The Lion's Eyes

Regulus woke up crying. 

Unfortunately, this was not an irregular occurrence. Ever since Sirius went prancing off to Hogwarts, the nightmares had gotten worse and worse. It was a harsh adjustment to learn how to deal with the visions on his own. Sirius had always been there to pick up the pieces whenever he came back to himself, but now without him, Regulus was lost. 

The young Black rolled onto his side and curled deeper into the blankets as shivers wracked through him. He’d lost track of how many times he’s drowned now, but that lasting cold always latched onto him with a vengeance. He cracked his eyes open and squinted at the window. Still dark out. Regulus closed his eyes and tried to ignore the gripping thirst and feeling of nails scratching against his skin. 

A beat passed. He threw the covers off of himself and stood quickly, shuffling across the room to grab a warmer robe. Midnight walks around the house were a new part of Regulus’s routine, but they were becoming increasingly commonplace on these nights where the sensations were just too overwhelming to go back to sleep. 

The fledgling wizard slipped into the hallway and began his usual trek to the library while wrapping spindly arms around his torso to preserve warmth. A glance outside showed that it was snowing lightly; some of the flakes got caught in the lamplight before they settled onto the concrete road and sparkled in a way that only the first snows ever do. 

A small flicker of delight rushed through him as Regulus realized that it was almost time for the winter holidays, otherwise known as when Sirius would come home from school. Two whole weeks to catch up with his brother and chat about everything that had happened in the last few months. This was easily the most time that the boys had spent away from each other their whole lives and exchanging letters had proven to be difficult under Walburga’s watchful eye. Regulus had only heard from his brother a scant few times since they started sending their letters through Andromeda to prevent Mother from getting suspicious. He missed the older boy like a bone-deep ache and the few updates he’d received had only served to add fuel to the fire. 

A sharp crack of apparition caused him to startle as Kreacher appeared in the hall. “Young Master should not be out of bed at this hour,” the old elf tutted. 

Regulus shuffled guiltily. “I know, I know. Just couldn’t sleep.” 

“Mistress will be upset if she finds out Young Master is not resting properly.”

He wanted to scoff at that. Mother couldn’t care less what his sleeping habits were, but if she got wind that he was exhibiting ‘abnormal’ behaviors that weren’t befitting an heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black… Well, then he could understand Kreacher’s concern. 

“Don’t tell?” He gave the house elf a sheepish grin. “I’m just going to get a book and then head back to bed, promise.” Sirius would be proud of the fingers he had crossed behind his back. 

Kreacher scowled as he deliberated the boy’s words. Eventually, he came to a decision and grunted his ascent before popping out of existence just as abruptly as he had arrived. Regulus let out a breath and continued on his path. He rounded the corner and was met with a pair of ornate wooden doors covered in intricate carvings of serpents and various other dark creatures that led into the infamous Black family library. He leaned his body weight against the rightmost door to push it open and padded in quietly. The room was dark, only a single skylight overhead providing some residual luminosity from the stars to illuminate the dark room. The walls were all blocked off by towering shelves laden with books of all different shapes and sizes. Many of the old, leather-bound tomes glowed faintly from preservation spells while some of the newer ones sat in a neat stack on top of the desk in the center of the room, waiting to be cataloged and shelved. 

Regulus padded quietly over to a mahogany bookcase that sat in the far left corner and slipped his foot into a conveniently empty spot on one of the bottom shelves. He reached up to grasp the lip of the cabinet and held himself flush against the books as he scanned the titles on the topmost shelf. A deep blue spine caught his eye and he read the words Pureblood Magics and the Introduction of New Blood printed in deep bronze lettering. He snatched the book off the shelf and hopped to the ground, quietly slipping back out into the hall to trek back to his room. 

The vast majority of the novels held in the Black Family Library focused exclusively on dark magic and pureblood politics, but sometimes a few more neutral authors slipped into the mix. Irulius Galthar was one of them. He had been an older member of the Wizengamot during the time of Grindelwald and wrote several books on the pros and cons of the rising number of muggleborns and half-bloods in the wizard community. He made some good points and his logic was strong, but his ideals were not well-loved by either the blood supremacists or the muggle activists. 

Regulus was a little bit in love with his novels. He liked that there was no clear right or wrong, just a bunch of gray area to muddle through. The way that Galthar wrote emphasized not only the cultural divide between purebloods and muggleborns, but also the necessity of new blood and the way it had both positive and negative effects on magical ability. 

The young Black walked into his room and shut the door carefully. He lit the candle at his bedside and curled back up under his duvet, cracking open the book at the dog-eared page. 

There are several known ways that fresh blood impacts pureblood magic. Say a muggleborn man marries a woman from a very old and powerful wizarding family and they have a child together, what will the child’s magic look like? Some might assume that by diluting the blood, the child will either be weak in magic or a Squib. However, there is notable evidence to show that Squibs are predominantly born into pureblood families that have engaged in a significant amount of inbreeding over the years. By trying to keep their line free of muggle blood, many have found their ruin. 

Most pureblood families possess strong magic and do not wish to risk growing weaker by allowing marriages to those of lesser birth, but by keeping their blood stagnant, it grows old and corrupt and spoils without fresh fuel. However, reproduction between a muggleborn and a pureblood has produced dramatically different results over the years. Some of the most powerful wizards of our time are half-bloods, yet some of the weakest are as well. The effect of mixing blood is extremely varied and can be different on a case by case basis. I theorize that this risk of ending up with weak heirs is why many purebloods are unwilling to marry outside of the Sacred 28. 

Several well-established wizarding families are known for their distinct magical abilities that get passed down from generation to generation. For instance, the Selwyns are particularly talented at alchemy and the Prince line excels in potions. Some families - such as Malfoy and Rosier - possess stronger magic, but lack an affinity for any particular field. Others have more of a vague alignment, such as the Black’s and their propensity for the Dark Arts. 

Despite this, it is important to take note of the rarer magics that seem to choose their vessels at random. Mother Magic does not conform to the concept of blood supremacy when creating Seers and Metamorphmagi, but over time, one can learn to become an Animagus or Legilimens. It begs the idea of whether blood is really what carries magic, or the soul? If natural talent can vary even within a closed bloodline, then is the concern of diluting magic through new blood a valid one? 

Author’s note: For more information on born magics, see chapter 17. 

Regulus had never flipped a page faster in his life. He skimmed the text for a second before landing on the subject he was looking for.

Seers

The gift of Sight is a rare one that is seemingly assigned at random. It is true that some families have produced more Seers than others, but the ability so often skips generations and at times will appear in a pureblood line with no history of talent for divining. Prophets are rare and it’s nigh impossible to predict when one will be born. There are many who have claimed the title only for the wizarding community to later learn that they were a fraud. 

When comparing the abilities of history’s known Seers, it becomes less and less clear what a vision actually entails. Sight has such variation between individuals; one wizard may be overtaken by an otherworldly force to deliver their message while another might dream of great catastrophes only to assume that they’re nightmares. Matilda the Just was known for predicting the future through paintings. In an interview with the Daily Prophet in 1879, she explained that she never knew what a painting was going to be. The witch would ‘give in’ to the vision and only knew what it was once the piece was complete. 

A logical question to posit upon hearing this is that if a vision can take control of a Seer, can the reverse also be true? Can a practitioner control their future sight to target specific people or events? According to most Seers, the answer would be no. However, Berriwell Madwell disagrees. 

I had the fortune of sitting down with Mr. Madwell during the process of writing this book to talk about his visions. He details them as coming to him in the form of song, with some of his greatest hits detailing major historical events before they ever happened. I asked Mr. Madwell if he felt that he had any control over his visions, and to my surprise, he said yes. 

“Sometimes the song sweeps me away and I get all caught up in it, but other times I’ll be strumming away on my guitar and wondering what the weather will be tomorrow when, boom! Suddenly I’ve got this fun little jig about splashing through puddles on a rainy day. That happened a few times before I decided to start experimenting with it. My sister was telling me about this suffrage movement they have going on over in the colonies and she wanted to know if the protests were doomed or not. I sat down at her piano and focused real hard on it, then suddenly I was seeing women at the poles voting for their next president. It took a bit more practice after that, but now if I want to know who to place my bets on for the game tonight, I just have to play a few notes and keep my mind’s eye locked on target. That’s the key, I think. You’ve gotta have a specific question to send out into the aether and then think real hard until you feel like your eyeballs are about to burst out of your head. I can’t say it’s always the most pleasant thing to force my Sight, but it’s damn useful.”

Regulus snapped the book shut. 

There’s no way it’s that simple, he thought. He’d tried to instigate a vision before and it hadn’t worked. Besides, his dreams weren’t musical at all, so clearly his Sight was different from Madwell’s. But I’ve never asked a question.

Regulus shifted uncomfortably before deciding to give it a shot. It probably wouldn’t work, but at least he could say he tried. He pushed himself up to sit cross-legged on the bed and settled his palms onto his knees. His eyes fell shut with an exhale and he reached for his core. Magic rose up to tingle under his skin and twine around him affectionately. 

Now for the question. There was really only one thing that Regulus wanted to ask about right now. 

When is Sirius coming home? 

He waited for a beat. Nothing. He shifted and let out a frustrated huff before trying again. 

How will Mother react to seeing Sirius?

His magic writhed uncomfortably. Regulus squeezed his eyes shut harder and clenched his hands into fists as he focused on exerting his will. 

Show me Sirius!

The walls were red. He started to panic before his eyes caught on matching red drapes with gold embroidery and a four-poster bed. A boy with tawny hair and a painful looking scar running across his nose sat leaning against the headboard with an understanding smile on his face. Across from him was a very familiar looking boy with wavy hair who was gesticulating wildly as he talked. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Sirius bemoaned. “Reg is never going to forgive me if I don’t go home for the hols, but I just can’t see our parents right now.”

Regulus felt his body freeze. 

“Just stay here,” the brunette patted his leg sympathetically. “Your brother will understand.”

“But I’m abandoning him! We always spend Yule together and if I don’t go home then I won’t be able to see him until the summer.” Sirius dropped his face into his hands pathetically. 

“He’ll forgive you. Even if you don’t want to go to your parents over the summer, there’s plenty of time for you to spend together when he comes to Hogwarts next year.” 

The raven sniffled. “I guess you’re right, I just miss him is all.”

“I know.”

The other boy reached over to pat his shoulder and the vision broke.  

Regulus barely managed to throw his torso off the side of the bed to vomit. His head throbbed and his eyes felt like they were twice their normal size. Through the haze of pain he was able to muster together the thought that Madwell severely downplayed the negative consequences of forcing a vision. Not the most pleasant, my ass. 

He dry heaved a few more times and let his head hang limply over the edge of the mattress so that he wouldn’t dirty his sheets. The thought that Sirius wasn’t coming home came suddenly and viciously, adding the pierce of heartbreak to the mix of unpleasant sensations. The Gryffindor was going to stay at Hogwarts for winter break and spend time with his new friends, leaving Regulus all alone with their parents until the summer. If he even comes back then. 

Tears dripped from his eyes and landed in the puddle on the ground. They began to pour out as he gripped the blanket and anger began to fill him. Regulus could count the number of times he’d truly been mad on one hand, but he’d never felt a betrayal quite like this. The knowledge that his older brother didn’t care about him enough to be willing to put up with their parents clawed at his ribs like a caged beast. If he couldn’t even spend two weeks with them then there was no way he was going to last the summer. He’d probably go gallivanting off to stay with his fellow lions and leave Regulus behind to deal with the consequences. 

The roiling in his stomach started to settle. At least Madwell’s trick had worked, agonizing as it was. He’d have to practice a bit more to grow accustomed to the pain, but he could induce visions now. A triumphant grin split his cheeks as the tears continued to fall. 

If Sirius didn’t want to come home, then fine. Regulus could do this without him. He was already one step closer to controlling his Sight, and he accomplished that all on his own. Even if his brother decided he wasn’t worth the fight, Regulus wasn’t going to give up on changing the future. He’d induce more visions, go to Hogwarts, and prove that he didn’t need anyone. Maybe he’d even make his own friends to rub in Sirius’s stupid, traitorous face. 

He just had to last a few more months.