Chapter Text
Regulus Arcturus Black is holding onto his sleeves, standing by the Black family tree. He feels the dead, cold weight of expectations wrung around his shoulder. His eyes turn to his father, Orion, then flicker to Walburga, slightly flinching at even the writing of her name. Then to Cygnus, Druella, and his older cousins.
Regulus knew those girls would never be treated right, as Cygnus desperately needed a son. No matter the dominant personality of Bellatrix, she’ll never be seen as his son, his heir, but rather a mistake and disobedient daughter. This may be the only time Regulus has a slither of sympathy for his oldest cousin.
His eyes slowly come across the line between Orion and Walburga, to Sirius being blasted off. He thought back to the fond memories of Sirius sneaking him food when his mother had starved him, taking him to muggle parks and spending the summer in Uncle Alphard’s house in Italy. These were the fondest memories he had of Sirius, how his older brother was proudly defiant and practically bragging to mother about his wreckless resistance.
Regulus thought back to a time where he saw Sirius as the greatest man alive. Now Sirius is merely a fool. He gave up the chance of being an heir to the house of Black, he gave up the money, the respect and most importantly, the legacy. However as much as Regulus scrutinised him, he knew Sirius never strived for any of these, and since his betrayal of brotherhood, he has in turn left Regulus to become the heir.
He can’t be disappointed in his brother leaving, he should be grateful that he left the position to inherit the title Lord Black, to be the one and only son worthy of keeping his name and continuing the honourable legacy.
“Regulus, why am I hearing of that Crouch boy wishing to see you?”
His thoughts of Sirius are snapped back as the sharp tone of his mother quip. Regulus felt a droplet of sweat running down the back of his neck.
“I haven’t been informed, mother.” He knew it was Barty wishing to spend time with him, considering that he didn’t know what it was like to have an overbearing parent, only an absent parent.
“Very well. You will not speak to this boy outside of Hogwarts, it will ruin your reputation as heir of Black.”
Regulus nodded as her heels clicked away. Finally, he turned back to the family tree, piercing his eyes on the freshly painted portrait of him. The painting was done on his sixteenth birthday, and the memory of it was him to throw up. He’d take anything to rip his portrait and be free of this lineage. In another universe, Regulus will live a regular life, maybe even as a muggle, he hopes to himself.
———
Regulus has felt this unbearable chill before, an incurable ache in his bones as his ribs caged his heart. He was lying on the floors of Grimmauld place, at the feet of Warburga Black. A loud sneering sound could also be heard, it was Bellatrix cackling at the sound cracking bones. Narcissa stared, lips pursed and unable to meet Regulus’ eyes.
Footsteps could be heard leaving the room, whilst the hyena hysterics slowly faded away with only the sharp tone of Walburga Black echoing the hallway. A few minutes went by as soon it became all silent, and Regulus was the only one in the hallway. Slowly, he sauntered up to his hands and knees, stumbling to be assisted by Kreacher. The only being Regulus could rely on was the kind house elf who stayed loyal to his master even if it meant secretly disobeying his mistress.
Regulus tumbled up the stairs to his room, with Kreacher following foot.
“What vials is it that master needs?” Kreacher asked, curiously. Regulus’ lips twitched and nothing but a grunt sounding like “bezoar” left his mouth, and a finger pointed at a drawer. Kreacher carefully opened the drawer, looking through the vials and pulled a small bottle labelled “bezoar”. Kreacher walked over to Regulus’ limp body and administered the draught to his lips. Regulus felt his neck slowly sew the broken skin back together.
Regulus quickly dismissed Kreacher and hauled himself onto his bedside. He was used to Walburga’s antics, but he had not anticipated the possibility of being punished today. That possibility his wretched brother had left him to endure Walburga by himself. Tears rimmed his eyes, as the betrayal of Sirius had slashed deeper than any of the wounds his mother had given him.
From this day on, I must become perfect.
I will become the perfect, sole heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Black.
Sirius has made his choice, he thought to himself, and now it is time to make his. Regulus will seek revenge and will become the embodiment of Sirius’ previous expectations. Sirius will choke on his choices when he sees Regulus.
Except Sirius isn’t entirely at fault for his choice to abandon Regulus in this cruel unloving household. No. A loud, greedy boy has stolen Sirius as a brother for himself. He’s well-loved, arrogant, good with girls, thick-headed, popular and self-centred. His name is James Potter and at this moment Regulus may just hate him more than Walburga and Sirius combined.
Nothing shall defeat the Heir of the House of Black.
No task is greater than Regulus Black, a boy who’s endured the wrath of Walburga Black, a boy who’s been betrayed by the son who swore to protect him from their mother, a boy who’s been rejected as a brother for some egomaniac who has no wits nor intelligence. He’s good with the girls, he’s popular at parties and everybody loves a good Quidditch star. Not a single day goes by without Regulus pathetically sobbing over how Sirius picked a boy who was the opposite of him for his brother.
Regulus simply has never been good enough, he thinks to himself. Maybe he should have taken more beatings like Sirius. Maybe he should have been sorted into Gryffindor like Sirius. Maybe he should have been louder in his rebellion against his parents, just like Sirius. Maybe James is more favourable because Sirius and him have more loud, eccentric personalities.
No matter, Regulus will plant this bitter seed and watch it grow into a resentment of a rose. Only the most hideous actions can make the most difference in this world. Regulus will reap revenge if it is the last thing he does. He’ll seek the slips of every sugar-coated secret, find any loose ends they forgot to take care of, and Regulus will show those that hurt him that he wasn’t unworthy of them, they were unworthy of him.
He will repeat these words for himself as he enters the train to Hogwarts for his sixth year.
———
Regulus shifted uncomfortably in his silk robes, sitting in an empty train compartment. He was awaiting his friends to find him, a very usual routine for them every year. Tilting his head back, he remembered a time where he had first met Barty on this train.
The memories of a jaunty boy with a mischievous grin swaggering into the abandoned carriage, and young Regulus wrinkled his nose at the sight of this. A memory suddenly engraved back into his head, of Sirius leaving him for James in another carriage, just moments earlier. This is why Regulus remembered it as the abandoned carriage.
“Regulus?” A soft voice snatched him of the rekindling memories of Sirius. His eyes glanced up to meet an ethereal, blonde girl who stood daintily. Regulus’ eyes opened a little more, picking at the details of Pandora. Sitting in kitschy clothing, Regulus glances at the gala of flowers complimenting her fair hair slicked into two pigtails.
“Pandora” leaves his mouth, softening his slack jaws. She beams politely and starts to ramble about her summer, how she spent time at the Rosier manor with her twin brother Evan, how she attended the Yaxley wedding. Regulus remembers the wedding of Corban Yaxley and Valeria Flint, how superfluous the bride’s gown was, the alcohol he consumed alongside the Rosier twins and Avery trailing by his side like a stray. Regulus hated how Avery had followed him relentlessly throughout the wedding, he thought of Avery as an inferi chasing onto the nearest flesh.
Soon Barty strolls into the carriage with Evan at his hip. Regulus’ eyes flickered between the two. One pale skinned boy with coloured hair, piercings and an anarchy symbol drawn with complex ink seeping through his neck, wearing some muggle band patches across his cargo trousers and a ratty jacket grinned at him with another deep skinned boy, his long blonde dreadlocks covering his face with rich blue robes covering any skin below his neck. Curiously, Regulus found the contrast of the two pureblooded boys poetic, one who is brave enough to defy the pureblood norms with a father absent at the ministry and another who is cowardice to conform to his family, the other swinging around aimlessly like a fruitfly. Still, Regulus took pity on both, he knew that Evan was simply following to be the heir to the House of Rosier whilst Barty’s dangerous stunts were to get the attention of a father who neglected him.
The three of them started to chat, but Regulus couldn’t find their voices as they muddled into the noise of the train beginning to depart and crowds of parents waving off their gifted children to such a prestigious school. He was looking for his best friend, the one he favoured amongst all. Dorcas Meadowes. A tall girl, slightly taller than Regulus, with large dark doe eyes and brown braids straight down to her chest. She has a musty scent mixed with Agarwood and Saffron.
“And then, I had seen this curious vision which I simply could not fathom.” Hearing Pandora’s visions was one of the few things that intrigued Regulus more than it should. You see, Pandora is gifted with a special ability to see visions of her dreams which are linked to fate and the future. Despite Barty’s neverending mocking Pandora’s abilities, they all know that what she envisions will warn her of what the future holds. Regulus has only known Pandora since his third year, later than the others as she was a Ravenclaw, but he has seen what she is capable of.
“Pan, nobody wants to hear nutty dreams on the first day.” Barty remarks, with Evan snickering next to him. Regulus notices that the two of them had been awfully touchy, with Evan resting his head on Barty’s shoulder, as Barty’s hand rested slung round his back resting on his thighs. Pandora bit her lip, she was always bashful about her visions.
“That’s rich coming from someone who only rambles about muggle bands and his weird obsession with defying his father.” A slick response comes from a girl leaning on the open door of a carriage, smirking with glee holding Regulus’ eyes.
“Dorcas!” Barty exclaims, another grin spreading across his face. Pandora beams at her, inviting Dorcas to sit with her opposite the boys. Dorcas takes this cue and meets the line of Evan’s keen eyes. A dark red and gold bracelet hangs on her right wrist.
“A gift from Marlene.” She says, slightly flushed. Regulus raises an eyebrow but does not utter a word. It’s not out of character for Dorcas to socialise with the Gryffindor girls, she’s not a blood supremacist like most other Slytherins. She is not loud about her defiance, she conforms enough that she is still treated with respect by her pure-blooded peers. Regulus does not believe in envy, but if he did, he might just be envious of how naturally Dorcas blends in with whoever without being an obnoxious extrovert and maintains her masks, never showing any of her dealt cards.