Chapter 49: Position Matters
Narcissa was taken aback by his question.
She did not believe for a second that Regulus truly cared about Abraxas Malfoy's health, nor did she think he particularly wished the man well.
If it had been any other young wizard, it might have been genuine concern, or the sort of polite remark taught at pure blood dinner tables. But Regulus was not like other boys.
In the space of a single evening, Narcissa had begun to understand just how different he was. His mind moved with a meticulousness that surpassed many adults, and his way of looking at problems was not only unusual, but occasionally sharp enough to cut.
Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius's father and the current head of the Malfoy family, was a fox to the bone. His health would influence the entire future direction of the Malfoys.
"He has a few minor ailments," Narcissa answered carefully, "but his spirits are high."
Her heart belonged to the House of Black, and she cared for Regulus. Still, the Malfoys were her future in laws. Some lines could not be crossed lightly.
Regulus smiled.
"Then I should prepare a proper gift for our next meeting."
He had already received an invitation to the Malfoy family's Christmas dinner, separate from the Black family invitation. That alone suggested either remarkable respect or very deliberate intentions.
They spoke a little longer, keeping to harmless family matters. Then Narcissa rose. Before she left, she reached out and smoothed the collar of his robes, the gesture gentle, almost maternal despite her young age.
At the door to the girls' dormitory, she looked back at him. Her expression was complicated, but it settled into a small nod before she disappeared up the stairs.
Regulus remained on the sofa until the fire sank lower and the room cooled.
He reviewed the conversation in his head.
It had achieved everything he wanted. Trust with Narcissa had deepened. A channel for information had been established. His own position had been conveyed without a single sentence that could be used against him.
Everything that needed to be said had been said, and nothing dangerous had been spoken aloud.
Narcissa was shrewd, practical, loyal to family, and possessed of a clear line she would not cross. In the original history, she would one day betray Voldemort for Draco's sake.
Regulus decided he could trust her a little more.
Soon enough, Narcissa would marry Lucius Malfoy, and the Malfoys were still under Abraxas's control. The elder Malfoy was no weak figure. In the early days of cooperation with Voldemort, the Malfoys had even held the advantage.
Then Abraxas had died suddenly of dragon pox, Lucius had inherited, and the Malfoys had slid into the role of Voldemort's purse.
Dragon pox was an incurable illness in the wizarding world. A wizard without some real capability did not simply stumble into such a disease.
Abraxas's death had been too sudden. The timing had been far too neat.
Regulus did not believe in coincidence, not when the pattern looked this deliberate. If there was not something hidden behind it, the world would be unreasonably kind.
He decided he would mention it to Orion when he returned home for Christmas. If there was an inside story behind the Malfoy succession, the Blacks needed to know before they were forced to react.
His thoughts drifted to the tragedies he remembered.
Sirius tearing himself away from the family.
Walburga dying without ever understanding what her eldest son truly thought, and without ever learning how her younger son had died.
Narcissa and Bella walking separate paths until their sisterhood existed only in name.
In the end, aside from Narcissa and the disowned Andromeda, the House of Black had been wiped out.
Too many misunderstandings. Too many gaps in information. In the end, everyone lost.
He would not repeat those mistakes.
And he was not the sort to be pushed around.
When he finally pushed open the dormitory door, Avery was sitting on his bed polishing his wand. Hermes was writing at the desk. Alex was curled beneath his blankets, only half his head visible above the edge.
"Regulus," Avery asked at once, impatience sharpening his voice, "with what happened today, were you not afraid it would turn into a fight?"
He had clearly been holding the question in all day. No matter how he turned it over, he could not understand why Regulus had stepped forward.
It did not match his impression of Regulus, and it certainly did not match what pure blood heirs were taught to do when a corridor filled with wands.
One wrong move would have made Regulus a target for both sides. Even if Regulus was talented, he could not withstand being swarmed by so many students at once.
Regulus removed his outer robes and hung them neatly.
He had no intention of answering directly. He had not been afraid of a fight, especially not when the leaders of both houses had been present and, more importantly, neutralised in the first instant.
All day, he had been watching the obvious troublemakers, Sirius and James Potter among them, as well as a few quieter instigators among Slytherin. He had been confident he could suppress any spark before it became flame.
And he did not fear being targeted by a crowd of children.
He turned to Avery and asked instead, calm as ever.
"What would a fight gain me?"
Avery blinked, thrown off balance. That was not what he meant.
"House points lost," Regulus said, settling onto the edge of his bed, "detention, and the chance of someone being injured."
He spoke as if listing potion ingredients.
"Stopping the conflict lets me demonstrate ability, consolidate status, and leave the professors with a favourable impression. Which option is worth more."
Avery stared at him, then slowly followed the logic.
"But would it not make you look less… tough," he said, choosing the word carefully. "Some upper years were talking in the common room. They said you were too restrained."
Regulus raised an eyebrow. He doubted the original phrasing had been so polite.
"Let them talk," Regulus said, dismissive. "What I need is influence, not noise."
"After today, Lucretius Boke owes me a favour. Frank Longbottom has to consider that without me, he might have walked straight into punishment. Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn both saw how I handled it. That is far more valuable than trading curses with Gryffindors in a corridor."
Influence was abstract, but at the right moment it could be turned into power. That required constant, quiet cultivation.
Avery thought, then nodded slowly.
"I understand. You are placing yourself as the one who solves problems."
Pure blood heirs came in many forms. There were fools, certainly, but more often there were real elites. With a small push, Avery had grasped the heart of it.
"Clever," Regulus said, offering praise that was rare enough to land like a coin on stone.
"Now, Avery. Keep an eye on who has the biggest issue with what I did. Find out who gossips the most."
Avery's eyes lit.
"Are you going to deal with them?"
"No," Regulus said, shaking his head. "I want to know who the fools are."
"A real opponent does not declare himself over something this small. Only a fool decides to hate me over a single Quidditch conflict."
He spoke lightly, as if it were obvious.
"Take note of them. Fools can be useful later."
Then Regulus turned his gaze to Hermes.
"And you. Anything worth reporting today."
Hermes put down his quill and turned in his chair, half facing them.
"Rabastan Lestrange," he said. "During the match he sat diagonally behind us. He watched you the entire time."
"After the match ended, he was the first to leave the stands, but he did not go back to the common room. I had Rosier follow him."
Alex peeked out from his blankets, voice small.
"He went to that abandoned Potions classroom on the fourth floor. He was alone. He stayed about ten minutes, then left."
Regulus narrowed his eyes.
The conclusion came at once. The boy intended to target him.
Like a toad crawling on your foot. It did not bite, but it was revolting all the same.
Still, Rabastan was not worth Regulus's time. That sort of nuisance was better handled by roommates. It built cohesion, and it kept Regulus's hands clean.
He looked at them.
"Can you handle it before Christmas."
The corner of Hermes's mouth curled into something dark.
"I have an idea."
Regulus did not join the rest of the planning. This was a small task he had assigned for a reason. A shared enemy welded followers together faster than speeches ever could.
He returned to his bed and organised the textbooks he would need for the next day.
Avery watched him for a moment, then asked again, quieter this time.
"By the way, Regulus. Did you really do it just for influence. Nothing else."
Regulus did not stop sorting.
"What exactly are you asking."
"I mean," Avery hesitated, as if he had argued with himself for hours before deciding to speak, "you seem very focused on controlling situations."
"In that corridor, you were the first to step forward. The first to intervene. It did not feel spontaneous."
Regulus turned and looked at him.
Avery Cuthbert had good instincts. He did not see the whole depth yet, but he had the habit of looking for it.
That was valuable. In Slytherin, it was sometimes the difference between surviving and being used.
"Avery," Regulus said slowly, "in Slytherin there are two kinds of people."
"One kind waits for something to happen, then reacts."
"The other predicts what will happen and prepares for it in advance."
He continued without raising his voice.
"If Slytherin wins by pushing the rules, Gryffindor will cause a scene after the match. That was inevitable."
"Since it was inevitable, I considered how to handle it beforehand, rather than waiting for it to explode and then scrambling."
Avery looked thoughtful, understanding that Regulus placed himself firmly in the second category.
"As for why I stood at the very front," Regulus said, and the corners of his mouth lifted faintly, "because position determines perspective."
"Stand in the back and you only see chaos. Stand in the front and you see reactions clearly."
He counted them without counting on his fingers.
"Who is impulsive. Who is calm. Who is watching from the shadows. Who is taking the chance to stir others up."
His mind returned to the corridor.
Lucretius Boke's shock when his wrist had been pinned.
The worry in Narcissa's eyes.
Frank Longbottom's bewilderment when his spell broke apart.
James Potter and Sirius, bouncing and shouting in the crowd, and being ignored by everyone who mattered.
You could only see those details from the front.
That was why he had stepped there first.