankly at the floor. The storm in his mind raged on, thoughts colliding until he no longer knew what he felt. After a long while, he shook himself from his stupor and forced himself to dress, his hands trembling as he fastened the silver clasp of his cloak.
Duty. Legacy. Sacrifice.
He had been raised to carry the weight of the Black name, but he had never imagined it would feel quite so suffocating.
—
The Greengrass Manor
The Greengrass Manor stood tall and proud, well-known among the old wizarding families. The estate stretched across wide grounds, surrounded by ancient trees and carefully tended gardens filled with magical plants. The air smelled of damp earth and blooming roses, so different from the cold, shadowy Grimmauld Place.
Regulus Black shifted in his robes, his fingers twitching at his sides. Everything here felt so alive — unfamiliar, yet intriguing.
"Welcome, Black family!" a voice called out, warm and friendly.
Regulus looked up to see a tall wizard with sharp green eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He assumed this was Mr. Greengrass.
"Hello, my friend," Orion Black greeted, nodding politely.
"You know my wife, Walburga," Orion added, gesturing to the stern-looking woman beside him.
Walburga gave a small, stiff smile, which Mr. Greengrass returned with genuine kindness.
"Of course," Mr. Greengrass said with a slight bow. "And this must be young Regulus. My future son-in-law, if all goes well?" He chuckled, stepping forward and resting a hand on Regulus' shoulder.
Walburga’s eyes gleamed with quiet pride. "Indeed."
Regulus blinked, his cheeks warming. "Thank you, sir. It’s nice to meet you."
"No need for ‘sir,’" Mr. Greengrass said with a hearty laugh. "Call me Uncle. We’re to be family, after all."
Regulus nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. The warmth in Mr. Greengrass’s voice felt strange, almost unfamiliar — but not unpleasant.
"Come in, come in! My wife’s been in the kitchen all afternoon." Mr. Greengrass flicked his wand, and the grand front doors swung open with a soft creak. The rich scent of herbs and roasting meat filled the air.
Walburga let out a sharp laugh. "No house-elves, then?"
"Oh, we have house-elves," Mr. Greengrass said with a playful glint in his eye. "But my wife enjoys cooking. Says it relaxes her."
They walked through the manor, their footsteps echoing on the polished stone floors. The walls were lined with portraits of Greengrass ancestors, some watching silently, while others whispered behind their frames.
The dining hall was filled with food — roast beef, buttered potatoes, and more. Crystal goblets sparkled under the glow of a floating chandelier, and magic hummed quietly in the air.
"Good evening! Please, do make yourselves at home," came a gentle and sweet voice. A lady glided into the room, her hands carrying a plate piled high with savory tarts — Regulus’ favorite.
"This is my wife, Annie," Mr. Greengrass introduced, pride clear in his voice.
Walburga greeted Annie with a brief, formal hug, while Orion offered a curt nod and a faint smile.
"You must be Regulus!" Annie Greengrass beamed, stepping toward him with open arms. Before he could react, she wrapped him in a warm embrace, the scent of lavender clinging to her robes. Regulus stiffened, unfamiliar with such affection, but something about her kindness chipped away at his defenses.
Annie released him, her smile unwavering, but the moment was interrupted by hurried footsteps echoing through the corridor.
"Mummy, have you seen the bracelet?" A girl appeared in the doorway, chest heaving as she caught her breath. She froze upon spotting the Black family, her eyes wide with surprise.
"My apologies for the interruption," she said quickly, bowing her head.
"No worries, darling." Annie handed her daughter the bracelet with a soft chuckle.
The girl turned back to the guests, straightening her posture. "Good evening. I’m Adella Greengrass," she said, her voice clear and bright as her smile. Regulus felt a strange sense of relief at her presence, as if her sincerity soothed some of his unease.
Adella stepped toward Walburga, exchanging a brief hug before offering Regulus a small wave. His heart thudded in response, but he merely returned the gesture with a stiff nod.
"Shall we start dinner?" Mr. Greengrass suggested, already leading the way.
As they followed, Walburga’s fingers clamped tightly around Regulus' arm. "Sit beside her," she whispered, her voice sharp as a blade.
Regulus nodded without a word, dutifully holding out the chair next to Adella before lowering himself into the seat.
"May I?" he asked, his voice quieter than he intended.
Adella looked up, her eyes gleaming with kindness. "Of course," she said, her smile steadying him more than he cared to admit.
The family settled in, the table alive with chatter and the clinking of silverware.
While they ate, Adella couldn’t help but notice Regulus idly pushing his food around his plate. He hadn’t taken much, and most of the dishes sat far out of his reach.
"Regulus," Adella whispered, leaning slightly toward him. He stiffened, glancing up at her with wide eyes, afraid he might have done something to offend her.
"Would you like some more food?" she asked gently, her eyes glimmering with concern, though she kept her smile steady.
"Oh, no need. I’m all right, Adella," Regulus muttered, ducking his head. But he wasn’t all right. The scent of the savory tarts lingered, teasing his senses, yet he dared not ask for one. He didn't want to seem greedy or rude.
Adella tilted her head, studying him. "Don’t be shy," she said softly, her gaze flicking to the array of dishes on the table. Her smile returned as she leaned closer. "Would you like one of the tarts my mum made?"
Regulus’s eyes lit up before he could mask his excitement, and Adella noticed right away. Without a word, she leaned toward her mother, whispering something. A moment later, Annie Greengrass passed the plate of tarts to her daughter.
"Here you go," Adella said, placing the plate in front of him with a bright smile.
"Thank you, Adella," Regulus whispered, his voice barely above a breath. He picked up a tart carefully, as if afraid it might disappear if he moved too quickly.
"Just tell me if you want anything else," Adella added, her tone playful. "Mum would want you to be full until your stomach explodes." She giggled, returning to her meal.
Regulus bit into the tart, the buttery pastry melting on his tongue. He smiled to himself as he chewed, savoring both the food and the warmth spreading through his chest.
As he ate, a voice broke through his thoughts.
"Regulus? What have you been up to these days?" Oliver Greengrass inquired, cutting into his roast with ease.
Regulus froze for a moment, feeling the weight of his mother’s sharp gaze. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt beneath the table, straightening his posture.
"I’ve been reading and writing literature, Uncle," Regulus replied, offering a polite smile, though the word 'Uncle' still felt foreign on his tongue. "It may sound dull, but it broadens my understanding of wizarding history — and expands my vocabulary." He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin, glancing at Walburga, who gave an approving nod.
Oliver chuckled, his eyes gleaming. "You remind me of myself at your age. Always had my nose stuck in a book."
"It’s true," Orion Black added, smirking. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a book in hand."
As the adults sank into conversation, Regulus quietly resumed his meal, only noticing Adella when she turned towards him.
"I like to read, too," she said with a bright smile. "Though I prefer astronomy and herbology." She giggled, her voice as light as air.
Regulus returned her smile, relaxing slightly. "I noticed your names are stars — yours and your father’s. It’s quite fascinating,"
Adella beamed. "I’ve always dreamed of naming my children after stars."
Regulus faltered, the words twisting in his chest. He never liked that particular Black family tradition — it tied him too closely to the shadows of his lineage. Yet, somehow, hearing Adella say it made it feel... different.
She gasped, her cheeks pink. "Oh! I’m sorry — I didn’t mean to talk about children so soon."
Regulus shook his head, chuckling softly. "No need to apologize. It’s lovely that you want to do that."
Adella fiddled with her fork, her voice quiet. "I’m glad you think so. My friends say it’s a silly idea."
Regulus’s smile softened. "I promise, it isn’t silly to me."
Adella’s face lit up as she reached for the serving dishes. "Would you like more potatoes? Or meat? Or maybe dessert?" Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks turning redder by the second.
"Dessert sounds nice," Regulus said, his voice warm.
Adella asked her father to pass the chocolate cake, placing it carefully in front of Regulus. As she lifted the knife, Regulus reached out. "Let me do it," he offered, and their hands brushed — a fleeting, gentle touch.
Regulus served her a slice first, then himself, and they continued to talk. For the first time in his life, he felt something new stir within him — a quiet, unfamiliar comfort.
He felt full, not just with food, but with something he had never known before: belonging.
He wasn’t used to this kind of gentle affection, this easy kindness. His family didn't show love like this — not to each other, and certainly not to outsiders.
Maybe, he thought, this arranged marriage wouldn’t be so terrible after all.