Chapter 5: Sending You a Thousand Miles Away
In the spring of 1966, Regulus turned five.
In the House of Black, turning five meant the beginning of formal education.
Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at three in the afternoon, Walburga held Family Glory lessons in the small study.
A massive tapestry of the Black family tree covered the wall from ceiling to floor. Gold and silver thread traced a thousand years of blood, marriage, and alliance across dark fabric, a web meant to remind every child exactly where they stood, and what they owed.
Monday was genealogy.
"Look here," Walburga said, tapping the top of the tapestry with a slender ebony pointer. "Linfred Black, a healer from the twelfth century, the acknowledged progenitor of our family…"
Regulus sat upright on a hard wooden chair, hands resting on his knees, his eyes tracking the pointer with calm attention.
"Regulus," Walburga said, her voice snapping him back when his mind drifted a fraction. "Repeat what I just said."
"From 1578 to 1623, the House of Black intermarried with the Rosier family four times, and the Foley family three times, with marriages to the Crouch and Travers families in between, forming a stable structure," Regulus recited smoothly.
Walburga nodded in satisfaction, then turned the pointer toward Sirius.
"And you?"
Sirius squirmed as if the chair were biting him.
"Who can remember all that? They are just names of dead people!"
"They are your ancestors!"
"Dead is dead," Sirius muttered under his breath.
Walburga's face tightened. Regulus could see the moment her temper began to rise, sharp and familiar.
He spoke before it could boil over.
"Mother, I have a question."
Walburga paused, pointer still raised.
"Speak."
"Why is it that after the fourteenth century, we only intermarry with the Sacred Twenty Eight families?" Regulus pointed to an earlier stretch of the tapestry. "It shows here that between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries, the Blacks also intermarried with the Prewett, Macmillan, and even Bones families, but it stopped after that."
Walburga's expression stiffened for a heartbeat.
"Because those families fell into degeneracy."
"How did they fall?"
"They began accepting Muggle borns," Walburga said, voice turning stern, "and even intermarrying with Muggles. Their bloodlines were contaminated. The House of Black must remain pure. It is our duty."
"But the Prewett family is still on the list of the Sacred Twenty Eight," Regulus said, not arguing, only pressing.
"That was a compromise." Walburga struck the tapestry with the pointer hard enough that several portraits seemed to shrink back. "A foolish Ministry list. True pure blood families are fewer and fewer. We are the last lighthouse in a defiled world."
Extremely narrow minded.
Also, in its own way, understandable.
In a world where magic often ran through families, bloodlines mattered. But treating blood as the answer to everything was lazy, and dangerous, and it blinded people to reality.
Regulus glanced at Sirius.
His brother would never accept this. That was probably for the best.
Then a thought surfaced, sudden and clean.
Perhaps it would be better for Sirius to leave the House of Black.
The idea startled Regulus, but when he examined it, the logic held.
The Black family would eventually side with Voldemort, with the exception of Sirius and Andromeda.
If Sirius was destined to rebel, leaving early and finding his footing elsewhere might give him a better chance to survive the coming war.
As for Regulus, the name he wore was already tied to darkness. Whether he liked it or not, he would be pulled toward that centre.
He needed Black resources. He needed pure blood status. He needed proximity to the inner circle that would become the Death Eaters, because knowledge would be hidden there.
He and Sirius were walking two paths that would eventually crash together.
Wednesday was blood supremacy.
"Muggles are deficient creatures," Walburga declared, pacing the study. She always paced when emotion sharpened her. "They have no magic. Just as a bird without wings, or a fish without gills, they are failures of evolution."
Sirius raised his hand.
Regulus had taught him that trick. Raise your hand when Mother lectures. It makes the confrontation feel like a question, not a rebellion.
Walburga stopped.
"Speak."
"But Muggles can build aeroplanes," Sirius said. "Aeroplanes can fly. They fly without magic."
Walburga sneered.
"A clumsy imitation. Metal and fuel, loud as anything, polluting the air. A wizard's broom is elegant, quiet, and clean."
"But aeroplanes can fly higher, faster, and carry more people," Regulus added, voice even.
Silence dropped into the room.
Walburga stared at her second son.
"Are you defending Muggles?"
"I am stating facts," Regulus replied. "Mother, if we are truly superior, we should surpass them in every aspect."
He met her gaze without flinching.
"If we can only comfort ourselves by saying magic is more elegant, while they surpass us in speed, load, and altitude, then who is truly superior?"
Sirius drew in a sharp breath, waiting for Walburga to erupt.
She did not.
She stood very still, lips moving once as if she had found an answer, then stopping when no answer came.
Regulus continued, steady.
"Perhaps the issue is not who is superior, but what we choose to develop. Muggles develop technology. We develop magic."
He paused just long enough for the words to settle.
"But if we grow complacent and cling to tradition while Muggle technology keeps advancing, one day the gap will become too large to ignore."
"The Ministry has the Statute of Secrecy," Walburga said, but her tone had lost some of its certainty.
"The Statute of Secrecy relies on Muggles not finding us," Regulus replied. "What if one day their technology can detect magic?"
Walburga's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What if they invent instruments that can see through a Disillusionment Charm?" Regulus went on. "What if we are still arguing over blood purity while they have already found a way to overcome Muggle repelling charms?"
Walburga was silent for a long time.
Then she said, abruptly, "That is enough for today."
She left the study in a hurry.
Sirius leaned close, whispering with a kind of horrified admiration.
"You scared her."
"Perhaps," Regulus said, hopping down from the hard chair. "But someone has to tell the truth."
"Why are you speaking up for Muggles?" Sirius asked, genuinely curious.
"I am not speaking up for Muggles." Regulus looked at him. "I just hate lies. If we are truly powerful, we do not need to belittle others to prove it."
Sirius nodded, only half understanding.
That evening at dinner, Walburga brought up the newest piece of pure blood scandal as if it were proof the world was rotting.
"The Nott family's daughter wants to marry a mudblood," she said, disgust thick in her voice. "Mr Nott was so furious he locked her in a tower. They say she will be sent to a French convent for the rest of her life."
Sirius was cutting his steak.
His knife stopped mid motion.
"Why?" he asked, quiet at first. "She likes him, does she not?"
"Likes?" Walburga looked as though she had heard a word from a dead language. "Can liking put food on the table? Can liking maintain the purity of a bloodline? She has been deluded."
"But if two people like each other…"
"Shut up!" Walburga's voice went shrill. "Sirius, how many times have I warned you? Do not pollute your mind with that filthy Muggle thinking. A member of the House of Black must have responsibility. Must have integrity."
"Responsibility is imprisoning your own daughter?" Sirius shot to his feet, chair screeching. "Responsibility is tearing apart two people who love each other?"
"She does not love him. She is just being…"
"How do you know?" Sirius yelled. His eyes were red now, bright with anger and something else he could not name. "You are not her. You do not even know the man!"
Orion set his cutlery down with a measured clink.
"Sirius. Sit down."
"I won't!" Sirius's voice cracked. "It is not fair. Why can we not choose the people we like? Why do we have to marry someone from the Sacred Twenty Eight? I do not even know the people on that list. Maybe I do not like them at all!"
Walburga rose as well, wand sliding into her hand as if the argument were a duel.
"Say that again."
Regulus watched the scene with a kind of weary disbelief.
Sirius's rebellion was fully awake now. He did not understand love, not truly. He only knew he hated what his mother represented, and he hated being forced to swallow it.
And Walburga did what she always did.
She pressed harder.
She squeezed until something broke, then acted shocked when it shattered.
"Mother," Regulus said, voice calm, slicing through the heat. "Sirius means that feelings are an important factor in choosing a partner."
Walburga's wand hand paused.
Regulus continued, tone still measured.
"But from the perspective of family continuity, bloodline stability is indeed a priority. Perhaps the two can be balanced. For instance, choosing someone you like within the Sacred Twenty Eight."
Walburga's anger eased a fraction, enough for her to take the offered logic and pretend it had always been hers.
"Of course," she said, stiffly. "If there is affection within the appropriate range, that is even better."
Sirius stared at Regulus as if he had been struck.
His gaze held something raw.
"Are you speaking for them too?" he asked, voice low. "Do you also think bloodlines are more important than liking someone?"
"I am talking about reality," Regulus replied, meeting his eyes. "The reality is that the House of Black will not accept Muggle borns. Rebels will be disowned."
He did not soften the next words.
"You must either accept the rules, or leave."
Sirius understood.
He looked at Regulus, then at their parents, and then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
He turned and walked out of the dining room.
No shouting. No door slam.
Just quiet footsteps, carrying him away.
Orion said nothing.
But his eyes shifted to Regulus, and the expression there was complex enough to be unsettling.
Dinner continued in silence.