London Calling
Regulus stood in his fathers office and let the silence thicken. He’d been summoned back to Grimwald Place the moment he’d stepped into his flat on Diagon Alley. An impressive feat given the number of wards he had on the place to prevent anyone but Pandora access. Still he wasn’t surprised. His mother was the most powerful witch of her generation. He’d ignored the summons long enough to shower and change but knew that sleep would need to happen later. He blinked slowly, displaying only a calm bored exterior. It had taken far more effort than he’d expected to banish James from his accessible mind, making sure all that joy and pleasure was buried deep under layers and layers of inconsequential random thoughts that protected his vault. Now he focused only on his story and the probable reason he was here - Which of the two women his mother had chosen for him to marry.
Regulus ran through what little he knew of each of them. ‘At least neither of them are cousins. Maman must be furious. I’m about to dilute the family name.’ He thought and chuckled wearily.
- Elsbeth Parkinson. Lively, charming, clever. Takes no prisoners. Not a fan of my mother. It’s mutual. Family connections limited in business though very active in the Quidditch community and has family connections throughout the ministry. Father is a fan.
- Salseema Flint. Quiet, unobtrusive, also clever but doesn’t like to shine. Family is mid-tier but has money and good business connections. Clearly my mother’s favourite. Father less keen.
Outside the rain lashed at the beautiful stained glass windows hidden behind heavy dark curtains. Regulus suppressed a sigh. The curtains had always been an excellent indication of his parents' mood. Open meant a business discussion as the window was a sign of wealth and power, closed and there was trouble brewing.
Slowly his mother raised her head to stare at him. He’d inherited her sharp cheekbones, dark hair and pale skin, though his silver eyes were a throwback to a distant ancestor. Walburga had been beautiful once.’ Regulus recalled. Tall and elegant. Brilliant at magic and manipulation. The perfect companion to his handsome, wealthy father who ran a large business empire across Britain and France. Now Walburga looked gaunt and sallow with discolored, angry eyes and thin, bloodless lips. ‘Dark magic has its price.’ He mused, remembering the changes in Voldemort as the war progressed. Regulus waited. This was a game he’d been playing since he was four years old. Sirius used to break first. He always was impatient. And hated silence. Then their father. Then mother. How long she waited was another indication of mood and possible consequences. The silence crowded in on them. Regulus waited.
“Our Dark Lord is dead.” Walburga barked into the room.
Regulus remained impassive, his voice completely devoid of emotion as he replied. “Yes Maman. I was told he died in the hotel massacre.”
“No. You stupid boy. He escaped, though only just.” She stared deeper into his unsettling impassive eyes. Regulus could feel the slam as his mother rifled through his mind. “But you already knew that.”
Regulus shrugged “I suspected as no body was discovered. The Dark Lord is too experienced not to have foreseen that possible ending to his plans and would have had contingencies in place.”
Silence. Walburga prodded and probed. Regulus fed her images of grey skies, stormy seas, a neutral room and books.
“Where have you been this past week?” She asked, clearly frustrated by his lack of anything useful.
“Recuperating.”
“You were not in your flat.”
“I found an obscure seaside town and stayed there so as to not inadvertently reinfect the family.”
“What do you know of the Dark Lords death?” Walburga snapped, hoping to catch Regulus off guard.
“Nothing. What happened?” Regulus was curious despite himself.
“The ministry. Dumbledore is claiming that his agents found Voldemort on the continent and after a difficult battle killed him and the Lamia he was with.”
“So it’s finally done then. Dumbledore has gotten his way and we can get on with our lives.” Regulus said, his tone filled with contempt for his former headmaster despite his inner amusement.
In that moment Regulis decided that he would celebrate his own genius later when everything was finished. Apparating a dead Voldemort and Nagini to an agent in France he knew would take the credit, and at a specific time had taken a great deal of research and skill. But he had done it. The fall out would be fascinating to watch.
“And what life would that be? Do you expect to remain as Lord Black? Dumbledore will persecute all those who followed our Lord now that there is a body.” Walburga said with such bitterness Regulis was taken aback.
“And why, pray tell, would he come after us? What are you not telling me?” Regulus' indifference turned Siberian as he probed his mother’s mind with the same level of violence she had used on him.
Walburga gave an involuntary gasp and grasped the edge of the desk with claw-like hands. “Oh no you don’t.” She snarled, throwing up her mental shields.
Regulus barked a low, scornful laugh. “Too late.” And she was. Regulus tore through Walburga’s mind, ripping through the pain and despair his mother had taken so much pleasure inflicting on others. He smashed the images of her torturing her own children. Images so close to the front of her memory she clearly revisited them whenever she summoned him. He was sickened. He was furious. He may be broken but Regulus vowed that he would never become this creature. Then he found what his mother had so desperately tried to hide from him.
“Oh Mother. You’re right. There will be a price to pay.” Regulus dropped his hold on Walburga’s mind, resisting the urge to wipe his hands on the velvet curtains. “Now why did you summon me here?”
Walburga stared at her son with naked admiration. She didn’t care about the pain he had inflicted, or the images he had smashed. It was his power. So much power. So much potential. What he had done with raw talent was quite amazing but now he needed refinement. She would teach him. “That was well done my son. I will teach you how to refine the process so that you can get much more out of your victims.” Walburga said with such surgery sweetness Regulus wanted to retch.
“Another time. Why am I here?” Regulus repeated frostily.
“Ah yes. Your wedding. The date had been set for Thursday 22nd January. Invitations have been sent. Your cousin Bellatrix has graciously offered to host the event. New robes have been ordered and will arrive for the first fitting next month.” Walburga said all business once more.
Regulus let his frustration show as Walburga went through her list. “And who am I marrying? Do I need to organise a bridal gift or have you done that as well?”
Walbugra gave a mirthless laugh. “Your father and I agreed on Elsbeth Parkinson. We felt Salserma was not quite up to your level. Did you have a preference?”
‘Yes. Yes I do. And he’s now so far out of reach I may never recover.’ His heart cried before Regulus ruthlessly crushed it. “No.” He said instead “Elsbeth is appropriate.”
“Excellent. Anything you wish to add?”
“Make sure Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch jumior are invited. They were my particular friends at Hogwarts and highly regarded by Lord Voldemort. Do not invite Severus Snape. He will never be welcome in my presence. After that I don’t much care.” Regulus replied, wishing he could add Pandora as Evans' cousin but knowing it wouldn’t be wise. “Now I wish to see Father. Is he available?”
“He’s in his room. He did not recover as quickly as the rest of us,”
Regulus gave a curt nod and left the room without a backwards glance. Refusing to hurry, he made his way up to the bedroom he kept in the house, though he hated using it. Once behind the locked door Regulus strengthened every charm he had cast since he was eleven before collapsing down into the floor. What little that was left of his heart was shattered beyond repair thanks to his mother. The childish hope that maybe his mother had loved them once, even if she had never shown them. The cherished hope, that he was worthy of someone’s love, even if he didn’t believe that he was.
Slowly, Regulus pulled himself together. He would not cry. He would not rage. No. He would take this pain and he would lock it away. And when the time was right, he would use it. He would use it to its full extent, until all that was left was a hollow shell. A man others would address as Lord Regulus Arcturus Black.
His armour back in place, Regulus rose and went to see his father. Orion was seated on a daybed by the window going through accounts and business plans. He looked up as Regulus knocked and entered.
“Ah, Regulus my boy. Your Mother said you’d be coming by. You’re feeling better I trust,” Orion said
“I am Father. Thank you. How are you? Mother mentioned you wanted to see me.” Regulus lied smoothly.
“Yes. With your wedding date now set, it’s time you got to know the family business. We're more than simple wizards you know.” Orion chuckled at his own joke. Regulus ignored it and summoned a chair.
“I see you have been practicing. Your mother will be pleased. She was always the better witch. When we married we agreed that when the time was right she would educate our offspring in magic and I would educate my son in business.” Orion smiled with what Regulus thought was genuine fondness for Walburga. He and Sirius had often been told that theirs was a love match and the fact they were cousins had meant it was instantly approved by the whole family.
‘They’re well suited’ Regulus thought dispassionately. Love was something he would never have. Money and magic however. Those would be his for the taking. With that Regulus sat beside his father and the lessons began