Chapter 3
There’s a strange look in Sirius’ eyes. It’s half-hopeful, half-resentful, the emotions shining against the stormy grey background of his irises as they watch their mother slowly climb down the stairs. Regulus thinks only Sirius can pull off that look, a distinct mix of love, hope and anger.
They stand against the wall, watching Walburga’s slow descent, their father a warm presence between them. Mother looks even worse than she did when Regulus saw her last two days ago. She’s pale, almost grey, and she’s trembling as she steps down the stairs with Kreacher, who levitates her trunk, following at her heels.
Regulus glances up at his father and then quickly looks away, shaken by the emotion in his father’s eyes.
The smile on Great Aunt Cassie’s face looks forced as she eyes Walburga and asks, “all ready to go?”
Mother’s eyes land on Cassie, a look of contempt settling on her face, and for a second, Cassie’s smile slips. She breathes through her nose and opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Grandmother Irma cuts in. “Now, now, Wally. Don’t be like that. We’ll have a lovely time in France. I’ve heard Hortensius Wosley is on tour there. I’m certain we can get tickets to one of his concerts.” She pats Walburga on her cheek. “And we will go shopping. Everyone knows the best designers are in France. It’ll be lovely, you’ll see.”
Regulus meets his mother’s gaze, and her eyes are dead, hollow and lifeless grey of smoke hovering over muggle London. His stomach drops as her eyes regard him slowly, and all he wants is to hide behind his father. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he stands still, frozen in his spot and tries to hide his fear the best he can. Mother’s eyes flutter to Sirius, and she pauses for a moment. There’s a second when Regulus thinks she will grace Sirius’ with a few words, but the moment passes, and the silence that stretches between them is so tense and thick it can be cut with a knife.
Grandmother clears her throat, grasping mother’s elbow gently. “We should go,” she says, “your father arranged the portkey to leave from here, so we don’t have to bother with lines in the Ministry.”
They go to the parlour. Father ushers Regulus and Sirius inside, walking behind them, a steady presence at their back. On the coffee table lays a green silk scarf – the portkey – and Grandmother, Aunt Cassie, and mother gather around it.
Sirius grasps his hand. Regulus looks at his brother and once again sees the yearning, expectant look on his face that Regulus doesn’t know how to interpret. Does Sirius want to go with them? Does he want them to stay?
Grandmother checks her watch. “It’s time,” she announces as she picks the scarf from the table.
“Walburga,” father’s voice rings from behind them, but mother ignores it. Lips curled with disgust, she holds the scarf with one hand and the trunk with the other, stubbornly staring at the emerald fabric as it starts to vibrate.
No words of goodbye fall from her lips as she, Grandmother and Aunt Cassie disappear in a blur of colour.
***
“She didn’t even say goodbye,” Sirius says quietly a few hours later. They are in Sirius’ bedroom, which they once again share. Sirius sits on the floor, leaning against the half-filled trunk, not really helping with the packing they are supposed to be doing.
Regulus pauses with his favourite stuffed demiguise named Dolly in one hand and a pair of Sirius’ socks in another and glances at his brother. He had a feeling something was wrong with Sirius, but he didn’t expect his brother to feel down over the lack of goodbye. Then again, he probably looks at it in the wrong way. Regulus is used to being ignored by their mother, but Sirius isn’t. As Walburga’s favourite, Sirius has always enjoyed her attention and whatever affection she was willing to bestow upon her children at the moment. Yet, after being trapped at Grimmauld Place for months and avoiding their mother in fear of catching her in one of her bad moods, Regulus expected his brother to be happy to be free of her, even if only for a few weeks. He has been wrong, obviously.
Not knowing what to say, he drops Dolly and Sirius’ socks and slides down to sit next to his brother on the floor. He curls around Sirius like a human octopus, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ torso and tangling their legs together.
“She’s ill,” he whispers. He doesn’t know what illness it is since their mother doesn’t have a fever, a cough or even a runny nose, but the family has agreed that Walburga is sick and needs rest and relaxation and time away from home. Agreement in their family is something so rare Regulus is even more inclined to believe them. “She’ll get better, and everything will be better,” he says, attempting a smile.
Sirius shrugs, a shadow of doubt sweeping over his face. “Really? Have you seen the look on father’s face when he looked at her? He looked murderous. And they fight all the time now. They never fought so often before.”
It’s true. These the past few days, Regulus and Sirius heard many arguments between their parents, angry voices carrying up the staircase and filtering through the walls of their bedroom, loud and disrupting. And the looks they give each other now are sometimes terrifying, but that doesn’t mean things can’t change once their mother gets better. Regulus doesn’t quite know what the change will look like, so he says nothing and only tightens his arms around Sirius.
***
Cassie’s cottage sits on a hill overlooking a small sandy beach. Everything, from the sounds filtering through the walls, colours and furniture, to the air, is different from the grey, cloudy neighbourhood where they live. The moment they step through the fireplace, Regulus and Sirius rush through the sitting room, stumbling over trunks Kreacher brought earlier, and throw open the door to run outside.
The sun is bright and blinding, and the air’s fresh and salty with a distinct scent of summer and freedom. Sirius stops, kicks the sand, watching as it sprays around, tiny grains glittering in the afternoon sun, and laughs loud and unrestrained. The sound soars high into the sky. Regulus smiles and joins in. For a long time, they run around in circles, pushing each other and rolling in the sand dunes, the sun painting everything around them in sparkling gold.
Father and Uncle Alphard stand outside the cottage, leaning against the backdoor and watching them play. Even from a distance, Regulus sees the smiles on their faces, the tender look on his father’s lips. Looking at them, he grins. The summer has begun.
***
“Get from under my feet, cat!” Uncle Alphard shouts at the ginger cat that moves between his legs, twisting his body to rub against Uncle Alphard’s ankles.
Regulus giggles, watching as his Uncle tries not to step on the cat while balancing a tray on his hand.
“His name is Anubis,” Regulus says, and the cat cocks his head, looking at him with bright yellow eyes. “Come here.” He pats his lap, and after a second of consideration, the cat pounces, hopping onto Regulus lap, where he purrs pleasantly. Regulus runs his hand through Anubis’ silky fur, smiling. Great Aunt Cassiopeia has seven cats – all named after Egyptian deities – and Regulus loves them all.
Alphard puts the tray on the table before taking his wand from behind his ear and giving it a slight wave. The plates fly from the cabinet to the table, followed closely by glasses and utensils. “There’s too many of them,” Alphard shakes his head. “I don’t know how Cassie manages. Also, I don’t know if this,” he says, pointing at the food, “is going to be edible. I’m starting to think we should ask Kreacher to come along.”
Father pushes a spoon around in the bowl, one eyebrow raised as he looks at the meal Alphard prepared for them. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” he offers before a frown appears on his face. “If you don’t mind me asking, though. Um, what is it?”
“Something I ate in America.” Alphard shrugs. “I don’t remember what they called it. Come to think about it, I’m not sure it has a name. It’s rice and sausage and smoked paprika and some vegetables.”
Hesitating, they examine the meal with apprehension. Sirius stabs a slice of sausage with his fork and frowns. Regulus leans closer and sniffs. The food looks odd, very different from what Kreacher usually makes for them, and Regulus has little reason to trust Alphard’s cooking skills. Still, it smells good, and his good mood makes him bold. He takes a bite and chews slowly as father, Uncle Alphard and Sirius watch him with surprise on their faces.
“It’s tasty,” he says, breaking the silence.
Regulus’ nod of approval seems to calm everyone, and they start to eat. It’s very different from the meals they have shared so far – there’s talking and laughing, and when Sirius’ knocks over the glass with juice, no one shouts at him. Regulus thinks he can get used to it.
The dessert – an apple pie – comes from father’s and Alphard’s favourite bakery called The Fairy’s Delight. As Alphard opens the box, the scent of apples, cinnamon and caramel fill the small dining room.
“We found this bakery by accident on our first Hogsmeade visit,” Uncle Alphard starts the story with a fond spark in his eyes. “We were walking around, and the weather was absolutely terrible, windy and rainy and just the worst. And then, your father saw The Fairy’s Delight. I will never forget the look on his face,” he says, chuckling under his nose as he glances at father. “He looked like all of his dreams come true, and before I knew what was happening, he all but dragged me inside-“
“And you were so reluctant to go,” father laughs, rolling his eyes. It’s a new side of his father, or rather, another side of his father that Regulus is seeing for the first time. He has never thought of him as a boy, wandering around Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, playing games with Uncle Alphard as they were little, but in Cassie’s small dining room, the friendship between Orion and Alphard shines through like a sunbeam in the dim room.
Regulus looks at Sirius and imagines them, together at Hogsmeade, or simply lounging around in Slytherin common room. Sirius meets his gaze, a small smile playing at his lips, and Regulus knows the same thoughts circles in Sirius’ head. He can’t wait until it’s time for them to go to Hogwarts, to walk through the same halls their father and Uncle have walked through, to create memories that they will reminiscence during dinners years, decades later.
***
It’s the best summer ever.
Their family has visited Cassie at her cottage during summer a few times, and there have been a few times when they made the trip to the Isles of Scilly, to the tiny island that belonged to wizards only. Although the memories of those summers are foggy in Regulus’ head, he remembers the stilted, almost suffocating atmosphere and tension between certain family members. Uncle Cygnus’ and Aunt Druella’s loud and violent arguments, Grandfather Arcturus’ complaints and mother’s scowling has never really allowed them to enjoy the summer.
With only the four of them and Cassie’s cats around, it’s almost as if they’re in a bubble of happiness and laughter, where the weather is always perfect, with a clear blue sky and bright sun, and the ocean’s always calm, lulling them to sleep at night with the gentle sway of waves that they hear through the open window in their bedroom.
The evenings they usually spend outside. Uncle Alphard makes a bonfire and charms the flames to change colours or, with a flick of his wand, creates animals from the smoke that twirl around them before fading into the night sky. They sit around the fire on logs of a wood father has summoned from the nearby forest and drink cocoa that’s so sweet it makes Regulus’ teeth tingle. And there are stories, tales of the times their father and Uncle spent at Hogwarts and before that, of family gatherings and whatever trouble Uncle Alphard managed to cause.
Uncle Alphard’s smile is fond and warm as Orion tells them about the night of their sorting. “We were in the boat with two other boys, all terribly excited, but your Uncle couldn’t sit still, of course. He kept moving and moving, leaning over, for whatever reason, and then, he fell, head first, into the lake. Made a big splash, too, spraying water all over me. And of course, he couldn’t swim.”
Regulus gasps, gaping at his Uncle. “How did you get out?”
“The Giant Squid pulled me out of the lake,” Uncle Alphard says. “It wrapped its fat, slimy tentacle around my ankle and swung me back into the boat, dripping wet and coughing. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” He sighs.
Sirius snorts. “How can you be friends with a Squid?”
“Easily.” Alphard grins. “Though it was a rather quiet friendship. The Giant Squid isn’t very talkative, but every time it swam by the windows of our common room, it gave me a little wave.” He wiggles his fingers.
“You can see what’s beneath the surface of the lake from the common room?” Sirius asks, excited and wide-eyed.
Regulus perks up too. Although everyone in their family was in Slytherin, no one has ever told them about the Slytherin common room. In truth, the only thing they know about Slytherin is that it is the house where they belong and should be sorted into.
Father nods, though rather reluctantly. “The common room is in the dungeons under the lake. You can see whatever happens beneath the surface through the windows; the Giant Squid, the Merpeople swimming by, Grindylows and other creatures. It’s rather beautiful,” he says, a wistful note in his voice.
“And everything is green,” Uncle Alphard adds, “and if you sit in one of the armchairs near the windows, you can see sunlight flickering through the water, seaweed moving outside the windows.” He waves his wand, and the fire turns soft green, emerald shadows dancing on the sand around them. He looks at Orion. “Do you think our table is still there?”
“Probably. I don’t see why anyone would move it.”
Alphard leans in. The silly straw hat he insists on wearing – to protect him from the sun because he burns faster than parchment – slides from his head a little. He straightens it and whispers conspiratorially, “when we were fifteen, Orion and I carved our names on one of the tables.”
Sirius sighs loudly, leaning his chin against his knees. “I can’t wait to see it. I’ll say hi to Giant Squid from you, Uncle.” He grins. Wrapping his arm around Regulus’ shoulder, he pulls him closer. “And then, Reg will join, and we will add our names next to yours.”
Father clears his throat. “Well, if you’ll get sorted into Slytherin,” he says, gazing at Sirius strangely. “There are three other houses where you might get into.”
Sirius frowns. “Everyone in the family gets into Slytherin.”
“It’s a tradition,” Regulus adds.
Father hesitates. He closes his eyes for a second before looking at Sirius and Regulus earnestly. “That doesn’t mean you have to follow it,” he says, and his words are like blasphemy to their ears. Even Uncle Alphard looks surprised. It’s a universal truth that the Blacks belong in Slytherin. “What’s important is for you to find a place where you belong, your own path,” father continues slowly, weighing every word. He sounds and looks at them as if he needs them to listen, needs them to understand his words and take them to heart. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be the same path our family has chosen. And,” he swallows, “whatever house you’ll get sorted into, it’ll be alright.”
“The Blacks gets sorted into Slytherin,” Sirius repeats stubbornly.
“Mostly because we ask for it,” father admits. “The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw, but your Uncle was sorted first, and I wanted to be in the same house, so I asked for Slytherin.”
“Really?” Uncle Alphard asks. “You’ve never told me that.” He shakes his head. “The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Ravenclaw too, but I figured out you’d get into Slytherin, so I asked for Slytherin.” He chuckles.
“What about mother?” Sirius asks.
Orion shrugs. “I’ve never asked her.”
“The Sorting Hat didn’t even touch her head before it put her in Slytherin,” Uncle Alphard says. “But for Dorea, the Hat considered Hufflepuff.”
“So you can ask, and the Hat will put you in the house you want to get into?” Regulus asks. He has never considered it an option. His mother was the only person who spoke about the sorting ceremony, and she said that the Hat recognises their noble blood and puts them into Slytherin straight away.
Father nods in confirmation. Regulus grins, looking at Sirius. “It’s easy then. When my time comes, I’ll ask the Hat to put me wherever you are.”
***
A week passes in a blink, and before Regulus realises, it’s his birthday.
Sirius wakes him up early in the morning by throwing his arms around him and squeezing tightly. “Happy birthday.” His whisper is a warm flutter against Regulus’ cheek.
Regulus smiles, tucking his head against Sirius’ shoulder as he wraps his arms around his brother. He already knows it will be the best birthday ever. They stay in bed for a while longer, buried in blankets and pillows and stuffed toys, and watch as the sun rises over the horizon, painting the sky in pale pink and lilac.
When the faint scent of fried eggs and bacon enters the room, they slowly stumble from the bed and climb down the stairs, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Father is in the kitchen, making a mess, while Uncle Alphard laughs at him from behind the newspaper. It has been easy to get used to this cheerful atmosphere of Cassie’s cottage, little jokes they share, and even to the taste of slightly burned bacon.
“Happy birthday!” Alphard says when he spots them, waving with his straw hat.
Father turns around and takes a step, enveloping Regulus in his arms, and Regulus thinks he will never get tired of this. Warmth spreads through him as Orion kisses the top of his head, pulling him impossibly close. “Happy birthday,” he whispers. He holds him for a long time, almost desperately, and Regulus clutches his father’s robes, not wanting for the hug to end. It only gets better when Sirius and Uncle Alphard join in, along with Cassie’s seven cats that twist around their legs, meowing and purring loudly.
They spend the day at the beach. Regulus and Sirius splash and chase each other in the ocean while father and Uncle Alphard cheer on them. When the afternoon rolls around, Regulus is exhausted but happy, his skin painted gold from the sun and his hair wet. He flops on the blanket between his father and Uncle and giggles, kicking his legs in the air.
“Time for the cake, I think,” father says, handing Regulus and Sirius towels.
“And presents,” Uncle Alphard adds with a wink. He waves his wand, and a dozen of presents – all wrapped in colourful paper and with bows on top - fly from the house. He takes a long package and grins, holding it for Regulus. “From me.”
Even before he opens the present, Regulus knows what it is. He squeals and rips off the paper. The broomstick’s handle is smooth and polished, and the moment Regulus’ hand wraps around it, he feels the tingling sensation on his fingertips.
“Thank you,” he whispers, awed. He has wanted a real broomstick for ages since the one he had was for little children.
“You’re welcome. Who knows, maybe you’ll follow my footsteps and play in the Quidditch team at Hogwarts.”
As Regulus opens the rest of the presents – toys and robes, sweets and a set of wizarding chess – the smile stays on his lips, so wide, his jaw almost hurts. Finally, when the last present is opened, his father stands up and walks to the cottage. He returns a moment later, cradling something small and furry in his arms. Regulus feels his eyes widen.
“For me?” he asks as father places the kitten in his lap. It’s black with white paws and a small white patch on the forehead. Regulus lifts the kitten to his face to look at him closely, and the cat licks his nose.
“For you,” Orion nods, smiling. “You should think of a name for him.”
Regulus scrunches his nose, watching the cat. Aunt Cassie named her cats after Egyptian deities, and Grandfather Pollux’s crups bear the names of historical figures. He wants his cat’s name to be as special. “How about... Jupiter?” The cat meows, licking Regulus’ nose again. “Jupiter, it is.”
The cake comes from the bakery again, for which Regulus is glad since he doubts his father or Uncle have enough skill to bake a cake. It’s chocolate and mint, with a dragon painted on top in bright green icing. When father puts in the candles, the dragon flaps its wings and open mouth, lighting the candles with its fiery breath. Regulus and Sirius clap their hands, giggling.
“Make a wish,” Uncle Alphard says, holding a camera to his eye.
Regulus closes his eyes and thinks before opening them again. He wants to remember this moment forever – the excited look on Sirius’ face, father’s smile and the sound of Uncle Alphard’s laughter; the scent of the air and the feeling of the sun kissing his skin, the warmth of Jupiter against his calf.
He feels so happy and so light the summer breeze could whisk him away like Alphard’s straw hat. He never wants this to end. Closing his eyes, he blows the candles.