Many people think that the Black family motto is ‘Toujours Pur’ – and they are right; it is the official motto of the family, and it is visible on their crest, on their china, on their tapestry. Indeed, they flaunt it everywhere. But what many people don’t know is that they have a different motto, as well. A rather ironic one, one could say, namely: ‘This Family Lasts Forever’. Or ‘Nothing Can Break Us Apart’. There are multiple variants, because it is quite unofficial. None of the family members would tell it to you if you were to ask them about the motto and they rarely say it amongst themselves, but it does exist. It is, indeed, what they value most: family.
Now, not in the sentimental form. They are not a lovey-dovey family, with many hugs and kisses and such. They are above that. But they do value family above friends, above lovers, above personal beliefs, and one could argue this is why they take so harshly to people who break with the family. People who dismiss the unofficial motto and the official one at the same time. Traitors. Freaks. Yes, nobody ever calls them ‘kind’, or ‘just’, and there is a reason for that.
But that is not what this story is about. This story is not about traitors or freaks, or people who break with the family. This story is about Regulus Arcturus Black, who very much embodied the unofficial family motto (and, indeed, the official one, as well). Regulus Arcturus Black, who wouldn’t dream of doing anything to go against his family. Regulus Arcturus Black – we know how his story ends, but now it is time to learn how his story began.
And it all began with his name.
It sounded from the basement to the attic and back, echoing loudly, but there came no reply; he had not heard it.
And angry footsteps ascended the stairs, angry footsteps that belonged to the voice that had called out the name mere seconds ago, angry footsteps that belonged to the hand that roughly hammered on a wooden door.
‘Regulus!’
But still, there came no reply, so the angry hand opened the door and entered the bedroom that had changed so much over the last few years – though it was one of the few rooms in the house to have undergone change at all – and marched over to the bed, where, hidden beneath the bundle of blankets, the young wizard lay, fast asleep, dreaming of magical Kingdoms, of mighty princes and incredible princesses, of power beyond imagination and land stretched out as far as the eye could see. He dreamt he was a hero, about to save the world.
The angry footsteps were his mother’s, and they came to a halt by his side. The angry hand was also hers, and lay on his shoulder, threatening to roughly shake him awake. And her angry voice called out again, this time far closer to the his ear.
‘Regulus Black, you will wake up right this instant!’
And she shook. And he stirred awake. He yawned, and blinked against the morning light. Castles, princes, princesses and heroic duels evaporated into thin smoke as his surroundings took shape: fiery red walls decorated with depictions of all sorts of magical creatures, a chandelier that cast stars on his ceiling, a toy broomstick leaning against his wardrobe … This was his bedroom, not his Kingdom.
And he was no King.
Only just then did he notice her.
‘Good morning,’ he said.
‘Good afternoon to you as well,’ she said harshly; it was only half past ten, but that was far too late in her eyes. She had things to do and did not have all day to do them. ‘I expect you downstairs in ten minutes. I need you in the drawing room.’
She left without another word, slamming the door shut behind her. It was quite unnecessary, but she knew that this, at least, would keep her son awake. She did not want to have to go up for a second time. Once was already far too often.
She made way for the drawing room herself, past all the familiar nooks and crannies of the place that would never change, no; life inside of number twelve went on as it always had, and no amount of riots could disturb it, nor could a suspicious illness that had forced the Minister from power, or talk of a Dark Order greater than they’d ever known, a possible return to War, and the suggestion that all the activity with Dark creatures was part of a larger scheme … No, none of this was allowed to disturb the happenings inside of number twelve, and therefore, it wouldn’t.
That was just the way things worked.
Regulus closed his eyes again. He had closed them the moment she had left, despite the slamming of the door. Just a few seconds, he had told himself. Just a few seconds … But a few seconds could so easily slip into minutes, even hours – his stomach gave a lurch and his eyes snapped open; he would not risk falling asleep. He would do as he was told and go downstairs to the drawing room, because he always did as he was told. He never spoke up, and he never questioned anything; Sirius already did enough of that for the both of them.
And so he climbed out of bed, pulled on the robes his mother had stalled out for him to wear, readied himself for the day, and went downstairs to the drawing room.
He knocked.
‘Enter.’
He did, and carefully closed the door behind him. Then he looked at his mother. She did not look back at him. She was looking at the newspaper which lay on the desk she sat behind, sighing profusely as her eyes scanned headline after headline … Another child of wizarding parents had been found dead in Blackpool, presumably drowned. There were Boggarts on the loose in Bristol. More riots in Exeter after a march. Werewolf attacks in Dover. ‘Suspicious activity’ on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters …
It hit closer to home each time, and this was precisely why her husband made sure their home was secured with more than just the Muggle-repelling charm it had carried all those years ago, when Regulus had just been born and the world had not yet grown so twisted. As of today, it stood strong, Unplottable and armed with anti-intruder jinxes of varying degrees.
They did not want any more trouble than they already had.
When she finished going over the headlines, she turned her attention to Regulus, who eyed her with big, expectant eyes. She beckoned him closer, and he took a few steps in her general direction, hands clasped behind his back; he fancied himself quite the gentleman, standing stiff and upright, just as he had in his dream.
‘I hope you had a good night’s sleep,’ she said. The sneer was almost audible, and Regulus tried his best to not let it get to him.
‘I’m sorry, Mother. It won’t happen again,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
‘Speak up,’ she said. ‘You are a Black. Your voice must be heard.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, louder this time.
She nodded approvingly and rose, turning her back to him and moving over to one of the tapestries on the walls.
‘You know why you are here, I hope?’ she asked, eyes fixed on the tapestry depicting their family tree. When there came no answer, she said, ‘It’s your special day tomorrow.’
And she was right; tomorrow, Regulus would be seven years old, and that was important. Tomorrow, he would be important. Tomorrow would mark the end of seven years of life out of the womb, seven years of infancy, seven years of gaining teeth and losing them again. Tomorrow he would no longer be a child, pushed into playrooms on his own to pass the time with picture books and stuffed animals … from tomorrow on, he would be trusted with real, proper books, and study books, and quill pens, and inkwells, and all there was to it.
Yes, tomorrow would be special indeed.
He smiled at the thought of tomorrow. And when his mother finally turned to look at him, her lips, too, had twisted into a smile.
‘The end of an era,’ she said, ‘and the start of another. The start of –’
But of what, he could not hear, for she was silenced by a sudden sound; the door sprang open and someone came in, running, panting, and skidding to a halt beside Regulus.
‘Sorry I’m late, I overslept, and –’
‘Sirius Pollux Black, how many times have I –’
‘I just overslept, it’s not like it’s my fault –’
‘You stayed up past your bedtime last night!’ she countered. ‘And you knock before entering a room!’
Sirius rolled his eyes. ‘I just tried to come here as quickly as I could!’
‘And I “just” don’t want to have to deal with any more of your trouble! Not today, and certainly not tomorrow. You will not ruin your brother’s seventh. Understood?’
She glared at Sirius, and Sirius glared right back, anger and fury radiating from the both of them. Seconds stretched out to minutes and neither of them moved.
Regulus shuffled his feet, growing more and more uncomfortable, waiting for the big blow that always came, the yelling from both sides, the screaming, the shouting … But it did not come; his shuffling had caught Sirius’ attention, and he looked away, breaking the tension.
Their mother took this as a cue to resume the lecture she had planned. She turned back to the family tree and (luckily for Sirius) didn’t catch the tongue he stuck out to her.
Regulus didn’t tell her, either. He couldn’t have even if he wanted to, as she had already started talking again, and it was rude to interrupt.
‘I have called you both in here to go over the mighty witches and wizards that went before you: your ancestors,’ she explained, looking over the tapestry and stroking it lovingly. ‘That they may serve as inspiration to you both …’
Regulus and Sirius shared a look as their mother traced the lines back to her great-grandfather, whose moody portrait hung in one of the spare rooms they had around the house, the one Bellatrix so often slept in, and whose story she had told so many times they knew it by heart. He was the most formidable headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen. At least, he was ‘much better than that Muggle-loving half-blood they chose to replace Dippet’.
Not that that said much.
And all that was what they were told now, too. And all the while they stood there, listening to all the feats he’d done, all he’d meant for the school and the family, his dedication and loyalty to the wizarding world and preserving traditional values. And Regulus soaked it all up, despite already knowing it by heart. Because she was telling him this for a reason. She was telling him this because very soon, he would be grown enough to talk about these matters.
Sirius, on the other hand, was bored, and visibly so. It was understandable to an extent: he was already eight, nearly nine, and he could talk about these things every single day if he wanted. So to have to listen to the same old story …
‘What’s that black mark next to him?’ Sirius asked suddenly, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet and interrupting his mother mid-sentence.
She took a moment to process what he had asked, then narrowed her eyes.
‘That is none of your concern,’ she said.
‘But it must be, or else you wouldn’t have put it there,’ Sirius shot back at once.
‘I must be boring you, if you are letting your eyes wander around the tapestry to find such – things,’ she said. ‘We shall move on from old Phineas, if that is what you want. There are many more inspirational figures –’
‘Inspirational figures who get blacked out?’ Sirius interrupted again. ‘If they’re inspirational, why are they gone?’
‘You are not meant to focus on the black spots,’ she said harshly. ‘That is not why we are here. We are here to talk about people who matter, who brought something to the family – ah, here she is. Belvina. She was a clever woman, very bright indeed; she helped further establish Borgin and Burkes as the shop we know it today. Her husband had no interest in continuing his father’s legacy at first, not until she came along with such knowledge of artefacts –’
‘And what about that black mark then, Mother? The one next to her?’ Sirius asked again.
Her nostrils flared. ‘Enough. I will not have you derailing every lesson with nonsense questions!’
‘What’s nonsense is drawing attention to people you don’t want to talk about!’
‘I am doing no such thing!’
‘You are!’
She swiftly made her way across the room, towering over him, fury radiating off her. ‘Enough,’ she snapped. ‘You will drop it. At once. Do I make myself clear?’
Sirius nodded, lips pressed tight, as though swallowing down another dozen questions. His hands curled into fists at his sides, but indeed he said nothing more. Regulus had to muster all his strength to fight off the grin that threatened to take over his own face; he just couldn’t help it. He liked it when Sirius got told off for these things, because Sirius always thought he was clever enough to get away with anything. And this proved him wrong. He couldn’t get away with some things. He wasn’t the best, no – Regulus was. After all, he hadn’t been told off. He had done well. He had stood still, chin up, spine straight, listening properly. He hadn’t asked reckless questions about black marks just to rile her up. He just listened as she talked about his namesake, and Sirius’, and her own, and her cousins … One of them was named Araminta, and she was in prison now, because she had fought very hard to make Muggle Hunting legal. The same was true for Regulus and Sirius’ grandaunt Cassiopeia. In prison. For Muggle Hunting …
Regulus’ chest swelled with pride as he thought of Araminta and Cassiopeia, and the streets outside they’d tried to make a little safer. Yes, he knew the world outside was dangerous and full of strange creatures that walked and prowled and put themselves in tin cages so they could go even faster, and he could almost see his mother’s cousin Araminta, and his own grandaunt Cassiopeia, both down there, chasing the Muggles away so that they could not grab wizarding children and gobble them up.
They had helped. They had been courageous and fought for the safety of the entire wizarding world, and they had locked them away for it. They had locked them away for trying to save people. That was wrong. It was so wrong it made his chest feel hot. Because they had been hunting the bad ones, the ones who hurt wizards, and they had punished the good instead of the bad ones. It wasn’t fair. They should have punished the Muggles.
But they hadn’t. Because the Muggles always seemed to be the ones who got to say what happened, even when it was about wizarding matters. And that made him so angry he could –
‘– and that’s the end of it!’ his mother yelled, loud enough to make Regulus blink out of his thoughts. He hadn’t heard the argument, but he could easily figure out what had happened: Sirius had that look, as if he thought he was cleverer than everyone else.
Regulus knew he was smart. Smarter than himself, at least. Sirius knew a lot. But so did Mother and Father. And Sirius loved to make them angry, which was probably what he had done just now, too. It was a game for him. He’d grin. Laugh. Ask questions he already knew would annoy them. Do things he knew they wouldn’t like just to see what would happen.
But why did he have to do it now? Why now, when tomorrow was his day? His, not Sirius’. Sirius had already had his time to shine. Sirius was old enough to shine every day if he wanted. Not that he did. But he could.
It was his turn now. And Regulus wouldn’t let him ruin it.
So he straightened his spine, squared his shoulders, and asked, very seriously, ‘What must we do then, Mother? To be as good as they were? To protect our … er … the purity of … the blood thing …’
She smiled, anger leaving her eyes. ‘Oh, my sweet, sweet child,’ she sighed. ‘You needn’t do anything yet. You’re still young. You must simply know what the future holds for you.’
He frowned, trying to make sense of it, so she went on, ‘Look at all these wonderful witches and wizards on the tapestry behind me. True witches and wizards with pure, uncontaminated blood. Do you think we could’ve done all we did if we soiled ourselves with scum?’
‘Er … no?’
‘Indeed. You are already on the right track because your ancestors did the right thing. All you must do is make sure you stay on the right track, all you must do is make sure our blood remains uncontaminated and pure, because purity is what gives us strength. Toujours Pur. Do you understand that?’
Regulus shook his head. That wasn’t what he had asked.
‘Look behind me,’ she said, gesturing vaguely at the family tree. ‘All of those people there, they have fought hard to provide a future for you. A future you’ll thrive in. For we have been blessed with immense power, and we must preserve that. Protect it. Indeed, pass it on to the next generation: you.’
Regulus’ insides went all warm and fuzzy. ‘Me?’ he mouthed.
But Sirius made a funny noise before she could say anything more, and she turned back to him, lips pursed, eyes locked with his, daring him to say something.
He did. Of course he did.
‘What about Mudbloods?’ he asked.
‘What about them?’ she sighed.
‘They exist,’ Sirius said simply, as though this was all he had to say to explain the matter.
‘Yes. And?’
‘Well, if they exist, and they do, and they can learn magic, and they can, and sometimes they’re better at it than us, more powerful –’
‘They are abominations, freaks of nature –’
‘But they exist, don’t they?’
‘Just because something exists does not mean it has the right to. Half-bloods and Mudbloods are mistakes. They are unnatural. They should not exist. We should not let them.’
‘But they do. And if something exists, isn’t that nature?’
‘No!’ she snapped. ‘You are not listening –’
‘But I am,’ he protested. ‘You’re just not making any sense! You’re just calling them names, you’re not answering –’
Her hand twitched. ‘Do not be insolent. I have told you the truth.’
‘You have told me nothing!’
‘Then let me tell it to you now: Half-bloods and Mudbloods only exist because we made mistakes. They aren’t natural. We mustn’t allow them to exist, mustn’t make such mistakes. We must guard our magical heritage and wipe out such monstrosities.’
‘But –’
‘There is no “but”! They are wild animals. Beasts. And they are nothing to us; only those born to true, pure wizards and witches – people untainted by Muggles and their ilk – are capable. Others cannot truly understand magic, so to mingle with them is to weaken ourselves, to throw away the rightful power that has been passed down to us by our fathers and our fathers’ fathers … Listen to what I say: it is our heritage, our lineage, that grants us our greatness, and therefore, those without pure blood cannot even begin to comprehend the depths of true magical strength. There are some who claim to; they are fakes, frauds – shame to the lot of them! We pure-bloods have repeatedly demonstrated our power surpasses that of anyone else!’
She threw her fist up in the air to emphasise her words, but both Sirius and Regulus only stared at her. She sighed, lowered her fist, then placed a hand on each of their shoulders, looking from one to the other. ‘You will understand when you are older.’
Sirius made another funny noise.
‘Yes?’ she asked.
‘It’s just that you haven’t actually explained anything. How are we to understand if you don’t explain anything? If you can’t explain anything?’
She glared at him. Sirius glared back. And they glared at each other for so long, and both looking so angry, that Regulus couldn’t help but hold his breath, afraid they’d start fighting – but they didn’t. Mother just broke off, turning away from Sirius as if he weren’t worth another word, and knelt in front of Regulus instead.
‘Regulus, my dearest son,’ she said, her voice sweeter than ever. ‘It doesn’t do to listen to him. He thinks asking clever little questions makes him wise. But true wisdom is knowing when to trust your family. And you do, don’t you?’
He nodded. ‘I do. I trust you,’ he said. ‘I trust my family.’
Because of course he did. Because why wouldn’t he?
‘I expected nothing less,’ said Mother, offering him a small, proud smile. ‘Now off you go, both of you. Ready yourselves. Get any pent-up mischief out of your bodies now; tomorrow is important, and I expect discipline, obedience, and no more of this nonsense.’
Regulus nodded and headed for the door, but Sirius shot past him so fast he almost bumped into him. He wasn’t even looking back. It was as if he thought the room itself would bite him if he stayed a second longer. Regulus jumped back and watched him go, then shut the door softly, staring at the tapestry one last time. He hadn’t really followed Sirius’s argument, but he understood enough to know that Sirius was wrong, and Mother was right, and that it was his job to agree with her, not Sirius.
So he did. Because why wouldn’t he?
And that was how he left the landing: knowing he agreed with Mother. He walked up the steps to his room in the hope that he could get his toy broomstick out and play a little, now that that matter was settled, but he barely made it halfway up the stairs when a hand clamped around his arm – and by the time he registered it being his brother’s, he was already being dragged back down, to their playroom, where, once inside, Sirius let him go and started barricading the door with toy boxes and any other heavy objects he could find.
Regulus rubbed his arm. ‘What are you doing that for?’
No answer. Sirius was sprinting from one end of the room to the other, dragging two chairs with him this time.
‘What’s going on?’ he pressed.
But Sirius didn’t stop, and didn’t listen to him. He kept dashing through the room, dragging any and everything he could find with him, his hair wild, his hat slipped to the floor, and his robes flying.
Regulus plopped himself down on the rug and tried to work out what he was up to.
Maybe Sirius was a spy – yes, a spy, that made sense. A spy who was about to overthrow the Kingdom, and the Dark Forces were after him, so he had to keep the room sealed tight so they couldn’t get in. And Regulus could be the King, taken as his hostage, to bargain with if things went wrong!
Excitement bubbled up inside him; yes, this was a game, of course! It had to be! And he couldn’t wait for Sirius to finish, so they could start. And Kreacher could play the Forces trying to break through the barricade, or maybe they could ask if Cissy could join in, and she could be the King’s Witch Consultant. And they could ask Andy or Bella to be the court that would sentence Sirius to death, so that Sirius needed to exchange the King for his life! Or they could –
‘Regulus,’ Sirius called, drawing out his name as he waved his hand in front of his face. ‘You back in the land of the living?’
He blinked. He was. His fantasies had taken on shape but now the castle made way for the empty room, with Sirius standing beside him, and all the furniture shoved up against the door.
He opened his mouth, to say something, anything, but Sirius was faster.
‘We need to talk,’ he said, tilting his head slightly, the same way Father did when he explained something. It made him look very serious.
‘About what?’ he asked.
‘About …’ Sirius hesitated. ‘About getting away from here.’
Regulus blinked again. ‘What?’ He wasn’t sure if he had heard that right. Getting away? From here? From where? He didn’t want to get away from here at all, unless it was to go back to his room, or Sirius’ room, or maybe to play on the landing. But he had a feeling that wasn’t what Sirius meant.
‘I mean it. I hate it here,’ said Sirius, and he started to talk very quickly. ‘Mother’s just screaming all the time about … Well, about blood. But if half-bloods are so weak, how come they’re better at some things than we are? How come some Mudbloods are stronger than we are? And they are. Andromeda told me that. Some are top of the class at Hogwarts, you know? But Mother and Father won’t see that, they don’t understand. They … they’re just stuck in the past, and –’
‘What past?’
‘It means they’re holding onto old rubbish because they don’t want to see the truth,’ Sirius said fiercely. ‘It’s not only about blood. It can’t be; if it was, and blood is what makes us strong, then why do Mudbloods even manage magic at all? Shouldn’t they be useless? But they’re not. They’re dangerous. And if we don’t get better, they’ll be the ones with all the power, and they’ll crush us. That’s why we have to get better. That’s why we have to get away from here. Because Mother wants to believe Mudbloods are weak, so she thinks they’re weak. She won’t teach us how to be better because she already believes we’re the best.’
‘Aren’t we?’ he asked. His head was spinning from all the information. He didn’t understand why it was so important that everything had to be about this subject all the time. He just wanted to get on with playing their game. He didn’t need another lecture. But Sirius kept going, and Regulus saw no way to stop him.
‘If we’re the best, why are we so scared of people who aren’t pure-blood? Shouldn’t we beat them easily?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, wishing he’d just stop talking already.
‘Well I do know. I know that it doesn’t make sense. Because if we’re so great, why aren’t we out showing everyone? Why aren’t people bowing in the street when we walk by? If we’re the most noble family in all of England, then why do we live hidden away from everyone? Why –’
‘I don’t know,’ he said again. ‘And I don’t care. There’s nothing we can do about it anyway.’
‘But we can do something about it. We can leave. Go our own way. We could go to Uncle Alphard, or –’
‘You really want to run away, then?’
Sirius beamed and nodded. ‘And isn’t now the perfect time to? Mother and Father are busy with tomorrow, they won’t notice until nightfall at the earliest –’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘It’s not stupid, it’s brilliant –’
‘But it is stupid. Mother and Father will know. Kreacher will know. Besides, how do you even want to leave? The front door? There are Muggles out there. And we can’t use Floo powder either. You know we can’t. So it’s stupid.’ Sirius folded his arms and opened his mouth in protest, but Regulus kept going. ‘It’s stupid, and even if it wasn’t, I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to lose our family, and I don’t want to lose you.’
Sirius looked taken aback. ‘But you won’t lose anyone. We’ll be at Uncle Alphard’s, and –’
‘Even if we go there, even if we did that, we still ran away. And that’s bad. You know it is. We’d get into so much trouble.’
Sirius had nothing to say to that for a while. He just sat down next to Regulus.
Silence fell over the room and Regulus leaned into him, hugging him tightly. Sirius hugged him back, and whispered, ‘You will never lose me, no matter what … we are brothers, and that means our bond can’t be broken. And that’s a promise. And you can’t break promises, either.’
And though he didn’t know what had got into his big brother’s head to make him talk about leaving and other such scary things, that promise made him feel slightly better. Because Sirius was right. They were brothers. Family. And family was unbreakable …
But only if Sirius did away with these ideas of running away. Because if he didn’t … Well, he didn’t want to think about it, but he had the most awful feeling this promise wouldn’t last long in that case.
After all, today hadn’t been the first time he had seen the family tree, with all its black marks. And both he and Sirius already knew what they were. What they meant.
For the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, there was no going back after leaving the family.