Parents
“Toujours pur.”
Regulus jumped at the sound of his fathers voice. Instinctively he stood up a little straighter correcting his posture. “Father” he greeted with a nod of his head.
Orion nodded back and then inclined his head toward the tapestry that Regulus had been standing in front of.
“Toujours pur” he repeated, long fingers stretching up to point at the crest woven into the fabric “always pure, do you understand what that means son?”
Regulus shook his head “no father.”
Orion stared at him for a moment and Regulus shuffled a little under his scrutinising gaze, the tip of his shoe scuffing into the carpet.
“Come” Orion said after a moment and he held out a hand. Regulus snatched it up eagerly. His family weren’t particularly physically affectionate and he would take any of it that he could. His father’s hand felt warm and strong in comparison to his own smaller palm and Regulus savoured the feeling of safety that it brought him.
“You will be six years old in just a week's time Regulus, it is time you learnt what it truly means to carry the surname Black.”
They walked down the narrow hallway and Regulus squeezed his fathers hand tighter as he caught a glimpse of the elf heads mounted at the top of the stairs. They always frightened him a little and he was about to avert his gaze when he caught sight of Sirius standing next to them, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue at Regulus. He suppressed a giggle lest their father ask what he was laughing at but shot a smile at his brother all the same.
He felt a swell of pride within himself at having Orion’s undivided attention for once. Normally Sirius was the one that would be taken away for these private chats. Regulus knew it was because he was the heir and two years older but he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. Sirius didn’t even enjoy them and Regulus had often wished that he could spend that time with his father instead.
Finally they came to a stop at his mothers fancy drawing room that she reserved for when guests came over. Orion pushed a heavy led key into the lock and the door wheezed and groaned on its hinges as he shoved it open and ushered Regulus in. Instantly his eyes were drawn to the huge tapestry that took up the entire wall, adorned with names and faces.
“The Black family tapestry,” Orion said quietly behind him. Regulus looked up with awe, he was in disbelief at the sheer size of his family. “We trace our lineage back centuries - a century is a hundred -” he added at Regulus’ look of confusion “our family is very very old Regulus.”
He was only tall enough to reach the bottom layer off the tapestry and he smiled as his little hands reached out to touch two names “Sirius Orion Black” and “Regulus Arcturus Black”.
“That’s right” Orion nodded sagely “you and your brother are the future of the Black dynasty Regulus.”
He sat down heavily in the old rickety armchair by the fireplace, clicking his fingers wordlessly until Kreacher appeared with a deep bow and a tumblr of amber firewhiskey. He patted his knee and Regulus tripped over his robes as he scrambled to sit with his father.
“To be in this family” Orion began, pausing only to wet his tongue with the whiskey “is both a privilege and a huge responsibility. Do you understand Regulus?”
Regulus nodded his head “like when mother got me and Sirius our owl” he said “and she said it was a privilege because owls are very clever and a responsibility because owls need looking after.”
Orion smiled “exactly Regulus.” He ran a hand through his son's tufty black curls “being born to this family will give you a status akin to royalty. There is no other family as old, as well connected, as far reaching and as influential as ours. You will have your pick of jobs, you could be the minister for magic if you wanted to be son.”
Regulus’ eyes grew wide and his little mouth dropped open. “Wow” he breathed and he began to imagine having any job he liked. He settled on being a famous quidditch star and racing across the skies on the fastest broomstick.
“But” Orion interrupted Regulus starry eyed thoughts by holding up a long pale finger “it comes with a price. Do you know how we have such influence, such power in this world Regulus?”
Regulus shook his head.
“It’s because we are powerful.” He held up his wand and from the tip burst a shower of green and silver sparks that gleamed in Regulus silver eyes as he awed. He couldn’t wait to get his own wand and use his own magic.
“Can’t everybody do magic?” Regulus asked his father “why are we special?”
Orion leant closer and Regulus could smell the warm spicy scent of the firewhisky on his breath “It's because of toujours pur, son.”
“Always pure” Regulus translated. His mother had insisted that he and Sirius were both fluent in French as well as English. “What does it mean, father?”
“It means that we are pure” he grasped a hold of Regulus’ left wrist, flipping it over so that they could both see the dark blue veins running across his pale skin. “The blood in your veins Regulus is 100% magical. It comes from generations and generations of selective magical breeding. You see, some of our kind have taken to having children with” he paused and Regulus leaned forwards on the edge of his seat “non magical people - muggles” his lip curled upwards in distaste “and they’ve tainted our magic, made it weaker, less powerful and dirty. Do you want weak magic son?”
Regulus shook his head.
“Do you want your children to have weak magic? Do you want to fraternise with people lesser than you? Animals who would wish to murder and burn us just because we’re better than them? Because we’re powerful and they’re not?”
Regulus shook his head more firmly. The idea of it sounded terrifying. He didn’t want to be killed, he didn’t want to bring shame to generations of his family or weaken his magic. He looked down at his wrist and almost felt as if he could feel the magic swimming through his veins, the thought comforted him.
“Then you know what you must always believe, always instil in your life, son” Orion said softly and he lifted Regulus' head so that they were looking into each other's eyes. He looked at the deep lines etched around his fathers eyes, the colour of them a shining grey the same as his own. “toujours pur” Orion said.
“Toujours pur” Regulus repeated and his father smiled.
He woke up in a cold sweat, the blankets tangled around his legs and sticking to his bare chest. The dream had felt so real that in his tired state he looked around blearily for his father before remembering that it was a memory and not the present.
He remembered that he would never see his father ever again, that he was long dead and though Regulus knew that he wasn’t a particularly kind or good man he still felt a dull aching in his chest. He was lonely, he realised. All of his family, all of his friends were dead and though Sirius was still alive it had been so long since they were brothers that it would take a while before there would be a semblance of normality between them.
His parents had been cold, often harsh people but he almost missed the familiarity of their presence. It was a strange thing to wake up one day and find out that everyone who knew him (bar his brother who he hadn’t spoken to in years anyway) was gone. Regulus couldn’t reconcile with it. Who was he without the scrutiny and expectations of others? If nobody really knew the real him, did he exist at all?
It was still dark outside and silent save for the distant hooting of an owl and Regulus shivered as the faint amber light of a streetlamp briefly lit up the large family crest above his bed. “Toujour pur” the words that had once made him feel special and safe now left a bitter acidic taste on his tongue. Suddenly he couldn’t bear to be in his room anymore.
He stumbled from the bed with almost a feverish stamina. His chest and feet bare but in his bleary state impervious to the chill running through the draughty house. Everywhere he looked he was reminded of what he had lost and what he had gained. This was the house he grew up in, with the furniture and wallpaper and trinkets he remembered but all of them had been touched with age and time. He had lost twenty years but gained his brother and though he loved Sirius, part of him wondered why he was here when he was clearly supposed to die in that cave.
As a kid the house used to scare him. The house elf heads mounted on the staircase would make him shiver and he could never stop himself imagining monsters lurking in every shadowy corner (and Grimmauld place was teeming with shadowy corners). Sirius would squeeze his hand tight and tell him not to worry, he’d fight off any monster that dared come for his little brother. He hadn’t been scared of the house in years yet a childish part of him deep down shivered as he walked through it now.
He reached the front door, thinking that perhaps some fresh air would help clear his head, but as he wrenched it open he found that suddenly he wasn’t alone. Hermione Granger was sitting on the neat little grey steps that led up to the house with her back to him. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and Regulus could just see the back of her head, her curly hair shining in the faint glow of the street lamps. It was eerily quiet out and therefore Regulus could hear every shaky breath she took as she sobbed into her knees.
“I’m okay Sirius” she murmured without looking behind her “i-I’m sorry if I woke you up. You know how it is when I visit them.”
Regulus was silent. He wondered who they were but thought it was perhaps impolite to ask. It seemed it was a common occurrence for his brother to find her sobbing on the doorstep and Regulus’ heart twisted at the thought, wondering what could cause the witch such grief and heartbreak.
With a deep sigh Hermione stood up and brushed off her robes. She inhaled a long gulp of the cool night air and furiously wiped away the stray tears as she turned determinedly towards the house.
“Oh” her pretty lips remained in an ‘o’ shape as the surprise flitted across her face “I- I’m sorry” she stammered “I just assumed -“
“That I was Sirius?” He guessed. She looked embarrassed and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly as her eyes briefly flitted down to his bare chest and ruffled appearance.
“You didn’t wake me up” he assured her as he fought off a blush “I was just coming for some fresh air.”
She gulped and for a stretch there was nothing but silence between them. It was the first time that Regulus had been alone with Hermione Granger since that very first day he’d arrived in 1999 over a week ago. Since then he’d only seen her in passing and almost always with the Potter boy.
“She’s staying with Harry” Sirius had explained over breakfast one morning when Regulus nonchalantly commented on the fact he thought she lived here. He wouldn’t tell Regulus why she’d lived here and why she’d gone to stay with her friend. He said it was her story to tell but Regulus knew something tragic must have happened from the way his eyes glazed over with pity and sadness.
The silence stretched for a moment longer before Regulus stepped aside and gestured for her to enter “will you come in? It’s freezing outside.”
She swallowed and her eyes darted around nervously “I wouldn’t want to impose I only came by to grab my jumper and -“
Regulus cut her off “I insist” he said firmly “you’re white as a sheet, come in and have some pepper up potion at least.”
She nodded and followed him into the kitchen and he made a show of sliding a glass and a vial of potion across the table towards her rather than pouring it for her. He knew full well that Hermione was aware of his past as a death eater and though he wouldn’t dream of it he wanted her to feel comfortable knowing he wasn't trying to slip poison in her drink.
She downed it gratefully and the blush that spread across her cheeks as the steam burst from her ears made the corners of Regulus’ lips turn up in an almost smile.
“I didn’t peg you for a healer” she said eventually.
Suddenly his mind was elsewhere. Fifth year, Slughorn's office, career advice. “You could be a fantastic healer m’boy” he’d said “it’s all here, prodigy at potions of course, proficient at charms…” then his mothers scowl “a healer is a common man’s job Regulus, not befitting of the power my heir could wield.”
He shivered, goosebumps trailing across the bare skin of his arms. He could feel them pushing against the glamour spell he’d placed over his dark mark and the shiver intensified. “I’d have liked to be a healer, '' he admitted in a quiet voice that was almost a whisper.
Hermione tilted her head and her brown eyes were warm and inviting “you still could be.”
With a jolt he realised that he could, his mother wasn’t here to breathe down his neck anymore. He could be anything he wanted to be.
“Tea?” He asked and she nodded gratefully, collapsing back into her chair with a weary exhaustedness that didn’t quite fit her age. The pepper up potion had brightened the bags under her eyes and physically perked her up but Regulus could still see the embers of sadness in her eyes, the twitchiness of her restless fingertips.
He was clumsy with the teapot, spilling water over the side and dropping the tea bags more than once. “Sorry” he mumbled as the cups clattered onto the table “I’m not really used to making my own tea.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow “spoiled” she quipped but Regulus could see her smile peaking over the rim of the teacup and knew that she was teasing him.
“That’s me” he grinned “residence prince of the Black family at your service” he made to do a mock bow and she snorted as she inclined her head towards the hallway where his mothers painting was.
“Don’t let her hear you say that, probably give her a heart attack.” She paused “can paintings have heart attacks? I think we better check, quick go tell her what you just said.”
She laughed and then suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth in horror, eyes going wide. “Oh I am so sorry” she squeaked, voice higher with distress “that’s your mother isn’t it, it’s just oh well I’m so used to Sirius not liking her that I forgot that - well that was just really insensitive of me and I shouldn’t have -“
She was well and truly rambling, curling one strand of hair anxiously around a finger and Regulus couldn’t help but grin wryly at the speed at which she was talking. It was weirdly adorable.
“Miss Granger -“ he attempted to interrupt but she kept going, getting even faster in her explanations and apologies.
“Hermione!” He finally shouted and she paused, flushing at his first ever use of her first name. “It’s alright” he told her “seriously it’s fine. I can’t imagine my mother has been particularly kind to you, I don’t expect you to be kind to her.”
“Right” she looked down at her teacup “no I don’t suppose she is particularly nice to me. She doesn’t speak to me at all unless it’s to call me a -“ she paused like she was deciding on whether or not to say something “a mud blood” she finished “she likes to call me a mud blood.”
For a moment there was a crushing bruising silence in the kitchen. Hermione waited with baited breath, unsure how Regulus would react to her blood status. He saw her eyes briefly flit to his left arm where his dark mark was concealed and he scratched at it self consciously.
“I’m sorry” he said eventually “I'll inquire about trying to remove the painting from the hallway.”
She dared to look up at him, their eyes meeting halfway to the table. “It’s not as if it’s not true though I am a muggleborn…does that - does that bother you?”
Regulus flipped his wrist over and his long pale finger traced the blue veins running through it as Orion had done all those years before. “No” he told her firmly “I don’t think the status of your blood matters.”
She looked like she wanted to say more and Regulus could the burning of her eyes on his head “go ahead” he told her “say it I promise not to be offended.”
She hesitated but it seemed her curiosity won out. “Then - then what about the crest in your bedroom?”
For a moment he said nothing and then he asked “did your parents ever tell your fairytales Hermione Granger?”
Startled by the seemingly random question she nodded.
“What were they about?”
“Typical fairy tales. You know princess in towers, their Prince Charming comes and slays the dragon and rescues them. That sort of thing.”
Regulus hummed “in all of my fairytales instead of dragons it was muggles. For as long as I can remember my parents told me that muggles wanted to kill us, to use us and abuse us. They told me that our magic would be weakened if we co-existed with them let alone had children with them. They told me that the purer the bloodline the better the magic.”
Cautiously he held out his wrist to her “can I see yours?” He asked.
She pulled up the edge of her sleeve and gently laid her wrist beside his.
“Exactly the same,” he said softly. “There is a crest in my bedroom because I was raised to believe in it. Toujours pur. Sirius was raised with it too but he had James Potter helping him see it was all lies. I didn’t” he paused “it’s not an excuse and I deeply regret all of my prejudices and former beliefs but to answer your question no it doesn’t bother me. Your magic isn’t defined by your blood.”
She hummed “good” she said and Regulus smiled.
“Good,” he repeated.
“Where were you so early in the morning anyways?” he asked after a stretch of comfortable silence.
“I had business to attend to” she said vaguely and Regulus thought that if it wasn’t a lie it was at least a half truth. The Slytherin in him picked up on how she didn’t quite meet his eyes as she said it, picking absentmindedly at a bit of loose skin beside her thumb.
“Why were you awake?” she asked back.
For a moment he hesitated. She hadn’t been honest or descriptive with him and his first instinct was to shrug her off with a similarly vague statement. Something stopped him though. He didn’t know Hermione Granger but that wasn’t the point, he didn’t know anyone here. Even Sirius was a completely different man to the one he’d known in 1979. What did he have to lose from opening up? It wasn’t even a particularly revealing bit of information anyway and he was tired of bottling everything up. Sometimes it felt like he’d been doing it his whole life.
“I had a dream about my father” he blurted out and Hermione looked up at him in surprise, evidently assuming he wouldn’t have told her either. He spun his teacup around the table, thinking of the way his mother used to scold him for doing so “it was a memory really. Of the first time he gave me one of his ‘lessons’, well at least the first one I remember. It was a lot to think about I suppose so I came for some air.”
He didn’t even realise that he’d closed his eyes until they were startled open by the soft pressure of a hand on his. Hermione’s hand was small and warm and he felt an electric heat buzz through his skin as she gave him a gentle squeeze.
“I'm sorry for your loss” she said and he could see in her dark ochre eyes that she meant it.
“You shouldn’t be” he shook his head and pulled his hand away, guilt coating his tongue like a film of acid “they were horrible people, Sirius doesn’t miss them.”
“They were your parents -”
“And they’d have hated you” he interrupted as he looked down at his wrung hands “for no reason at all, they don’t deserve your kindness and neither do I.”
The silence was once more heavy and thick. Regulus thought that perhaps Hermione would leave and though he didn’t want her to, he figured he’d deserve it. Instead she began to speak.
“I was visiting my dad.”
His head snapped up but the question on his lips died as he saw the faraway look in her expression.
“He’s more lucid these days than mum…he holds a conversation with me a little better but it's a minor difference…I suppose Sirius has told you about them?”
Regulus shook his head “he said yours wasn’t his story to tell.”
She sighed “he’s right, though it would probably be easier for me if he was less of a gentleman.”
“You don’t have to tell -”
She interrupted him “I do, because I want you to understand. Will you listen?”
He nodded and once more she dropped her startlingly bright eyes from his to focus on her now empty teacup. “Harry is my best friend” she began softly “has been since we were eleven. Everyone in our world knew it. In our first year at Hogwarts I helped him stop Voldemort from getting the philosopher's stone…I guess I became a target then but if you ask me i've always been a target. Just because of my blood.”
Regulus flinched but she didn’t seem to notice. “About a year and a half ago Voldemort took control of the ministry. Harry, Ron and I had to go on the run. My parents they -” her voice got a little choked up and Regulus graciously pretended he didn’t notice it, allowing her a moment to regain her composure. “They would have been the perfect targets for torture to get to me…they had to go into hiding but they’d have never agreed to it. They wanted to stay with me, they thought they could keep me safe…they didn’t understand his power, they could never have understood.”
Suddenly the picture got a little clearer to Regulus. “What did you do?” he asked her.
“I wiped their memories” she whispered “made them forget they ever had a daughter.”
“Oh, oh.” His mind began to spin and fill with horror for her, he was by no means an expert on memory charms but he knew enough to know that modifying someone's memories to that scale would have lasting impacts.
“You know, you’re the first person to hear that who didn’t immediately tell me that I was brilliant” she finally looked up at him, her eyes wet with unshed tears “you know don’t you? What a spell of that kind could do?”
His own grey eyes softened to a silver sheen “it would permanently alter their memories” he theorised “irreversible damage, perhaps lasting memory issues as a result of so many missing moments over almost two decades…they’re not wrong it is a brilliant piece of magic to pull off but…I understand why you wouldn’t want to hear that when it did what it did.”
She sniffed “the best healers in the world at St Mungo’s have been coming up with potions and spells attempting to recover their memories but nothing so far. I think they’re only trying to humour me.”
He reached out and squeezed her hand like she had done to his but unlike him she didn’t pull away. She laced her fingers through his own, holding on like his hand would anchor her to strength, he wasn’t even sure that she was aware that she was doing it.
“Sometimes dad says things and I shouldn't let them get to me but they do. Like today he said that I looked just like his mother and how he and his wife had always wanted a child and felt so empty for never having one…I feel like I ruined their life in some ways because I didn’t give them a choice.”
“You saved them” Regulus reminded her and she managed a half smile at him “they’re still here because of you.”
She sighed “and I know that I would do it ten times over if it meant still having them here, even if they can’t remember me, even if it's selfish…that’s why I told you.” Her curls fell in a soft oval shape around her face and Regulus couldn’t tear his eyes away from her if he tried “I know your parents were bad people but sometimes…sometimes I think we just can’t help wanting our parents. Mine don’t even remember me and yet I can’t stop myself going to visit them even though it's painful, even though I should move on for both of us. You’re not a bad person for missing them, Regulus.”
“But Sirius -”
“Sirius had James’ parents” she cut him off “they were all you had so evil and vindictive as they sounded I won’t deny you your grief. It makes you human, it makes you alive.”
For perhaps the first time since he’d arrived in 1999 Regulus felt like somebody understood him. The weight of the dream felt less heavy to carry and the loneliness didn’t feel as deep. “Thank you” he told her “for talking to me and trusting me and I'm truly sorry about your parents.”
She nodded and there was a pinkness to her cheeks as she seemed to realise just how much she’d opened up. It seemed that she had the same issue that he had, despite being pretty much strangers to one another they felt a strange pull, an instinctive sort of trust.
He couldn’t quite stifle his yawn, the largely sleepless night catching up to him and Hermione startled “I should probably be going home.”
“Stay” Regulus said and then felt his face flush as he realised how it sounded “I - I mean, Sirius told me that you lived here before I came along. I figured you must have had a pretty good reason to want to stay in a house this dark and decrepit so I just wanted to make it clear you can stay here…If - if you’d like to.”
She felt the tiredness in her bones and thought with a little fondness of the gloomy bedroom upstairs that she had grown used to in her months living here. “Okay” she decided.
“Okay” he repeated with a smile.
When they reached the landing she turned with one hand on the bannister, her unruly hair falling like cascading waves in the shadowy darkness “goodnight Regulus Black” she whispered.
She was almost through the door to her own room when she heard “sweet dreams Hermione Granger.”