Back From The Dead
Regulus Black steps out of the shower and casts a drying spell over his body. He leaves his hair wet, dripping down over his eyes, and leans against the sink holding tight to each side. The water from his black curls drips into the marble basin leaving a small puddle just before the drain. He reaches a hand up to wipe the fog from the ornate mirror over the sink and sighs looking at his reflection.
For a man of just twenty-four, the image looking back at him from the mirror is worn. He’s aged in the five years since the end of the war. After Voldemort fell and disappeared, presumed dead, Regulus became somewhat of a recluse. Aside from a few close confidants from his childhood, he’d kept to himself, hiding out in Grimmauld Place as the sole owner of his home. His parents abandoned it (and him), leaving London shortly after the war to save face and avoid prosecution. His brother, Sirius, wanted nothing to do with their family home, or Regulus for that matter and just as quickly disappeared. So, begrudgingly, he’d holed up in Grimmauld Place, the last of the Black’s left unwed and alive and willing to call it ‘home’.
Regulus finally moves from the bathroom sink and into his bedroom. It’s still early, the morning light is barely peeking through the thick emerald curtains and the room is covered in shadows. He sits down on his bed and summons his dress robes from the closet. They fly towards him leaving a cloud of dust in their wake - something he’ll have to get Kreacher to work on later before the rest of his room falls into dusty disrepair. After dressing he casts drying and styling spells over his hair, leaving the ringlets springy and perfectly coiffed in place framing his sharp cheekbones. He straightens out his dress robes and makes his way down to the kitchens.
Portraits of Black ancestors still line the walls of Grimmauld and they gawk and grimace and hurl insults as Regulus makes his way through the hall and down the long staircase. He grips the dark wood banister as a portrait shouts insults at him, and his shoulders sag. The last of the Blacks in the home, but a disappointment to all it seems.
“Besmirched the family line you have,” the old portrait sneers. “Can’t bring about an heir, can’t bring about honor, and your hand in bringing ann end to the dar-.”
Regulus doesn’t catch the end as he thankfully reaches the landing of the first floor cutting off the sound. He smells coffee, and hears his house elf bustling around in the kitchen. Smiling to himself, he thinks the morning might just turn around.
Kreacher is humming softly as he stands over the stove cooking a light breakfast for Regulus. A pot of coffee waits for him, and he pours himself a mug taking no cream or sugar in it. He sits at the worn wooden table and sighs.
“Ah Master Regulus is awake! Good!” Kreacher chimes without looking away from his cooking. “I’ll have your breakfast ready soon.”
“I’m not very hungry this morning, Kreacher,” Regulus grumbles.
“You need all your strength today,” responds Kreacher. “Young master needs you to have your strength too.”
“I know,” Regulus says, leaning down to put his head in his left hand. “It’s just been a while since I’ve put myself out there and I don’t know if I’m ready for all that comes with it.”
“You are ready, sir. You’re ready and you will do it for the boy.”
“Yes,” Regulus says, smiling in spite of himself. “I suppose you’re right.”
Kreacher pops down from his stool to bring Regulus a tray of fruit, ham and toast. He sets in front of him and bows moving to take his exit. “As they say, ‘you’ve got this.’”
Regulus chuckles as Kreacher leaves the kitchen. He finishes his food, just barely, he hardly has an appetite these days, and stands straightening out his dress robes. He takes a deep breath and walks out onto the stoop of Grimmauld Place, turning on the spot to apparate to the Ministry of Magic.
By the time Regulus lands on the side street leading to the visitors entrance it’s downpouring. Quickly conjuring an umbrella, he casts a drying charm on his robes, and moves forward towards the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. The lone telephone booth stands, bright red even in the pouring rain, and Regulus enters it dialing out to proceed. A cool voice asks for his name, which he repeats, and his business at the Ministry (a legal meeting) before spitting out his name badge and descending below ground into the Ministry.
Regulus steps out of the toll booth and into the bustling Ministry of Magic atrium. It’s busy, even for the early morning hour, as workers walk to their destinations briskly and with purpose. Regulus does the same keeping his head low and avoiding making eye contact with those around him. The less people they notice him the better. He makes a beeline for the elevators and quickly presses the corresponding button to take him to the lower floors to meet his solicitor. Thankfully, he’s able to close the lift before anyone joins him, though he feels a little bad for the man that had been running to catch it before it closed. He has no time or patience for small talk today. The lift clanks and sputters, finally stopping with a thud as Regulus steps out into the hall leading to the many courtrooms in the Ministry. About three rooms down, Regulus spots his solicitor standing and waiting for him.
Dorcas Meadowes grin is wide and bright as she watches Regulus approach. She is dressed in a simple suit, braids long down her back. She is a picture of sophistication and class. As soon as he’s close enough, she grabs him by the shoulders and brings him to her in a vice-like hug squeezing him tight.
“Thank you for doing this,” Regulus whispers.
“Anything, friend,” replies Dorcas. “You know that I am always here for you. And I haven’t seen enough of you lately, honestly, just excited you’re gracing me with your presence.”
Regulus smirks, backing away from Dorcas’ embrace, “Do you think they’ll side with me?”
“Definitely,” Dorcas smiles. “Let’s go in, shall we?”
Regulus nervously cracks his knuckles as they take their seats at one of the tables before the Wizengamot leader’s bench. He looks to his right and sees the other solicitor, hair pulled back in a tight bun, glasses down on her nose, and frowning into her paperwork. He looks away worried. Dorcas squeezes his hand gently as the Wizengamot Honourable
leading the case begins to speak.
“I see here that we’ve come together this morning to discuss the custody of Draco Malfoy, age five?” The portly man seated at the front asks.
“That is correct,” responds Dorcas confidently. “Dorcas Meadowes presenting, Your Honourable, sir. My client was chosen by the young boy's parents as guardian and therefore this decision should be swift and easy.” The woman to their right scoffs.
“That may very well be,” the second solicitor says snidely. “But, we at the Department for the Welfare of Underage Wizards hardly think Mr. Black is a viable candidate to take on the responsibilities of a child. Martha Edgewater Your Honourable.”
“Narcissa and Lucius firmly stated in their will that should they both lose their lives, they would want Regulus to care for their child,” Dorcas responds smoothly. “In fact, they went as far as to state that they felt he was the only one that would raise Draco with their best interests in mind.”
Regulus feels himself grow hot. He hadn’t known Lucius’ feelings on the matter, Narcissa’s surely, but the patriarch had hardly spoken three words to him on time he’d known him. Lucius and Narcissa’s passing was a shock to the wizarding community. They had grown leaps and bounds in the five years since Voldemort’s demise to rehabilitate their images and work towards unification for all wizard kind. Regulus was surprised that Lucius was on board in choosing him as a candidate to raise their son and so confident in his abilities as a father figure, but then again he’d do anything for his wife and her love for Regulus knew no bounds.
“The evidence stands, here, that Mr. Black has been out of touch with wizarding Britain for far too long. He clearly has been hiding for his past sins and we believe his actions, both past and present, would affect this child quite negatively.” Regulus rolls eyes, but quickly puts his head back down as he realizes the Wizengamot leader is watching him carefully.
Dorcas shrieks, “Regulus’ past has nothing to do with his ability to raise a child here in the present. He has paid for his discretions and I think we all would do well to remember the part he played in the downfall of the Dark Lord.”
Regulus clears his throat as Dorcas continues, “Regulus would be the perfect candidate for this child as he will not only instill his parents values, but he too has the means and ability to raise him, and is willing to do so. Still, most importantly he is family. Don’t we owe it to Draco to keep his life somewhat normal and allow him to remain with family?”
“The means to raise him?” Questions the other solicitor. “Mr. Black is currently unmarried, yes? Is Mr. Black also not an Unspeakable for the Department of Ministries? To me this seems highly dangerous! Mr. Black, what exactly does your job entail.”
“Well,” responds Regulus flatly. “I am an Unspeakable. So, I can’t speak about it.”
Dorcas places a hand on Regulus’ shoulder to stop him before he goes too far.
Martha looks at Regulus and asks, “When you are called to do your duties, who will take the child? Do you have back up? Should something happen, what are your plans for Draco?”
Regulus takes a deep breath, “I have friends that I consider family, and I can assure you that my job won’t -.”
“But you’re an Unspeakable, so really your assurance means nothing-.”
Dorcas cuts in, “It’s irrelevant. What matters is that Regulus can take care of this child financially, emotionally, and every other way that he needs. Your Honourable, I think this is enough back and forth, perhaps you could make your decision.”
The man clears his throat, wiping his brow with a handkerchief and looks between Dorcas, Regulus, and the other solicitor. “Yes, we’ll, given all the evidence, and taking into account the wishes of the parents now deceased, I believe it is in the best interest of the child to be released into the care of Regulus Black.” Martha scoffs, throwing her hands in the air. Dorcas grabs Regulus into another serpentine hug. “Thank you,” he whispers into her hair.
“You’re going to be amazing,” she says. “Please remember you have a village in this. We’re all here for you.” They stand, Dorcas moving to collect her belongings and Regulus turning to Martha to see what comes next.
“Well, are you ready to take him now then,” the solicitor asks abruptly, frowning from her table.
“Take him?” Asks Regulus. “You mean he’s here at the Ministry? Now?”
“Yes, come along then,” she says pointing in the direction of the doors.