1
Life is cruel. Regulus had learned this the hard way. As a son of Walburga and Orion Black, the sole, for lack of better term, heads of the Noble House of Black, perfection and excellence were required from him at every moment, lest he want to be a dark smear on the family’s lineage, not unlike his older brother. Said older brother, Sirius, was currently hidden away in his room discussing the upcoming year at Hogwarts Academy with some person way below the Black family status. Had Mother and Father known about such discussion, Sirius would be in the utmost trouble. How Sirius had even managed to sneak a phone to the house, he wasn’t sure. Despite it being the 20th century, his parents relied solely on paper and quill to communicate with those they deemed worthy of the family’s attention, determined to not let ‘modern day filth’ cloud the family ancient nobility. From his room, through the wall that conjoined his room to his brothers, he could hear the frantic whispering of Sirius, catching only every second word. Most of was unintelligible, though he heard the names James, Remus, and Peter frequently throughout Sirius’s excited snickers. Regulus glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of his darkened room and the time, 12:01 stared back at him. In less than 48 hours, he was to be shipped off, along with Sirius, to Hogwarts Academy for his first year, and he could not think of anything more damning. From the stories his brother boasted about, before his relationship with him became more painful then loving, Hogwarts seemed to be a special sort of hell created for him, Regulus Black, only. He tried to plead with his parents, had brought them a list of other academies he deemed easier for him to stomach, but that only brought him a swift slap across the cheek, as his parents forced him to sit in silence as his they signed the enrolment papers, or as he viewed it, signed his life away in front of his eyes, reminded once again that his life is not his to live. He was told to go, so he will.
Hogwarts Academy for Gifted Boys opened its doors to boys aged 16 through to 19 that came from a family that could pay the impossibly high fees that allowed the school to stay in operation despite only having a few hundred students. Tradition, honour, discipline, and excellence; the four pillars of Hogwarts. The very idea made Regulus to be sick. Though he was much more of a conformist than his brother, Regulus did not want to sit idly by and watch his life pass in front of him as he had done for the past 16 years. Life is cruel yes, but it did not have to be. He wanted to leave the heavy air of that coated Grimaud Place yes, but he did not want to trade it for the Academy that seemed to stifle any air brought into the establishment. All his life, Regulus felt like he was drowning, using all his energy to keep his head just above the dark waters, and he feared this academy would be his final breath. Emerging from his thoughts, Regulus noticed the background noise that Sirius had provided had faded. He glanced back towards the clock that now displayed the time, 12:30. The moon shone carefully across the clocks silver hands, casting a beautiful display across his ceiling, one that almost mimicked the stars. Life is cruel yes, but oh it can be so beautiful too. If one just remembers to look. Regulus had become an expert at that, trying to find the beauty in things people ghastly or terrifying. The morbid can be stunning. There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion. A quote from his favourite poet, Edgar Allen Poe, the only man who seemed to understand Regulus’s worldview. Poetry, as much as he is ashamed to admit it, has become the only sense of comfort for him, simple words thrown onto a page in such a way that the world seems easier to bear when read, that makes Regulus feel heard, and less alone. Wedged in between the wall and clock, one could find his secret collection of poetry books, hidden from his mother who would deem it improper and embarrassing to have a son so involved in things such as love and emotions. But that wasn’t the biggest thing Regulus kept hidden from the outside word. Tucked carefully into his sheets, he had hidden a journal, almost filled to the brim with his own poetic scrawling’s, that when he read back through, made him want to claw his eyes out as the sheer horrendous of the lines he has written. Regulus would rather rip each of his vital organs out than have this book stumble into anyone’s hand, as it would give them direct access, not just into his psyche, but into his heart as well. The clouds shifted over the moon, the darkness once again engulfing his room as he was pulled back to reality from his runaway thoughts. Feelings of anxiety threatened to bubble over again as he resolved himself to sleep, pulling the covers of his four-poster bed up around his ears and he drifted off in his bed for the last time in the foreseeable future .
So now here he sits. In the stifling cage that calls itself a hall, surrounded by hundreds of boys each either being coached or coddled by their parents. His mother sits beside him, but Regulus is acutely aware that her thoughts are anywhere but his wellbeing. Her eyes train the elder students, draped in ridiculous robes carrying heavy banners, while obnoxious music is played as the basically catwalk down the middle of the seats. His eyes are locked onto his brother, his long black hair making him instantly recognizable. Sirius sits alongside a different family, right next to a boy with brown hair and glasses perched upon his nose. He notes that the boy is quite attractive, but that’s a thought he’d take to his grave. Or rather to his notebook because Regulus cannot stop staring at the boy who he assumes in James. His features match the very brief description Sirius gave him before he decided Regulus wasn’t nearly as fun as his new found friends to warrant conversation from. A curt voice disrupts Regulus thoughts as it echoes through hall.
“Gentlemen, tell me, what are the four pillars?”
Almost cult-like, every boy in the hall, bar Regulus, stands in unison. Every single one of them looks bored, bar maybe James and Sirius who seem to be snickering at something. A swift slap across his exposed arm from his mother has Regulus on his feet within seconds. He forgets that this is his school now too, and he must participate. In unison once again, the boys begin naming the four pillars. The words fly over Regulus’s head, as he stumbles over his tongue to repeat them, lest he earns another slap from his mother. Just a second behind the other boys he repeats, ‘tradition, honour, discipline, excellence,’ and prays that no one can see the heat rising to his face. Although that little slip up would try and prove otherwise, Regulus is aware of how Hogwarts operates. It has the holy trinity of hellish rules, strict classes with even stricter teachers, curfews for any free time and the worst of them all in his opinion, shared dorms. The very thought of having another person, let alone a stranger, in his space makes Regulus wants to hurl himself out the nearest window. Regulus cant decide whether the fact that the dorms are split into two people a room makes the shared dorms better or worse. Either way, he is not happy, and his stomach curls even thinking about the year to come. But the metaphorical scales are tipped ever so slightly in the academy’s favour when weighed against having to return to Grimmauld Place, so Regulus knows he has to deal with it no matter how sick it makes him feel. Once again, a voice pulls him back to reality. This time the voices origin is a very old man whose silver beard seems to almost touch his knees. Regulus recognises him. Albus Dumbledore. Hogwarts Academy’s headmaster. Dumbledore recites a greeting to students both new and old, and Regulus is just about to tune out the old man’s rambling when he says;
“As some returning students may have noticed, Mr Kettleburn has taken his retirement early and now is enjoying his days on some farmland taking care of half the countries animals. Because of this, a change in faculty has occurred,’ at this, Dumbledore motions to a man sitting at the far end of the teacher’s bench, a man that has an uncanny resemblance to him, ‘I would like to introduce Mr Aberforth Dumbledore, who will now be the academy’s English teacher.’ At the end of the sentence, hushed whispers fall over the hall. The new teacher seems slightly amused at the reaction. The whack of a teachers cane across the hard wood floors bring the whispers to an abrupt cease. With that, Dumbledore steps back for the pillar and sits. Regulus glances back over at his brother, who seems to be whispering something in James’s ear, which causes him to quickly cover his mouth with his hand. Regulus feels a pang of jealousy in his stomach, but this time he can’t tell whether its Sirius or James he is jealous of. A bit early to have already developed a crush whispers his brain before he can shut it down. At that, he swears to stay as far away from James as humanly possible.
Regulus gathers that the finale of Dumbledore's speech warrants the end of the ‘welcome back to hell’ morning ritual and the beginning of goodbyes and farewells to parents who accompanied their sons. Regulus goodbye to his parents goes something along the lines of this; absolutely zero words from is father, just a harsh judgmental stare and his mother muttering only a few words. “Don’t dishonour the family name.’ And then they’re gone. Regulus finds himself searching for some familiarity, as anxiety and bile rises up his throat as the harsh reality that he is here now. And now he can’t leave. Unfortunately for him, the only familiarity in this place is his older brother. Once again, he looks for the long black locks. And once again he finds him. Sirius is busy hugging a woman who shares the same glasses as James, while James himself is hugging the older version of him. Regulus forces himself to look away, rather staring at his feet while the world continues to move around him. Is he scared? Yes. But he’s also angry. So angry. At what? He couldn’t pinpoint it even with a gun to his head. But he knows he is. He won’t speak a word about it though. But he’ll write about it for sure. Just as soon as the sun sets.