THE WEDDING
The train ride home felt like an eternity. Regulus sat slouched against the window, the familiar hum of the train doing nothing to soothe his restless thoughts. Outside, the landscape blurred into streaks of green and gold, but he barely noticed. All he could think about was James—James’s kiss, James’s retreat, and the gnawing ache it left behind.
Across from him, Rosier and Barty were attempting to keep the mood light.
“You should have seen the look on Slughorn’s face when I handed in my potions final,” Barty said, grinning as he flipped through the pages of Witch Weekly. “I swear he thought I’d brewed Felix Felicis by accident.”
Rosier snorted, glancing sideways at Regulus. “Come on, Reggie, are you really going to mope all the way back to London? It’s over. Exams are done. Freedom awaits.”
Regulus didn’t respond. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, his fingers curled tightly in his lap.
Barty clicked his tongue. “Maybe he’s upset because he knows he won’t be seeing Potter all summer,” he teased, a sly grin spreading across his face.
Regulus shot him a sharp glare, but Barty just laughed. “Ah, there he is. I knew you had some fight left in you.”
Rosier sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Leave him alone, Barty. It’s been a long term.”
The train slowed as they approached the station, the familiar sound of wheels screeching against the track signaling their arrival. Regulus felt his stomach churn as the train finally stopped, the reality of what awaited him outside pressing down like a weight on his chest.
When he stepped off the train, the first thing he saw was his father standing stiffly near the edge of the platform, his dark robes pristine as ever. Kreacher was by his side, holding an umbrella despite the absence of rain.
Regulus froze for a moment, dread curling in his stomach. What would his father say? How much did he know about Regulus’s memory?
“Reggie,” came a voice from behind, startling him out of his thoughts.
Sirius strolled up, sunglasses perched on his nose and a backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked completely unbothered, his hair as wild as ever.
“Father looks like he’s been dipped in vinegar,” Sirius said, nodding toward Orion with a grin.
Regulus managed a weak smile, but Sirius didn’t seem to notice how tense he was.
Sirius nudged him with an elbow. “Relax, little brother. What’s he going to do, glare us to death?”
Before Regulus could respond, Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”
They walked together toward their father and Kreacher, Sirius still chuckling quietly to himself. Regulus kept his eyes on the ground, bracing himself for whatever was about to come.
As Sirius and Regulus approached Orion and Kreacher, Sirius pulled off his sunglasses, hooking them into the collar of his shirt. His grin widened into something sharper, a clear show of rebellion, as he called out, “Hello, Father. Fancy seeing you out in the sun. Thought you preferred dungeons and caskets.”
Orion rolled his eyes. “Sirius,” he said curtly. “How generous of you to grace us with your presence.”
Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. “Anything for a family reunion. You know how sentimental I am.”
Kreacher, who had been standing stiffly next to Orion, let out a low, disgruntled sound. “Filthy blood traitor,” the elf muttered under his breath, casting a venomous glare at Sirius.
Regulus glanced nervously between them, wishing he could disappear.
Orion ignored Sirius and shifted his attention to Regulus. His demeanor changed, but not in a comforting way. He tilted his head slightly, regarding Regulus like a professor addressing a particularly dense student.
“I AM ORION,” he began, his voice slow and deliberate, “YOUR FATHER”
Regulus stared at him, stunned.
“THIS,” Orion continued, gesturing toward the small figure beside him, “IS KREACHER. HE IS A HOUSE-ELF. HOUSE-ELVES ARE MAGICAL BEINGS THAT ASSIST FAMILIES LIKE OURS WITH DOMESTIC ACTIVITIES—”
Regulus’s brow furrowed, disbelief flashing across his face. “I know who you are,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than intended. “And I know who Kreacher is. I have memory loss, not a complete lack of intelligence.”
Kreacher, standing a little straighter now, glanced at Regulus with something resembling pride. “Master Regulus is as sharp as ever,” he muttered approvingly, throwing another glare at Sirius.
Sirius snorted, clearly enjoying the scene. “Well, looks like little Reggie hasn’t lost his bite. Good for you.”
Orion’s lips thinned, but he gave a clipped nod. “Of course. Of course.” He didn’t apologize, simply straightened his robes and turned toward the exit.
“Come,” he said, his tone final.
As they made their way out of the station, Kreacher stuck close to Regulus, occasionally muttering disparaging comments about Sirius under his breath. Sirius, for his part, seemed utterly unbothered, occasionally making exaggerated faces at Kreacher just to provoke him.
Regulus, walking between them, felt like he was caught in a storm.
As they entered the dimly lit halls of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the weight of the house’s oppressive atmosphere settled over them.
Walburga Black was waiting for them in the sitting room, her severe gaze fixed on the doorway the moment they entered. Her posture was rigid, and her thin lips pressed into a line of disapproval as she took in her sons.
“Regulus,” Orion began, gesturing toward her, “this is your mother, Walburga.” His voice was slightly louder than necessary, carrying the same over-enunciated tone he’d used earlier.
“I know,” Regulus replied tersely, his patience wearing thin. “I remember who my mother is.”
Walburga’s sharp eyes snapped to him, narrowing slightly. “Do you? I sent a boy in perfect health to Hogwarts, and now I get back someone who can’t even remember his own family properly. Tell me, Regulus, what exactly happened to you? What sort of trouble did you get into?”
Regulus squared his shoulders, fighting the urge to flinch under her scrutiny. “I can remember you perfectly well,” he said calmly, though his voice carried an edge.
Walburga sniffed, unimpressed. “You’d better,” she muttered. Then, throwing her hands up, she added, “I knew I should have sent you both to Durmstrang! That school knows how to instill discipline. Hogwarts, useless, the lot of them. Allowing my sons to run wild, one turning into—” She stopped short, glaring pointedly at Sirius.
“Go on,” Sirius said, a mocking smile on his face. “Don’t hold back. What exactly have I turned into?”
Walburga sneered. “You’ve disgraced this family enough without me wasting my breath. And you,” she turned her attention back to Regulus, “letting yourself go around kissing boys. I should’ve known better than to expect anything different from two boys raised in the company of fools.”
“Missed you too, Mum,” Sirius drawled, leaning casually against the doorway. “Really warms my heart to see you again. So much love in this house.”
Regulus stayed quiet, studying her closely. This version of his mother was harsh, yes, but not nearly as venomous as the Walburga he had known. There was no shrill shouting, no cruel hexes hurled in anger. Her disapproval was barbed, but not poisonous, not yet, anyway.
“I’ll remind you both,” Walburga continued, her voice cold, “that you carry the name Black. Regulus, you may have lost your memory, but you will not embarrass this family further. And Sirius—”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Sirius interrupted, pushing off the doorframe and spreading his arms theatrically. “I’m thriving. Really, Mum, you’d be proud if you weren’t so busy pretending to hate me.”
Walburga’s lips thinned, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she turned on her heel with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m done wasting my time. Orion, see to it they’re not causing trouble before dinner.”
As she swept out of the room, Sirius let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “She’s mellowed, hasn’t she? Not a single curse word hurled my way. I almost feel neglected.”
Regulus remained silent, his mind racing. This Walburga was unpleasant, but not monstrous. He couldn’t decide whether that difference made him feel relieved or more unsettled.
...
The dining room of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was oppressively silent, the weight of old expectations and traditions hanging heavily in the air. The Black family’s house-elf, Kreacher, moved silently around the table, ensuring everything was in its proper place. Orion sat at the head of the table, his expression impassive but his eyes watchful, while Walburga maintained her usual air of stern disapproval.
Regulus sat quietly, barely touching his plate, his eyes darting between his parents and Sirius, bracing for the inevitable.
“Well,” Orion began, setting his fork down and clasping his hands in front of him. “Now that Hogwarts is behind you, Sirius, what exactly are your plans? Surely you’ve given it some thought.”
Sirius smirked, leaning back in his chair. “I’m applying for a job at the Ministry,” he said casually.
Walburga’s eyes lit up, and she sat up straighter. “Finally,” she said with a satisfied nod. “Some sense has come to that head of yours. A respectable career, as you should have. I’ll start looking into suitable matches for you as well. A proper wife from a good family will straighten you out further—”
Sirius barked out a laugh mid-bite, and a piece of bread flew from his mouth onto the table. Walburga recoiled in disgust.
“Sirius Black!” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through stone. “What appalling manners! You are a disgrace at this table—”
Still laughing, Sirius wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Relax, Mum. No need to waste your energy. I won’t be needing a wife, now or ever.”
Walburga’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And why is that, Sirius? What nonsensical rebellion are you planning now?”
He grinned, his voice light and mocking as he delivered the blow. “Because I’m moving in with Remus.”
For a moment, the table was eerily silent, the only sound the faint clinking of Kreacher’s plates in the kitchen. Then Walburga stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly against the floor.
“You dare,” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. “A half-blood? That filthy little—”
“Careful, Mum,” Sirius interrupted, his tone turning icy. “That filthy little half-blood is my boyfriend and, worth more than every pureblood you fawn over.”
“You will not speak to me like that!” she shrieked, her voice rising with every word. “You bring shame upon this family, Sirius. Have you no pride? No loyalty to your blood?”
Sirius shot up from his chair, his temper flaring to match hers. “No pride? I have plenty of pride. Pride enough not to care about the outdated nonsense you spout every bloody day. I don’t care about your bloodlines, your traditions, or your pathetic attempts to control my life!”
“You ungrateful brat!” Walburga screamed, slamming her hand down on the table. “You will ruin yourself, just like you ruin everything you touch. If you had any decency, you’d—”
“Enough!” Orion’s voice cut through the argument like a whip, but neither of them seemed to hear.
Regulus shrank in his seat, wishing he could disappear entirely. He kept his head down, focusing on the pattern of his plate, while his parents’ voices and Sirius’s retorts filled the room with venom.
Finally, Walburga pointed a trembling finger toward the door. “Get out! Go to your room! I will not have you speaking to me like this under my roof!”
Sirius gave her a mocking bow. “Gladly. It’s always such a pleasure, Mum.” He grabbed his chair, pushed it roughly against the table, and strode out, slamming the door behind him.
In the silence that followed, Regulus risked a glance at Walburga, whose face was flushed with anger, and then at Orion, who looked weary but unsurprised. Regulus swallowed hard, the knot in his stomach tightening. If this was how things started, he dreaded what the summer would bring.
Sirius stormed into his room, slamming the door behind him. His chest heaved with emotion as he began yanking clothes from his wardrobe and shoving them into a battered old trunk. His hands shook as he worked, a few hot tears escaping despite his efforts to hold them back. The weight of the argument downstairs, the years of conflict, and the harsh words from his mother all pressed down on him like a suffocating fog.
He didn’t notice when Orion entered the room until his father spoke.
“What are you doing, Sirius?” Orion’s tone was calm but carried a hint of exasperation.
Sirius didn’t look up. “I’m leaving,” he said, his voice hoarse as he kept packing. “I’m not going to let her do this to me anymore.”
Orion sighed and stepped further into the room. Without a word, he reached into the trunk and began taking Sirius’s things out, folding them neatly and placing them back on the bed.
“What are you doing?” Sirius demanded, his voice rising in frustration.
“I’m unpacking,” Orion said simply. “You’re being dramatic, Sirius. There’s no need to leave. This is your house.”
Sirius stopped, staring at his father in disbelief before sinking onto the edge of his bed. His shoulders slumped, and tears continued to streak his face. “She hates me,” he muttered. “I can’t stay here. I can’t pretend like it doesn’t matter. I love Remus, and she-she’ll never accept that.”
Orion continued placing the clothes back into the wardrobe, his movements steady. “I know,” he said, almost too softly.
Sirius looked up sharply, caught off guard by the quiet acknowledgment. “You know?”
Orion paused, turning slightly to look at his son. “Of course, I know. You’ve never been one to hide how you feel about anything, Sirius.” He turned back to the wardrobe. “But this is your home, whether she approves or not. You don’t have to leave to prove a point.”
Sirius ran a hand through his hair, his emotions still raw. “I won’t marry,” he said suddenly, almost defiantly. “You know that, right? I won’t play along with her plans, with her ridiculous notions of what our family should be.”
Orion stopped unpacking and turned to face him fully, his expression unreadable. “I don’t think you will,” he said after a moment. “But I do think you’re moving in with this boy—what’s his name, Ronald Lewis?”
Sirius let out a short, incredulous laugh despite himself. “It’s Remus Lupin, Dad.”
“Right, Lupin,” Orion said, waving a hand dismissively. “The point is, you’re moving in with someone you claim to love. That, to me, sounds an awful lot like marriage. One happier than mine for a instance."
Sirius blinked, taken aback by the statement. He let out a bitter chuckle. “In that case, I’ll be marrying a half-blood. That’s hardly ‘Toujours Pur,’ is it?”
Orion surprised him by sitting down on the bed beside him. For a moment, they sat in silence, and then Orion spoke, his voice low and contemplative. “I married my cousin. My first cousin, of all things. If that’s what it takes to stay ‘pure,’ then maybe we can’t afford to be Toujours Pur anymore. Perhaps it’s time for something else.” He glanced at Sirius, a faint, almost conspiratorial smile on his face. “Toujours Semi-Pur, maybe?”
Sirius stared at him for a moment, and then a genuine laugh burst from his chest. It wasn’t loud or long, but it felt like a release, a crack in the tension that had been building for years.
“Toujours Semi-Pur,” Sirius repeated, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re something else, Dad.”
Sirius sniffed, wiping the remaining tears from his face with the back of his hand. He gave his father a wry smile. “Does this mean you’ll be visiting me and Remus in London?”
Orion raised an eyebrow as though the question was absurd. “Of course, I’ll visit. Especially since I’ll be expecting grandchildren at some point.”
Sirius let out a startled laugh, his cheeks flushing slightly. “Grandchildren?” he repeated, amused. “Dad, I don’t think you quite understand how these things work.”
Orion waved a dismissive hand, leaning back in his chair. “Nonsense. The other day, I used a spell to un-shatter an entire set of crystal goblets after your mother went on one of her tirades. They were in shards, Sirius—pieces no bigger than a Knut—and I put them back together perfectly, with no seams or cracks. If magic can do that, I’m quite certain two blokes having a child won’t be a problem. There is always adoption."
Sirius stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter, the tension in his chest finally starting to ease.
“And besides,” Orion added with a small, knowing smile, “I’d like a girl this time. I’m tired of boys with runny noses sprinting around the house, breaking things. A little calm might be nice for a change.”
Sirius raised an eyebrow, still chuckling. “Oh, yeah? A girl would fix that? You do realize she’d be a Black, don’t you? Adopted or not, she’d probably be the one teaching the runny-nosed boys how to get into trouble.”
Orion chuckled, leaning forward slightly. “True. But at least with a girl, and the way this family seems to go, you’d have better odds than me of actually ending up with a daughter-in-law someday.”
Sirius couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking his head in disbelief. He looked at his father for a moment, a rare warmth settling between them. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Orion shrugged, his smile faint but genuine.
Without thinking, Sirius leaned over and hugged his father tightly. It was a brief moment, but it said everything he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud.
“Thanks, Dad,” Sirius murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
Orion patted his back once, then stood up, brushing off his robes. “Anytime, Sirius. Now, finish unpacking. And try to keep your mother’s blood pressure low for at least the next twenty-four hours, will you?”
Sirius smirked, wiping his face one last time. “No promises.”