Family legend says that they are gods, glorious gods spanning the universe like some brilliant collection of the grandest moons and stars and constellations and planets. Toujours pur. Black lands on top, and they stay on top, staring down into their kingdom and ruling with a fist of iron and fire.
Regulus is eighteen, and it is not quite as believable as it was to her when he was younger. Nothing is now, because the future that they said was his birthright seems so… Regulus cannot put a word to describe how he feels about it, but he knows if he ever said a word about it… no, he can’t, not if he wants to stay alive.
Lucky above all comes self-interest and self-preservation for Regulus, else he would’ve been long since dead to this family, and unlike the others - because Sirius has the Potters and his friends now, and Andromeda has a new family - there is no one for Regulus to go to. He imagines another future, but he always shuts it down, because if he were to be cast out on the street, all of his “friends” - who is he kidding? They are only there because their parents have the same ideals. So there is no one to turn to, Regulus figures.
Purebloods are a special kind, his mother tells him, but no one will ever be as pure as the Blacks. A dying, special breed, and it is not only Regulus’ duty but best interest to preserve the lineage, especially because there are no young Blacks who aren’t blood traitors left in Britain.
The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black is a nebulous web of blackmail, lies, treachery, and poison; luminous with their brilliance. Like gods, because his mother can never stop reminding him that.
If they are gods, then, they act like ones - evanescent in a sort of fleeting vision that mere mortals can only dream of setting.
Sirius gets his temper from his mother, Regulus has always figured, because they are too mercurial and fiery to not be alike. If there is one thing they both believe in, it is in their never dying “brilliance.” They both like to think they are the greatest over everything, because if there is one thing other than tangled purity that the Black family does not lack, it is their hunger for prestige and adulation and power and blood. They already have this, but nothing will sate their appetite, and so they keep hunting for it. On top of everyone they are, and no one can catch up to them.
There are other families, blood traitors like the Weasleys, and the few others close to the Blacks’ league, like the Malfoys and the Lestranges, but still even those purebloods can never hope to be on the same league as the Blacks. Regulus’ father, cold and proud, is the source of that statement.
But stormy as they are, Regulus thinks, they are probably as culpable as anyone or anything, because maybe it is their glory that is evanescent, a mere conjecture that centuries’ work have taken to land them on top. Whatever it is, it could all come crumbling down at a moment's notice.
The higher you are, the farther you fall, and it doesn’t take much to topple you from your lofty pedestal. As they squander away everything in gambles and bets, tie their hands in unfilled contracts and debt, and throw away their lives for a cause that is all-consuming, eating them up, Regulus feels every single shred and modicum of dignity - whatever glory they have left, it is all slipping away.
And as the storm of brilliance and power abates, he knows what will become of them.
Egregious crimes and scandals slip forward, and the power they once hold no longer exists, and only the tattered scraps of their tapestry and the shards of their sculpture remain. Their reputation is in ruins, and it will never, ever be restored to its former grandeur.
One day, there will be a book about them, and it will tell the tale of madness and blood. At the end of the day, Regulus realises, it is their blood that will be spilt, not the blood of the enemy. Who knows, if they never had been so power hungry, what they could’ve been?
They will sigh in the streets, and Regulus can picture what they say as if he were them, standing right there in that moment.
“There goes the maddest, most shameless family anyone has ever seen. Good luck to to those ones that got out already.”
Maybe it is not so bad. To his family, most of them anyway, it is “there goes the last great pureblood dynasty.” And to Regulus, now, all he can do is breathe a sigh of relief. He is sitting in a bar in the middle of nowhere, and no one knows who he is or why he’s here, and nobody back home knows he’s alive. It is exhilarating; and as he breathes in the smoke and cheap perfume, smells the salt air coming from the window and the drink in his hand, he can feel the last remnants of his old life slipping away - just for now, at least - and for the first time he really, truly feels free.
The stars are falling from the sky, and Regulus couldn’t care less, because he was a star, once upon a time, and now all he has is scars.