Chapter 5
Regulus stares out of the window in the makeshift classroom in Grimmauld Place. Today, He and Stravius have set up in the library which means Regulus has a perfect view of the back garden out of the large window in the library. Stravius normally had the foresight to set the boy's desk up with his back turned to the window, so Regulus had been surprised when he had walked in that morning to see his desk sitting perpendicular to the window. Whatever Stravius’ reasoning for this, he wasn’t going to complain. Best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He is currently watching as a brown leaf fluttered up and around the window, twirling in the wind. With one last elegant swirl, the leaf violently slaps against the window as a strong gust of wind blows by. The sudden noise against the window pane makes Regulus jump, which in turn brings Stravius’ attention to him. However, rather than scold Regulus for not paying attention, the man just smiles and turns back to the chalkboard in front of him and continues on with his lecture on wand work.
Well, if he doesn’t care I guess I won’t either, Regulus thinks to himself as he turns back to the window. He has been in a rather sullen mood ever since his friends (no, not friends. Allies!) had visited a few weeks earlier. He had heard from each of them since then, all of them having decided to send Regulus owls every now and then. He had even heard from one of the portraits that Pandora had tried to floo call him, only to be shot down by his mother rather firmly. He supposed it had been too much to hope that he would be able to make friends with kids his age before he started Hogwarts. And at least there’s that - he would definitely be seeing Barty and Evan the following September at Hogwarts, and Pandora would follow the year after.
As Regulus continues to stare out the window, it begins to snow. Fat, lazy snowflakes flutter down from the grey sky and begin to coat the brown grass of their garden. The sight of the snow brings a small smile to his face. Snow means Christmas, and Christmas means Sirius. It won’t be long now before his brother returns to Grimmauld Place for the holidays and Regulus can hardly wait. The brief warmth that Barty, Evan, and Pandora brought with them had left a cold void when they left that had done nothing but worsen the void that Sirius had left as well. It was almost as if Grimmauld Place was just as desperate for some sort of life to be brought into the desolate home that it seemed to crumple in on itself in the absence of anyone who brought the light with them.
Regulus wished he could be the type of person that brings light and warmth with him. But similar to the long, dark hallways of their family's ancestral house, he felt as if he sucked the light out of any room he entered. There was a reason Sirius was considered the brightest star in the sky, he supposed.
“I think that should be enough for today,” Stravius’ voice startles Regulus out of his wallowing. He turns to look at his tutor and sees that the wizard has already shrunk his chalkboard and packed it into his magically extended briefcase. “I’d say that was a rather productive lesson, non?” He asks. Regulus looks at him in confusion. He knows that Stravius saw Regulus zoning out for most of the session. Stravius smiles at Regulus as he continues to pack up his many books and papers that are strewn about the library.
‘My boy, sometimes the best lessons are learned when we take the time to relax our minds and just… stare out a window,” He says, motioning to the window Regulus had been focused on for the better part of the afternoon.
“Monsieur,” Regulus says with a snort, “That might just be one of the most cliche things I’ve ever heard you say,” Stravius only smiles wider at this, chuckling to himself as he snaps his briefcase shut.
“Cliches aren’t always a bad thing, young Master Black. How do you think they became cliches?” The man asks cryptically, throwing a wink Regulus’ way and beetling out of the library. “I will see you tomorrow!” He calls out over his shoulder, leaving Regulus still sitting at his small desk beside the window. With a fond chuckle, he stands from his desk and collects the sheets of paper that he hadn’t even written on, a large ink stain marking where he had absent-mindedly rested his quill.
Walking out of the hallway, Regulus checks his pocketwatch and picks up his pace when he sees what time it is. He arrives in the drawing room just in the nick of time, though he is sure he looks just as frazzled as he feels after running down the stairs. Luckily Maman and Papa were out of the house today so he needn’t worry about them scolding him until later in the day. They had said they had to attend some sort of “meeting” with the “allies”, whatever that means.
His piano tutor, Nicola Valentine, is sitting on a gaudy cerulean and gold stool that she must have transfigured for herself - Regulus was certain he would remember his family owning such a… unique-looking piece of furniture. The woman herself is wearing a set of robes that almost perfectly match the stool. It was a bright shade of cerulean with gold flowers embroidered throughout it. Her grey hair is swept up in a bun that is pulled back so tightly that her eyebrows are raised, leaving her looking perpetually shocked. She has sharp eyes that are such a deep shade of brown they are practically black, and her mouth is always pursed in disapproval.
She also uses stinging hexes whenever Regulus messes up while practising. Her wand is hidden inside an intricately carved cane that she bangs on the ground to punctuate her sentences when she is feeling particularly passionate.
“Bonjour, Madame Valentine,” Regulus greets as he enters the room, swiftly moving over to the piano bench. He bows to his tutor once before taking his seat and lifting the cover over the keys.
“Regulus,” The older witch says, her heavy Russian accent making the ‘R’ in Regulus’ name sound almost as if it is sticking to the roof of her mouth. “Let’s start with the ‘Moonlight Sonata’ By Beethoven today.” She summons the sheet music wordlessly and places it on the music stand above the piano keys.
Right to the point, as always, Regulus thinks to himself. He straightens his back, lifts his hands to the keys, makes sure his wrists are level and starts with the first movement of the piece. He hasn’t played this piece for a few months, but he finds himself relaxing into it easily. The music flows out of him more easily than words ever could.
At around the twentieth bar, Regulus jumps when he feels a sharp sting hit the back of his left hand. He furrows his brow but doesn’t lose his place in the piece.
“You’re dragging, boy,” Madame Valentine says as she rises from her stool and begins pacing behind him.
“Sorry, Madame,” He apologizes. He can see a small red welt starting to form on the back of his hand. Worrying his lip between his teeth, he picks up his pace and returns his full attention to the Sonata. However, only a few bars later another stinging hex is thrown his way.
“You are abusing the pedal, it is muddying the sound.” The witch bangs her can against the ground once and curses under her breath in Russian, not once stopping her pacing. Regulus immediately lifts his foot off the damper pedal before returning to lightly pumping it whenever the sheet music signals for him to do so. He makes it through another few bars before two stinging hexes are sent his way again, this time one on each hand.
‘What could it possibly be this time?!’ Regulus thinks as he steadfastly continues to play the piece, doing his very best not to falter as his hands begin to throb.
“That is a G sharp, not an F!” Valentine corrects, stopping to stand just behind Regulus. He can hear her cane come to a rest just behind him. Despite the intimidation tactic that is only slightly working, and the contact berating, Regulus still leans forward and pours himself into the song. He can practically feel his piano tutor breathing down his neck as he reaches the end of the first movement, the enchanted sheet music flipping the page one last time as he reaches the end of the piece. Regulus smiles to himself as he gets to the last bar, the last, gentle chord ringing throughout the room.
Straightening his back once again, Regulus drops his hands from the keys and laces his fingers together in his lap, trying to keep them from trembling. Madame Valentine remains in her place behind him, causing his hackles to rise.
After a pregnant pause, she finally speaks. “Satisfactory.”
Regulus nearly deflates with relief when she says this. That’s practically a glowing review from the strict woman.
“Again,” She says and Regulus obeys, immediately raising his hands back to the keys.
*****
Nearly an hour later, Regulus finally closes the cover on the piano and stands from the bench. He turns to Madame Valentine and bows to her once more. The witch offers him a stiff nod in return as she stands from her stool, vanishes it, gathers her things, and hastily leaves the room without a backward glance.
The young boy huffs and gazes longingly at the piano one more time before leaving the room himself. His parents never allow him to play the piano outside of designated practice times or to show off at events. He wishes with every fiber in his small body that he could play the piano freely as it is one of the only times he feels like he can truly express himself.
Trudging his way back upstairs, Regulus can’t help but wish he were born into any other family. He loves his parents and his brother, he really does, but if he had a different family maybe he would be allowed to be a child.
Shaking his head to rid himself of these thoughts, he continues up the stairs and towards his room, already planning on wasting away the rest of his day reading a good book.
*****
Reggie,
Mate, I cannot wait for you to come here next year. You are going to love it - especially the library! It’s got more books than you could ever imagine. I have a feeling I’m going to have to pry you away from there more often than not, you swot.
It’s just occurred to me that I haven’t told you about the boys! I’m sharing a dorm with the lot of them and they’re all a right laugh. There’s James Potter, who is the funniest person I’ve ever met. He does the best impressions and he’s proper good at quidditch. Then there’s Peter Pettigrew who’s a bit of a pipsqueak but he’s loads of fun too and he can beat anyone at wizards chess. And of course, there’s Remus Lupin. He’s a bit of a swot too but he comes up with the best pranks - I can’t wait to tell you about what we’ve been up to. The other day, Remus came up with this great prank idea where we put a hair growth potion in all the girls’ pumpkin juice at dinner. You should have seen all their faces!
I just know you’re going to love all of them, especially Remus. The two of you would be unstoppable if you put your heads together.
I’ve got to go down for dinner now, but write back when you’ve got the chance! I miss hearing from you. How are those new friends you made? Promise you’ll tell me about all of them at Christmas?
Cheers!
Sirius
Regulus smiles as he finishes reading Sirius’ most recent letter. Carefully folding it up, he places it inside one of the books he's studying, reminding himself he'll need to burn it later. His brother didn't mention the blood status of any of his dorm mates, but he had heard enough about the Potter's to know that his parents would not be pleased if they were to find out Sirius had become friends with their son.
As soon as he has closed the cover of his copy of “Transfiguring Household Items”, Kreacher pops into his room.
“Master Regulus,” Kreacher greets him with his customary bow, eyeing where Regulus’ hand still rests on his book on his desk. “Dinner is ready to be served and you have been summoned down to the dining room,” The ancient house elf croaks.
“Thank you, Kreacher. I will be right down,” Regulus says with a small smile. The house elf bows once more and then pops back out of the room with a crack! With a sigh, Regulus makes his way out of his room and down the stairs to the ancient house’s dining room.
As Regulus enters the dark room, he is surprised when he finds that only his father is there, already sitting at the head of the table.
“Son,” His father says in his deep baritone voice. “Have a seat, your mother will be joining us shortly. She has something she needs to tend to.”
At the instructions, Regulus pulls back the chair in front of the place that has been set for him. Bright white chine glistens with perfectly polished silverware sitting on either side of the plate. It seems out of place, something so bright in this dark, damp room. For Regulus’ whole life, the house has had a certain… air about it. It felt almost as if the dark magic from the centuries that it had been occupied had seeped into the very foundation of the townhouse. The young boy swore that he could almost feel the house breathing sometimes.
For the next few minutes, Regulus and his father sit in near silence as they wait for the lady of the house to join them. He has never had a good relationship with his father, the man had always seemed to favour Sirius, but as of late the displeasure from the man was almost suffocating. Regulus had a feeling that he had deeply disappointed his father when he had his friends - no, allies - over. He found this rather odd, as he never had much expected of him, being the second born and all. He knew his parents had expectations, of course, but this felt different. Regulus couldn’t help but feel that he had failed some sort of test.
Before Regulus could get any more lost in his thoughts, the door to the dining room creaks open and his mother gracefully sweeps in with a flourish of skirts and petticoats. Regulus and his father both stand upon her arrival and wait to be seated before she sits at the end of the table opposite Orion. With a loud scrape of chairs, all of them sat at the aforementioned places and began to dish out the food in the silver serving trays before them.
After several moments of near silence, aside from the scraping of silverware on their plates, Walburga clears her throat. Regulus looks up at his mother expectantly, watching as she demurely wipes nonexistent food off her face with her napkin.
“Regulus,” She begins, levelling him with a heavy look and Regulus feels himself immediately straighten his already perfect posture. He knows that tone - whatever his mother had to say to him was not going to be pleasant. It seemed most of what his parents had to say lately wasn’t. “I seem to have come across some rather interesting… correspondence earlier when I was passing by your rooms.” She says. Regulus does his very best not to gasp at this. That could only mean one thing! But.. he had been so careful, he had hidden it in his book so that he would remember to burn Sirius’ letter later!
“Maman, I-” He starts but stops as his mother raises a single hand in the air.
“I do not want to hear it,” She says with a heavy sigh. “It is bad enough, Regulus, that your brother has been sorted in that house of filthy blood traitors,” She spits out the last part. “But now, I find out that he has been befriending the worst of the blood traitors. The Potters, Merlin help me. And you knew.” Regulus gulps as she levels him with a dark look.
“I swear, Maman, I only found out today! I was going to tell you I-”
“Enough of your excuses!” The woman bellows, rising from her seat with, her chair flying back and smashing into the wall. “I have had enough excuses from your brother already, I will not have you disrespect this family in the same way he has!” Regulus can do nothing but stare at his mother in wide-eyed terror as she marches around the table to stand beside him. With a grip like iron, the older woman grasps Regulus by the arm and heaves him out of his chair, sharply twisting his arm as she does so, causing the boy to cry out in pain.
“Perhaps,” Walburga says, her voice quiet and calm suddenly, “I have been too soft on the both of you. I will see to it that that ends promptly,” and with that, Regulus is forcefully pushed back from his mother. The boy isn’t sure if it was done on purpose or not, but he is sent careening into a side table with a large, antique vase on it and the room is filled with the sound of shattering glass as he crashes into it.
“Ah!” He cries out as he falls sharply to the ground, cutting open his palms on the broken shards of china. Gingerly, he pushes himself up onto his knees, the glass crunching underneath him as he does so. With a horrified gasp, Regulus looks down at his now blood-soaked hands, holding them up in front of himself and watching as the blood slowly trickles from his palms down to his wrists.
Regulus becomes distantly aware that someone in the room is crying, very loudly. Big, heaving sobs and wails that break the otherwise silent environment.
“Enough!” His mother yells. It is then that Regulus realizes that he is the one making those awful sounds, like a wounded animal. “I will not have you blubbering at my feet!” With a quick swish of her wand, the noise stops and the room is once again silent. A silencing spell, Regulus thinks. He can feel that he is still sobbing, and there are large tear drops falling onto his knees, but there is no sound coming from him.
A few more silent beats pass before Orion finally stands from his seat, ending his quiet observation of the happenings of the past few minutes.
“I believe that is quite enough,” He says quietly, his voice gravely with disapproval. “Please, sit so we can finish our meal.” He levels both Walburga and Regulus a look before sitting himself back down at the head of the table and resolutely digging into his meal. Walburga follows his lead a few moments later as she takes her own place at the table and begins delicately cutting her beef tenderloin.
“Regulus, please end the dramatics and sit with your family,” She says with a level of calm that she did not have moments earlier. Looking up at both of his parents with wide eyes, Regulus takes a steadying, yet silent, breath and slowly rises to his feet. He drags himself back over to his seat and gingerly sits down, careful not to touch the white tablecloth with his bloodied hands. A few more moments pass as he stares at his dinner before him, trying to find the courage to pick up his utensils with his shredded hands.
“Eat, son,” Orion says calmly, not even lifting his head to look at his son. Regulus takes another deep breath, clenches his teeth, and picks up his fork and knife. He finds himself thankful for a moment that his mother has silenced him, as neither of his parents can hear him gasp and hold back a sob as his hands are hit with a stabbing pain upon contact with the metal.
Regulus was no stranger to this type of violence in their family's household. For much of his life, he had seen Sirius go through the same thing after speaking against either of his parents. This, however, was the first time that Regulus had experienced something like this himself. He had received many backhanded slaps throughout his life, and his parents were no strangers to throwing insults his way, but he had never been made to bleed.
It was then that it hit Regulus that every time his parents had struck him or lashed out at him, Sirius had come in and caused some sort of much larger ruckus that had turned their attention to him, rather than their youngest son.
The idiot, Regulus quietly seethes. How had he not noticed that Sirius had been doing it on purpose all these years? Like some sort of martyr, he had been turning all of their parent's negative attention on himself to - to what? Protect Regulus? The fool was clearly trying to find his way to an early grave.
As the dinner finally drew to a close, Regulus placed his utensils down on his plate, noting that they were sticky with blood at this point. Attempting to catch his attention, Walburga once again clears her throat. Regulus looks up at her so quickly that he cricks his neck, but he is thankfully able to smother his grimace.
“From now on, your father and I will be monitoring your correspondence with your brother,” Walberga says as she smooths out non-existent wrinkles on the tablecloth before her. Regulus’ eyes widen fractionally, but he does his best not to show any emotion at this. “It is clear that we cannot trust either of you any longer. Should you ever earn our trust back, we will think about allowing you to write to each other without our supervision.” Regulus nods along with her, turning to focus his attention on a spot on the wallpaper just behind his mother.
“You may be excused,” The woman finally says as she herself stands from the table, brushing off her skirts. With another nod, Regulus stands from the table and exits the drawing room, wincing minutely as he opens the door to the hallway beyond.
Nearly as soon as the door has shut, Regulus quickly makes his way back up to his bedroom. Only once his door closes does he let himself fully break down. Falling to the floor in a heap, Regulus collapses into silent sobs. His mother still has not released the silencing spell she placed on him.
Eventually, Regulus is able to calm his breathing enough to drag himself towards his bed, collapsing onto the soft mattress with his hands carefully curled at his sides. Curling into himself, Regulus sniffles to himself and cradles his hands against his chest. Neither of his parents had even offered to help bandage his wounds. He couldn’t think of a time in his life when he didn’t have someone there to carefully wash out his cuts and cover them with soft bandages.
It then hits Regulus how truly lonely he has been the past few months. Ever since Sirius left. He knew in a sort of abstract sense that he was lonely. The house had lost what little cheer it had, his lessons were much more dull, and the house was much more quiet. But it was more than that. He no longer had someone he could turn to at any moment if he was hurt, sad, or even happy. He was alone in this dreadful, cold, dead house.
With a pop that broke the silence that had been surrounding Regulus ever since he had broken the vase in the dining room, Kreacher appeared in the room. Regulus sat up and was prepared to rip into the house elf for ratting out where his letter was hidden before he remembered he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t say a word to defend himself or stand up for himself.
“Master Regulus,” Kreacher whispers, his large milky eyes focused on Regulus. There was some sort of emotion behind his eyes that the boy couldn’t quite work out, but he did notice that the elf looked sad.
Good, Regulus thought. Serves him right, the traitor.
“Kreacher is very sorry, young Master,” The ancient house elf says, collapsing to his knobby little knees and wringing his leathery hands. “Mistress commanded Kreacher to tell her if he saw anything suspicious,” He quietly weeps, dragging himself towards where Regulus was sitting on the bed. All Regulus was able to do was dissapointedly shake his head.
While Regulus wouldn’t call him and Kreacher friends, he did find that the house elf was a sort of… confidant. Someone in the house that he could trust. This trust was clearly misguided, as the house elf was tied to his mother by his very magic.
“Please, sir, let me fix your hands,” Keacher begs, crawling ever closer to Regulus’ knees. Regulus pauses for a moment and looks down at his hands. He could see that there were still small pieces of the vase stuck in the deep, angry red cuts. The boy finds himself minutely nodding his head, which spurs the house elf into action. With a swish of his hand, a pile of bandages and a warm basin of water appear on the side table next to Regulus.
Only a few minutes later Regulus lays back in his bed and stares at his freshly cleaned and bandaged hands. The house elf wasn’t able to magically heal the cuts as he had been instructed not to by Walbuga, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do his best to heal them the ‘muggle’ way. Regulus may not have been able to trust the house elf with his secrets, but that didn’t mean the house elf wasn’t going to do his best to make sure Regulus was as safe as could be.
With a still silent huff, Regulus pushes himself out of bed, still careful not to put too much pressure on his hands, and makes his way over to his desk. He wasn’t certain if it would work, but he would be damned if he wasn’t going to try to send his brother one last owl without his mother reading over his shoulder.