Chapter 52: I Have Already Restrained Myself
In the hall of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Regulus had barely steadied himself when Walburga swept toward him.
She wore dark green robes embroidered with the crest of the House of Black. At her collar, a black diamond brooch shaped like Sirius glittered in the firelight. She was smiling, openly and without restraint, the sharpness at the corners of her eyes softened for once.
"My Regulus." She caught his arm with a firm grip. "You are finally back. Look at you, you have grown taller, and your colour is excellent."
Her gaze travelled over his neat robes and carefully arranged curls, then settled on the family brooch pinned to his chest. Pride flooded her expression, almost too bright to contain.
"I have read every letter from Hogwarts. Slytherin House prefect, straight Os in every subject, and you made those blind fools understand the power of the Blacks. Well done."
Orion stood near the fireplace. His face remained composed, but the look he gave Regulus carried unmistakable satisfaction.
He stepped forward and set a heavy hand on Regulus's shoulder.
"It is good to have you back."
Walburga tugged Regulus toward the sitting room, talking as if she had been saving the words for months.
"Kreacher has finished your room. I had the vines outside your window left alone. You used to stare at them for ages when you were little."
Then her tone shifted, casual in the way only she could manage, as if the question were an afterthought.
"Where is Sirius? Did he not come back with you?"
The warmth in the house seemed to tighten and still. Portraits along the corridor exchanged glances. A witch in a high collar from some Victorian century sighed softly, as though she had heard this play before.
Regulus's expression did not change.
"He is not coming back."
"Not coming back?" Walburga's voice rose, sharp enough to cut. Her smile vanished, replaced by anger and humiliation.
"That rebellious boy. I knew it. Corrupted by those Gryffindor idiots, refusing to come home for Christmas."
Her hands clenched.
"One day he will pay for his defiance."
Orion's brow furrowed, but he did not argue. He only gave Regulus a look that told him not to take it on, not to carry the burden of it.
Regulus did not. He had expected this outcome long before the train ever left Hogwarts.
Walburga's fury burned hot and brief. After cursing Sirius for a few more moments, she turned back to Regulus as if Sirius had never existed, her fervour returning at full force.
"Forget him. Do not speak of him. Tell me, what exactly did you do at school? Professor Slughorn wrote that your Potions are better than a fifth year's. Is that true? And Travers. I heard he provoked you and you taught him a proper lesson."
She had already learned every detail through her own channels, but she wanted to hear it from Regulus himself.
Regulus obliged, describing the incident in Potions and the conflict with Travers in a measured, factual way. He did not embellish. He did not perform.
Walburga listened as if it were music, punctuating his words with pleased exclamations.
"That is how it should be. A Black should never endure the slightest insult. Anyone who does not know his place must be corrected."
Dinner was served in the dining room. The long table was dressed in deep red velvet. Silver cutlery gleamed coldly in the light from the fire.
Kreacher carried out dish after dish. Roast turkey, lamb chops, mashed potatoes, pumpkin pie, all the things Regulus had liked as a child.
All except the turkey. It was dry, and he had never cared for it.
Only three people sat down to eat, yet the table was still crowded, as if abundance could fill the empty chair left by Sirius.
Walburga served Regulus personally, talking without pause.
"The glory of the pure blood families will rest on your shoulders in the end. Look at the Malfoys. Lucius is decent, but he is far behind you. As for the Lestranges, only Bellatrix has any presence. Rodolphus lacks spine."
Regulus had realised long ago that Walburga's fanaticism was not the same as Bellatrix's.
Bellatrix's world revolved around Voldemort himself. She worshipped him as something beyond human, and she would burn everything she owned to keep his favour.
Walburga's devotion was different. It was anchored in the House of Black, in bloodline, in legacy. Voldemort was, to her, a timely force, useful for restoring the Blacks to the height she believed they deserved.
Regulus listened in silence, and something in him turned unexpectedly soft.
He remembered his magic awakening when he was still an infant, and Walburga holding him with wild joy as if she had been given a miracle.
He remembered her sitting in front of the family tapestry, reciting the triumphs of their ancestors like scripture.
He remembered, too, that even in her bigotry, she had still tucked him in on cold nights when she thought he was asleep.
If there were another path, one that allowed the Blacks to endure and rise without relying on Voldemort, Walburga might not have to be an obstacle.
But only if Regulus could build that path and place it before her eyes.
"What do you think of your classmates?" Walburga asked suddenly, gaze bright with expectation, as though she already knew the answer.
Regulus set down his knife and fork. He let a faint edge of pride colour his voice.
"They are adequate."
Orion glanced up.
"Talent is uneven," Regulus continued. "Most of them are short sighted. They focus on lessons and indulge in house rivalries. They cannot see beyond that."
His attention had never truly rested on his peers. In this era, none of them could match what he carried.
Walburga nodded, delighted.
"Exactly. Not to mention half bloods and Muggle borns, even some pure bloods only know how to live off their name. None of them compare to you. Our Regulus is the most outstanding heir the Blacks have produced."
Orion set down his wine glass.
"At school, you do not need to be too conspicuous," he said calmly. It was not a scolding, more an adjustment of course. "But you have not disappointed us."
He looked out the window, and when he spoke again his voice was lower.
"Keep an eye on Sirius. If there is an opportunity, let him know the family still thinks of him."
Walburga's brow tightened. She clearly wanted to argue, but in the end she said nothing. She only attacked the turkey with her knife as if it were personally responsible for Sirius.
Dinner ended to the rhythm of Walburga's chatter and Orion's occasional interjections.
As Kreacher cleared the table, Orion spoke to Regulus.
"Go and wash up. Then come to my study."
Regulus nodded. This was the real conversation.
Walburga was suitable for discussing school and family glory. She was not suited to deeper strategy.
In that, she was even less useful than Narcissa. Narcissa could provide information and counsel. Narcissa had rationality, and a line she understood not to cross.
Half an hour later, Regulus knocked on the door to Orion's study.
"Come in."
The room smelled of ink and old paper. Orion sat behind a heavy mahogany desk, an open volume of the Wizengamot Collection of Magical Law in front of him.
He closed it when Regulus entered, then leaned forward slightly and studied him with careful attention.
"Only half a year," Orion said, with a trace of quiet reflection, "and the change is significant."
His gaze did not waver.
"Your posture is steady. Your temperament has settled. You do not look like an eleven year old child. You look like a wizard who can stand on his own."
Regulus stood in front of the desk and waited, silent.
Orion's fingertips tapped lightly against the wood.
"I reminded you early on to be mindful at school, and not to show too much. In later letters, I told you that concealing brilliance can matter more than displaying it."
His eyes held confusion, not anger.
"I thought you were mature enough for me to speak with you as an equal. Yet what I hear of your actions makes it seem you did not listen."
Regulus paused, mind moving quickly.
He understood Orion's concern. He had kept it in mind.
He had restrained himself. What he displayed was only the level of control and proficiency a talented wizard could reach through relentless training. Precise Transfiguration. Strong defensive capability. Nonverbal casting. Dazzling, yes, but still within the outer limits of what wizarding society could accept.
He had never displayed the true depth of Starry Sky Meditation. He had never exposed his exploration into finer forms of Transfiguration. He had never revealed what his soul carried from a life that was not supposed to exist.
Even so, his restraint still looked like excess to everyone else.
"I have already restrained myself," Regulus said, meeting Orion's gaze. His tone was calm, but firm. "What I showed is, to me, a normal level of ability."
Orion lifted an eyebrow, plainly doubtful.
"In the wizarding world," Regulus continued, "once personal strength reaches a certain level, it changes everything."
He spoke as if he were stating a simple rule of law.
"A family's position, the way others treat you, the resources you can access, all of it is tied to strength. I need others to see my value, so I can gain support. That benefits the Blacks, and it benefits me."
Then he added, quietly and without arrogance, as if it were simply another fact.
"And what I have shown is only a small part. My true power has never been revealed."
A flicker of surprise crossed Orion's eyes, and then he fell into thought.