November- 1971
On the morning of November 1st, Regulus lays in bed motionless as the sun slowly creeps through his window. He doesn't feel like getting up. He doesn't see a point in it.
For the past two months, each day has been just as boring and brainless as the last. The weeks drag on so long and time has slowed so much that he's convinced it's about to come to a stop. There was never much to do at Grimmauld Place even when he had his brother as company, and now that he's gone the lack of entertainment is even more evident.
The things he usually loves to do have gotten tiresome. Painting is too much of a hassle for too little reward, and drawing is no fun when he has no muse. Most of the games Sirius has stashed in his room are meant for at least two people, and the remaining majority are too loud or too messy to be used without getting screamed at.
Even reading has gotten too boring for him to stand.
Regulus has already committed seventy-five percent of the contents of Grimmaulds Library to memory. The only books that remain are from his fathers collection, and he has been taught from a young age that he is not to touch any of them until he comes of age unless explicitly instructed by Walburga or Orion.
Of course, that didn't mean he had never read them. They never said he wasn't allowed to read the books, just not to touch them. And Regulus did his best to abide by his parents rules.
On the contrary, Sirius did everything he could to go against their parents rules. So, if Sirius ever happened to wander into the library, and if a specific book about the exact topic Regulus was currently interested in happened to find it's way into his hands...
Well there wasn't much Regulus could do about that, now was there?
And of course, there was nothing he could do if Sirius decided to sit with him, patiently waiting, and just so happened to turn the pages just as Regulus finished reading them.
Technically, he wasn't breaking any rules, and technically Sirius was, so they were both happy.
Now, though, there was no one to break the rules for him and he definitely wasn't going to do it on his own. With no books, no games, and no inspiration, Regulus found himself completely and utterly cut off.
He groans, grabbing his pillow and flipping it onto his head, burying his face in it. He decides he's content in staying here all day, maybe even longer if he felt like it, when the faint sound of footsteps begins to make their way up to his room. He rolls onto his stomach, doing his best to tamp down the fear growing inside of him. The footsteps grow louder in the hall, stopping directly outside of his bedroom.
The door hinges squeak as it opens. Regulus doesn't move.
"Get up."
His eyes are screwed shut. His whole body feels tense, refusing to listen to what his brain is commanding.
"Regulus. I know you are awake."
He's not sure what this is going to accomplish, but he's in too deep now to give up. And he doesn't think he could even if he tried.
Suddenly, Walburga is moving again, and with purpose.
"Get. Up. This. Instant." She reaches under the pillow, grabbing Regulus by his hair. He yelps, grabbing onto her wrist as he's dragged out of his bed and onto the floor. He barely registers what's happened when he's yanked to his feet, thin fingers threatening to tear the hair clean off his scalp.
"Did you think", Walburga spits, leaning down so her face is just inches away from her sons, "that with your disgrace of a brother gone, you would slip by? I will not stand for this disrespect. You will do as I say, when I say it. Do I make myself clear?"
Regulus's jaw feels as though it's been sealed with cement. He stares up at her, putting on his best impression of Sirius.
"Yes, Mother."
Her eyes narrow in disgust, and then Regulus finds himself getting thrown back down. His knee collides with the floor and starts to burn underneath his trousers. Walburga straightens up, rolling her eyes as she stalks back towards the door.
"Get dressed. Now. When you're ready, you're to assist Kreacher in the ballroom."
Regulus stays frozen on his hands and knees until he's certain his mother has left for good. He moves to sit with his back against his bed and pulls up the leg of his trousers. The skin on his knee has rubbed off to leave an angry red mark. He puffs out a sigh and yanks his trousers back down.
Tomorrow is another day.
——————
On the morning of November 2nd, Regulus is already dressed and ready to go when the suns rays make their way through his window. He sits on top of his neatly made bed, legs crossed, staring intently at his own reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall.
His hair is getting longer. Not nearly as long as Sirius', but longer than he usually keeps it. Walburga will force a haircut on him soon, but for now he appreciates the length. The hair at the nape of his neck has begun to curl, no longer shaved and fading into the rest of his hair. The tops of his ears are covered by lovely black locks that tickle him in his sleep.
He raises his hand, taking the front most curl between his thumb and pointer finger. He drags it out until it's straight and pulls it down in front of his face. It almost reaches the tip of his nose. He abandons the mirror, crossing his eyes to stare at the hairs up close. His brows knit together, mouth pulling down slightly.
He winds the strip of hair around his pointer finger three times before it reaches the roots still attached to his head. He raises his eyebrows, staring up at his finger, before letting go, allowing the hair to unravel. He hums, then drops his hand back into his lap, returning his gaze to his reflection.
Multicolored eyes stare back at him. If his reflection were real, its right eye would be blue instead, and it's left eye green. He wonders, if they were to switch places, how long it would take for someone to notice. He highly doubts that anyone besides himself paid attention as to which color eye was which.
His nose was odd. It was the same as everyone else's in his family. Sometimes he liked it and sometimes he didn't. Looking straight, it appeared normal, but when he turned to the side you could see a bump raised in the center. He didn't much care for that— it always seemed more prominent on his face than on anyone else's.
His mouth was a decent size. There wasn't much else to be said in that area. His teeth were straight, gleamingly white. The adult ones had come in nicely, and they were only waiting on a few more to come loose in the back. Although, the idea of any part of him being described as "adult" scared him a bit.
He focuses on each area of his face, scrutinizing every minute detail, then focuses on everything combined together.
He looks like Sirius. He looks almost identical to Sirius. In fact, if a stranger were to see them, they would probably assume the two were twins were it not for Regulus's eyes.
However, Sirius somehow resembled their mother to an upsetting degree, while Regulus mirrored their father. Strange, so similar yet so, so incredibly different. What was it that Regulus had once read?
'Two households, both alike in dignity...'
Regulus's attention is ripped away from the mirror by a loud crack, prompting Kreacher to appear before him. The house elf stands with it's head bowed slightly, hands fidgeting behind his back.
"Young Master Regulus."
"Kreacher." Regulus's voice is warm, much unlike his mothers and far to her disapproval. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Mistress has left the household on Ministry business. She has requested the young Master to accompany Kreacher in his daily tasks once more."
Regulus pauses for a moment, the faint sounds of the rest of the world coming to life outside the only noise to fill the air. He turns back to the mirror, taking in his reflection one last time, before pushing himself off of the bed to stand.
"Very well", he answers with just the slightest bit of annoyance. "We must not delay. Lest she return unexpectedly."
The house elf turns on the spot, exiting the room with the boy following suit.
Tomorrow is another day.
———————
On the morning of November 3rd, Regulus waits for the sun to start leaking through his window to leave his room. He skips over the steps he knows make the most noise, sneaking past his parents bedroom and down to the ground floor.
He sits in a center seat at the dining room table, a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of him. He's not a big breakfast person, but this particular day has always come with a certain routine and he'll be damned if he doesn't follow through. He wonders if Sirius feels the same, or if he's already in the process of making a new tradition.
He can only manage to eat half of his plate. He offers up the rest to Kreacher who steadfastly refuses, and eventually he gives up and goes to make his way back upstairs.
He reaches the fifth floor, arriving at the sunroom once more. This time however, he opens the door and stops dead in his tracks at the sight of his mother standing by the fireplace. Walburga turns over her shoulder, her eyes fixating directly on him.
"I figured you would end up here." Her voice is steady as she redirects herself, walking towards him. "What with your...inane recreations."
Regulus isn't sure if she was alluding to his painting or his brothers routine, either way she clearly didn't care for it.
"Stop slouching. I taught you better than that."
He adjusts his posture, anxious to avoid a physical correction. "Sorry, Mother."
"Come with me, Regulus." She moves past him out into the hall, walking with a subtle elegance much like a swan cutting through water.
He follows her down one end of the hall to the last room on the right. With the flick of a wrist the door unlocks, and soon Regulus finds himself standing in a room surprisingly small for Grimmaulds standards.
There's no furniture, which seems odd to Regulus seeing as how every other room he's entered has been occupied in some way. There are no windows either, which is less surprising. Instead, all four walls are covered from floor to ceiling with that iconic green wallpaper. Although something is different about these walls. Winding around the wallpaper, extending off into all different directions, are gold limbs resembling the branches of a tree. Each branch is accompanied by a portrait, some of which then multiply, connecting to more branches and pictures.
Regulus walks further into the room, crossing to the opposite wall. He stares up at the images in front of him and notices that underneath each one is a small banner that labels who these people are.
"What is this?"
Walburga steps forward, coming up behind her son. She places a hand on his shoulder.
"This is a map of our entire family lineage. Every pureblood witch or wizard to ever live is displayed here. And of course, at the center, is our family; descending directly from Salazar Slytherin himself."
Regulus's eyes scan a portion of the wall before he spots his mothers portrait. He follows the branches protruding below her, landing first on Sirius and then himself.
Regulus Arcturus Black II.
Something about seeing himself labelled here makes him squirm, and he immediately feels guilty. He should be proud of his family. The House of Black is one of, if not the most prestigious and respected family of all wizarding kind. Holding the title of Black was the highest honor one could achieve.
He follows the branch back up to his mother, then travels down a different connector. Next to Walburga are his two uncles, Alphard and Cygnus.
Or, at least, that's who should be there.
Alphard Black's portrait was covered by a thick, black spot, completely blotting him out in ash. Underneath the scorch mark, the banner displaying his name had a strikeout running through it.
Regulus, though confused, almost ignored the change before he noticed it again. Following Uncle Cygnus's branch, he recognized his aunt, Druella Black -née Rosier, and their three daughters.
Bellatrix Black, the oldest of his cousins, looked just as surly in her portrait as she did in real life. Regulus didn't think he had ever seen her smile before. If she had, he was certain it could only be caused by something awfully terrible and wicked.
Narcissa Black was the youngest of the three sisters, though still was six years older than Regulus himself. What was striking about Narcissa was that, like Regulus, she was born with a feature never before seen in a Black family member: her hair was a brilliant, shining platinum. He took comfort in knowing that he wasn't the only black sheep of the family, and he often wondered if she did as well.
In between the two, where there should of been a portrait of his middle cousin, resided another dark burn mark. Underneath that, a strikeout on a banner that once read Andromeda Black.
Regulus was eight years younger than Andromeda, but despite the distance in age she had always tried to get on his level when interacting with him. Though she may have had more success getting through to Sirius; it was obvious to anyone that she was his favorite of the three sisters.
Regulus loved Andromeda. He loved the way she twisted her hair up, lazily sticking her wand in to keep it in place. He loved how she would get excited about stickers, and would put them on her forehead and forget they were there until hours later.
One of his fondest memories of her had been from when he was five, back when he had been called a baby because he was one and not because he acted like one. She would sing nonsense words as she bounced him up and down on her knees. Holding onto his hands for support, she would flip him upside down to lay flat against her legs, then pull him back up and start all over. And he would giggle and scream with joy until Druella or Walburga scolded her for causing such a ruckus.
But she never cared. Hearing him laugh was more than worth it for her.
Andromeda had disappeared shortly after leaving Hogwarts earlier that year. One day she just stopped showing up to family dinners or events or anything, really. Sirius had asked once when Cousin Andi would be back to visit which ended with him being hexed by their mother so badly Regulus thought he may need to be taken to St. Mungos.
He wasn't sure why, but he knew they weren't supposed to talk about Andromeda. Which is why Regulus is completely taken back by the next words to leave his mouth.
"Mother, what are these marks for?" He points up at the ruined picture of his cousin. Walburga smacks the back of his hand, causing him to jump lightly and pull back.
"That," Walburga began, voice as stiff as Regulus had ever heard it, "is what happens when you turn your back on this family."
When she doesn't go on, Regulus looks back at her. Her eyes are trained on the spot where her brothers portrait should've been, pure disgust and hatred visible on her face. Regulus feels his fear begin to rise again when she continues, never looking away from the wall.
"Mark my words, Regulus. If your brother continues to go down this path, he will find himself in the exact same position as these undesirables. He shall be shunned from this family, and in the process will run to his legion of filthy mudbloods. And he will convince himself that he's their friend and they would go to the ends of the earth for him.
But, eventually, he will come to see that his name is worth more than some trivial friendship. And they will see it, too. They will see him as a traitor, a monster. They will call him a blood purist and a fascist, but they will know deep down that his values are correct and that they are the ones who are morally skewed. But by that point it will be too late, and they all will pay the price. Every last one of them."
The end of his mothers lecture was met with an eerie silence. The hand on his shoulder had begun to squeeze painfully, keeping him locked in place.
Regulus wasn't sure what some of those words meant. He knew he had heard them before, coming from various sources around his house: half listening to the grown ups converse about "sanctity" and the "preservation of righteousness"— more words he didn't understand. His mothers ravings about mud bloods and pure bloods and clean and dirty.
It was something Sirius always seemed to get angry about hearing. The adults got angry too, but not for the same reasons— that much was clear to Regulus. He figures it must be a serious issue if everyone is this upset, though.
Walburga turns Regulus around to face her, continuing to hold him in place by his shoulders. She brings herself down to her knees so as to be eye to eye with him, something that was so rare Regulus could count every instance of it ever happening on his fingers.
He's so focused on remembering his posture, his fidgeting, his eye contact, he almost didn't recognize she was speaking again.
"I shall not allow you to follow in your brothers footsteps, Regulus. If he is deemed unfit for the role, you will succeed him in becoming the heir to this family."
He wasn't positive he understood her way of thinking, but he figured it best to just agree. After all, it couldn't be too terribly important; how could Sirius ever lose the title of heir?
"Yes, Mother."
She grips him tighter, her voice just barely a whisper. "Above all else, your blood is Black. Remember that, Regulus."
Her eyes bear deep into Regulus's soul. They search every part of him without ever moving. Every memory, every feeling, every thought he's ever had. And it's at this moment Regulus knows Sirius was telling the truth— their mother can read minds.
He swallows, a shiver running down his spine. His mouth is dry, making his voice crack as the words force their way out. "Yes, Mother."
They stare in silence a moment longer before Walburga gives a content hum, releasing him to return to her full height.
She strolls out of the room, and Regulus hears her heels click on the steps as she descends them.
The walls call out to him, much like a siren luring a sailor to his demise.
He looks at his cousin. His uncle. His brother.
What crimes could they have committed to be unworthy of being a part of the family?
He looks at himself.
Your blood is black. Remember that.
Tomorrow is another day.