There were few things that didn’t scare young Regulus, but one thing scared him most of all, and that was angering, or upsetting, his family in any way. It was therefore not surprising that he spent all afternoon trying to make it up to Sirius somehow – he felt as though he owed it to him, for making him feel bad, with the whole running away thing. Even though he also thought that Sirius was really, really stupid. He was the stupidest big brother ever. But he was also the only big brother ever, and that made all the difference in the world.
What also wasn’t surprising was that he made sure to behave himself for the rest of the day. He was a proper young Black during lunch and dinner and went to bed when he was told to and didn’t even ask for a minute extra to play around with his broomstick. And when he went to bed he put his clothes in the basket, where they belonged, instead of just throwing them onto the floor for Kreacher to sweep away, and he crawled under the covers to sleep instead of silently sneaking out to Sirius’ room.
But sleep wouldn’t come. Whatever he did, it just wouldn’t come. And it wasn’t even that he was worried about Sirius’ plans or whatever, it wasn’t even that he was thinking about what had happened in the drawing room. He wasn’t thinking about that at all.
No, he couldn’t sleep because his mind was spinning with excitement; he would no longer be a child when morning came. He’d be seven years old, no longer a baby but someone who mattered.
And so young Regulus tossed and turned, and tossed and turned some more, thinking about all he’d do the following day. He’d see his cousins again, and all of his aunts, uncles, grandparents … the whole family would get together to celebrate his birthday, even his grandaunt Dorea and her husband Charlus, and he hadn’t seen them in almost two whole years! They had been present for Sirius’ seventh, but nothing since. They never came over, not even when they were invited, not if they didn’t think it was important enough, and nothing ever was. Just seventh birthdays. And perhaps weddings, but neither Regulus nor Sirius was going to be doing that anytime soon, of course.
And then there were Aunt Lucretia and her husband Ignatius. Would she bring him? She rarely did. Regulus had the feeling Ignatius didn’t really like Mother and Father, but he didn’t know why, or if that feeling was even correct.
In the end, it didn’t really matter. He couldn’t change it, anyway.
He sighed, tossed and turned some more, and then decided that since the tossing and turning did not help him one bit to catch his sleep, it would be useless to keep doing it. So he climbed out of bed and decided his birthday started right now. He went over to his wardrobe, ready to face the first challenge that came with this new age: choosing what to wear.
Up until this point his parents had always picked out his robes. Up until this point all he’d had to do was pull them on in the morning and off in the evening. That was all. There was nothing more to it.
But now? There were no clothes laid out for him. It was his own task. And he was determined to get it right.
But there were so many of them! Under-robes in all the colours he could think of: plum and maroon and emerald and gold and fiery red and purple and pink and even one in an ugly shade of yellowish green that reminded him of bile. There were many outer-robes with beautiful embroidery, which showed constellations or had the Black family crest on them, or charmed ones, which showed the wearer’s mood or warned of nearby spell-casting. There were dress robes with many buttons and cuffs and collars, but there were also play-robes with elbow patches (but he was far too old for those now) and all-weather robes, which were hooded and had capes already attached (but he had no need for those on his birthday, either).
It was almost impossible to choose, and yet he had to.
So he pulled them all from his wardrobe and stalled them out in his room. Some on the floor, some on his bed, all visible to him from where he stood, so he could take his pick more easily.
He ended up wearing a green, calf-length under-robe – all his robes reached his calves, as was appropriate for his age, but he knew they’d go shopping soon, and perhaps he would even get new robes today, ones that were longer and reached to his ankles at least. He wasn’t sure if he’d like those, but he understood growing older came with such responsibilities. It was just what happened. And it would be good practice for when he was older, for at Hogwarts, he would be wearing even longer robes, ones that reached the floor, and after that, robes that were even longer than those, so they dragged over the floor … full-length wizard’s robes … yes, that was the dream.
But for now, he’d have to make do with calf-length ones in deep green. At least the outer-robes were beautiful enough to take the attention away from his childishness, as they were embroidered with his own constellation, his own star shining brightest of all. After all, he was supposed to be the star of the day. These robes would only make sure of that, even if they were only calf-length.
This all had taken so long – picking out his robes and dressing, combing his hair, washing his face, putting on his hat – that sunlight was already coming in through the windows when he was done.
That was his cue. The day had begun.
He descended the many stairs that separated his bedroom and the dining room, where he was headed for breakfast, and came upon many festive decorations on the way down. Garlands and wreaths were all around him, as was the number seven, etched into each step he went down, shining brightly when he touched it with his hand. When he reached the ground floor he was greeted by a sparkling, hovering sign that read Happy birthday! and even the house-elf heads along the staircase had donned party hats!
He could hardly remember his home ever having been this cheerful, aside from that one time, almost two years ago, when it had been Sirius’ seventh birthday. No other occasion had brought such items into the house. He doubted even his birth had. Or Sirius’.
It made him feel very important. He straightened his back and broadened his shoulders so he more closely resembled his father. He was a proper Black, after all, and that was how proper Blacks walked.
He opened the door to the dining room, hoping to find his parents inside, but it was empty aside from the family house-elf, Kreacher, who was working his magic to decorate the room with the same wreaths and garlands he’d seen on the way down.
‘Wow,’ he breathed, letting go of the handle and taking in the room in amazement. He forgot about being a proper Black at once.
It seemed to have alerted Kreacher, who stopped working and instead appeared in front of Regulus, bowing deeply.
‘It’s stunning,’ he said, feeling obliged to say something to the elf in the position he found himself now.
Kreacher livened up and looked happier than ever.
‘Is it all for me?’ he asked, taking in the scene around him once more, and remembering the decorations elsewhere in the house. It was simply too much.
Kreacher nodded enthusiastically, his big ears flopping up and down as he did so. ‘All for Master Regulus’ big day,’ he croaked.
It was Regulus’ turn to smile now, though he had tried best to hide it, because Blacks didn’t do such things – but no matter how much he told himself that, the smile still came out at the elf’s words.
‘What about breakfast? Have you made any?’ he asked.
‘Has Kreacher made any breakfast?’ the elf muttered, almost offended. ‘Of course he has, young master, of course!’
And he snapped his fingers and – plop – the table was set with all sorts of foods: scrambled eggs, omelettes, fried eggs, boiled eggs (hard and runny), broiled kidneys, kidneys on toast, collared sheep’s tongues, pig’s cheek and pork pie, thick-cut back bacon, baked halibut steaks, fried whiting, salmon, stewed figs, bananas, tomatoes, pheasant legs, pork and blood sausages with fried bread, warm crumpets, all kinds of marmalade and jam, some porridge, and a large pot of honey …
It was, all in all, more food than he’d ever seen in one place. He was certain, yes – not even Sirius had had such a feast for his seventh. And all that for breakfast!
He sat down, feeling all giddy and overwhelmed by the amount of food and the options laid out in front of him, and just started with what lay closest to his plate, deciding to work his way from there.
And it was delicious, all of it. He never knew food could taste that good.
He was just helping himself to a second serving when the door opened again and Mother entered the room.
He gave her a wave, quickly emptied his mouth, and said, ‘Good morning! Kreacher’s made breakfast!’
‘I can see that,’ she muttered in return, taking up a seat opposite him. ‘You’re up early.’
‘I couldn’t sleep. I was far too excited about today.’
Mother smiled. ‘I was the same when I turned seven. All night I lay awake.’
Regulus frowned, trying to picture her as a seven-year-old.
‘Go on, finish your breakfast,’ she said, interrupting his mental exercise. ‘Your brother will be up soon and then the peace and quiet will be gone.’
She had a good point there. He stopped trying to imagine her at his age and filled his plate with a few more things. Mother, too, filled up her plate.
They ate in silence, watching as Kreacher finished the last of the decorations. Regulus had barely emptied his plate (and he really was too full to fill up another one now) when the door opened again, revealing Sirius and Father.
He had no time to greet them; Father pushed Sirius inside heavy-handedly, and marched over to the table, saying, ‘Dearest, I just found your son dangling out of his bedroom window.’
‘You found him what?!’ Mother nearly choked and all but flew from her chair, and Father had to physically restrain Sirius from running away from her.
‘Walburga,’ came Father’s stern voice.
Mother came to an abrupt halt in front of them.
‘Are you out of your mind?’ she yelled. ‘What were you dangling out of a window for!?’
But it was starting to dawn on Regulus; Sirius was wearing his travelling cloak, and in Father’s right hand was a duffel bag he’d no doubt taken with him.
‘He tried to run away,’ he mumbled, more to himself than to his parents, though that didn’t stop them from hearing it.
‘You tried to run away?!’ Mother repeated, spit flying everywhere. ‘Why in the name of – I mean – You – What would you run away for!? All you know and need is here with us – !’
‘Oh, anywhere’s better than here with you,’ Sirius spat back. ‘I’d rather be a Muggle than spend another day in this place.’
Mother gasped. Father stood unmoving, face unreadable. Regulus could not believe his ears. Yesterday came back to him, and yes, Sirius had been quite clear about it, but to actually run away … to say he’d prefer being that …
Father sighed. ‘I think it’s a good idea for Sirius to spend the rest of the day in his room – I’ve reinforced the window, he’s not going to be able to run off again – and think about what he did.’
Mother nodded at that, slowly retreating to her chair. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea,’ she mumbled, seemingly still in shock. Regulus couldn’t blame her; he was, too.
Father and Sirius left again and Regulus stared back at his empty plate. He was a little nauseous. All excitement he’d felt had evaporated and the thought of birthday celebrations and presents made him feel even sicker.
The moments seemed to drag on.
When Father returned, he was sent away. He and Mother had ‘pressing matters’ to discuss and he wasn’t wanted for that conversation. He felt very small again when he trudged up the stairs.
He did not want to play, he was not in the mood. He passed the playroom and went up more stairs until he reached the topmost landing. Crying came from Sirius’ room but he ignored it – he was a dumb, annoying, horrible little Bundimun, that’s what he was. The worst brother ever! Trying to run away on his birthday, ruining everything. He always had to be the centre of attention, didn’t he? Stupid, stupid, stupid …
And so he stayed in his bedroom all day, until Father knocked on his door to tell him his birthday celebrations were still happening, and he was expected downstairs in ten minutes.
And he went downstairs. Because that’s how he was, always listening when told to do something. He could make mistakes, yes, but he’d never – never – do what Sirius did and go directly against their wishes, run away or wish for the unwishable.
Rather be a Muggle … He’d surely lost his mind …
Sirius was already in the entry hall, wearing some dumb plain robes in a bright blue colour and no hat at all. He had a stupid smirk on his face and looked far happier than he had any right to be.
Regulus looked to his parents, but they didn’t seem to mind. Their anger with Sirius never lasted long.
They waited for another ten minutes. Then the loud clanging of the doorbell sounded through the house.
Father nudged him. ‘Go on, open it.’
Regulus took a deep breath and walked over to the door, pulling it open, only to be nearly knocked to the floor by his enthusiastic grandparents, who pushed in past him. Grandfather Arcturus seemed to not even see him as he went straight for Sirius, a broad grin on his face as he ruffled his hair and lovingly said, ‘Ah, the little rascal, always manage to stand out, don’t you?’
Sirius only grunted in response, clearly unhappy about this arrangement, but Regulus watched in jealousy until he felt a hand on his own shoulder. He looked up.
Grandmother Melania stood there, smiling down upon him. ‘Don’t mind them, love. You know how they are. Don’t let them ruin your day.’
Regulus nodded and sneaked another glance at them but Grandfather Arcturus still only had eyes for Sirius. He tried not to mind it, but it was hard. Still, he could do it, if just for an evening. He hoped. He gave his grandmother somewhat of a smile and then stared back at the door, trying his best not to pay Sirius any mind – which became much easier when Grandmother Melania took him away with her to the dining room. ‘Show me the way,’ she said, as though she didn’t frequently visit, as though she didn’t know where it was. But it meant Regulus was alone with his parents, and so he was grateful for it.
He didn’t have to wait very long; the next guests arrived after only a few minutes. They rang the doorbell rather impatiently and Father didn’t even have to tell him to open the door, nor did Regulus have time to properly open it, for the moment he touched the doorknob the door sprang open and in came his cousin Bellatrix, swiftly followed by her sister Narcissa, and they all but ran him over as they entered the house, loudly arguing about something. Uncle Cygnus’ voice rang out over theirs so that he couldn’t make out what they were arguing about, nor could he hear much of what Uncle Cygnus was saying. They all disappeared towards the dining room without even a single look at him.
A few seconds after they were gone, Aunt Druella entered, mumbling a hasty apology and a happy birthday as she pulled along a sour-looking Andromeda. They, too, left for the dining room.
Regulus looked at his parents, but he couldn’t make sense of their faces, nor of the look they shared. He couldn’t make sense of the situation itself either, he just knew it was far from how he’d imagined his birthday party to go, and he really didn’t like it. He’d wanted everyone to be happy and congratulate him and give him gifts and that sort of thing, not Sirius running away and having to spend all day in his room only for the guests to be too busy with other things and not the birthday. His birthday. Today was the most important day in his whole life and nobody even seemed to care.
He didn’t have time to dwell on this, however, for the bell rang again. He opened the door, bracing himself – but Aunt Lucretia entered most quietly and orderly, and smiled warmly at him, saying, ‘Oh, you’ve grown so much since I last saw you.’
Regulus opened his mouth to reply when someone else entered the hall – she had indeed brought her husband Ignatius. But he did not say anything to Regulus, and Regulus did not say anything to him. He barely got the chance to, because he pulled his wife along to the dining room immediately, clearly uncomfortable about something, and in came Uncle Alphard before Regulus (or Mother, or Father) had the time to comment on this.
He’d come in through the still-open door, which Regulus hadn’t shut in his surprise at Ignatius, and made a quick comment about his growth and offered him a happy birthday, then he was on his way to the dining room as quickly as Ignatius had, glaring heavily at Mother as he passed.
Grandaunt Dorea and her husband were no better. They also glared at Mother, and at Father, and they wouldn’t stop until the door to the dining room closed behind them.
And Regulus just stared.
And staring turned to wonder, and he wondered how it would be if Cassiopeia hadn’t been thrown into prison for her heroic chase of Muggles. Would she glare at Mother and Father? Would they glare at her? Or would she come barging in as if she owned the place? He could hardly remember her face at all, he’d been so young when she’d stopped visiting … Not that he blamed her, of course. Being in prison was a rather good reason to stop visiting, after all. But still … He wised he could see her again, visit her, ask her things …
The doorbell rang for the final time that evening, pulling him from his thoughts again as he had to open the door to let in Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma. They were quite still and also didn’t say anything to anyone, but Regulus was too exhausted to mind. He supposed Grandmother Melania’s advice had been rather useful after all, and the evening hadn’t even started yet.
He followed them into the dining room (which was very loud, as all the guests were talking amongst themselves, some of them already raising their voices, and Bellatrix and Narcissa were still going on about whatever it was they were fighting about) and sat down at the head of the table with his parents on either side, and saw Sirius on the other end near Uncle Alphard and Andromeda. He averted his gaze at once – he would not mind them, not tonight. He would not mind a single one of these selfish guests. He would have the best birthday he could. He’d make sure of that. And the best birthday would start with a delicious dinner.
But not yet.
Mother rose after only a couple of seconds of being seated and the whole room quieted down. She took up her goblet and looked around the room, then said, with an air of authority, ‘Family, young and old, by blood and marriage – we gather here today to celebrate the seventh birthday of our beloved son, Regulus Arcturus Black!’
The whole room erupted into applause and cheer, and for the first time that evening, Regulus felt the pride swell up in him, for the first time that evening, he had been acknowledged, truly acknowledged.
Father nudged him. ‘Get up,’ he whispered.
Regulus obeyed, and he could feel his cheeks flush red as he looked around the room. He tried to stand up straight and broaden his shoulders, but all he wanted was to disappear. All he wanted was for someone to take over, and for there to be no-one staring at him the way his whole family now did. he wanted it to stop, but he didn’t know how.
‘Er …’
Should he say something? Do something? A few awkward moments passed, and still nothing happened, and his confusion and insecurity only grew and grew. Then Mother laughed, and Father clasped him on the back, and the table filled up with delicious food right as they all sat back down. And Regulus could finally breathe again. And he could look around the room again, without pressure, and not at all the expectant faces but at all the goods stalled out. There had to be twice the amount of this morning, if possible, and he found it difficult to choose where to start and what to eat.
Even this was was rather overwhelming.
Even more overwhelming was the way he heard his name from every corner of the table, muttered by aunts and uncles, grandparents and cousins – everyone seemed to have something to say about the birthday boy, but none seemed to have anything to say to him.
Not much had changed in that regard, despite him being older now. They always talked about him instead of to him. And he didn’t understand why, if age wasn’t the issue, for they always talked to Sirius. Even now, on his birthday, he caught them talking to him. Laughing with him. Sharing ideas.
Yes, they always seemed to prefer Sirius to himself in some way, and especially today, that just wasn’t fair.
Especially since Sirius didn’t even seem to like it at all. Tonight as well, he was the first to move after dinner, forcing his chair back so loudly it creaked. Then he ran out of the dining room as quickly as he had ran from the drawing room yesterday. As if he was escaping something nasty. Running for his life, trying to outrun it in case it might follow him, when all he could want to escape was the family, and all that chased after him was Uncle Alphard. And then, Andromeda. And that was all.
Everyone else just talked about other things. They did other things. Narcissa and Bellatrix were still fighting and all the grownups looked at each other with a certain tenseness to it.
It was difficult to find something to do with everyone else busy with their own things (on his birthday nonetheless) and so he ended up leaving the table as well. Maybe he could find Sirius and they could play together, because he truly was getting a bit bored and annoyed and at least that would get his mind off things, even if it meant he’d failed ‘not minding’ him for the evening.
So he wandered about the house, trying to find his brother, who, he found, was neither in his own bedroom nor in the drawing room, nor was he hiding in any of his usual spots around the house.
He was starting to suspect him running away again when a thought entered his mind: the kitchen.
Sirius had a bit of a love-hate relationship with the kitchen. He hated it because Kreacher was usually there, but he loved it because Mother and Father weren’t there. And, of course, it was a place of unlimited food, which was always a good thing to him – even after an elaborate dinner.
And he was right. As he went down there, he heard voices coming from the other end of the door, and, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying, he recognised them as belonging to Sirius and Uncle Alphard.
But when he opened it, they fell silent.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt –’
‘Oh, you didn’t interrupt,’ said Uncle Alphard kindly. ‘We weren’t talking about anything in particular. Come, join us.’
He pointed at one of the empty seats at the kitchen table. Regulus hesitated – they had been talking, and something about their sudden silence felt strangely and suspicious to him – but decided it couldn’t hurt. He closed the door at sat down opposite Sirius, next to his uncle, who shifted the topic of conversation towards him and his birthday.
‘How do you feel about it all?’ he asked. ‘It’s a bit much, isn’t it?’
Regulus nodded in agreement, though he wasn’t sure what was ‘a bit much’ … the grown-ups all talking about him, or them ignoring him? Or both? Or perhaps something else entirely?
Before he could make his mind up about this, the door opened again, and a very cheerful Andromeda came barging into the room, rattling along as she came over to the table. ‘So there you both are! Hiding away in the basement, I see? And you don’t think to include me? I have lots to say! Did you know that –’
‘Later, Andromeda. We have company,’ Uncle Alphard interrupted, gesturing to Regulus, whose face reddened once more. Andromeda looked at him as if he’d grown a second head, and said no more.
‘What, me?’ he asked, confused. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘Nothing, little cousin. Absolutely nothing!’ Andromeda said as she sat down next to him at the kitchen table, but she didn’t continue with what she had wanted to say, indicating there most certainly was something wrong with him … but what?
The silence that followed was deafening, and he quickly felt very unwanted, and very uncomfortable.
‘I should get back to the party,’ he said, standing up.
When nobody argued with him, or tried to get him to stay, he stormed off, slamming the kitchen door behind him and running back up the stairs.
In his anger, he nearly bumped into Bellatrix in the hall. He started apologising, but she just smiled.
‘It’s all right, little cousin, no need to worry. It’s your day today, and if you want to spend it running through the house bumping into people then that’s your full right,’ she said solemnly. ‘After all, it won’t be long now before you cannot do such things at all any more. It won’t be long before they’ll come after you about responsibilities and obligations – ones that’ll get in the way of having some proper fun. Oh, it’s been so long since I had a party …’
She looked around the hallway with a strange kind of fondness in her eyes, and Regulus frowned. Just last month she’d celebrated her seventeenth birthday, and a whole lot of people had been invited then. More than now, even. People he didn’t know, people who weren’t even family. People Mother and Father had warned him about beforehand and told him not to speak to.
And so he hadn’t. As a proper Black, he knew whom to talk to and whom to avoid.
And so did Bellatrix. Or didn’t she? Was, perhaps, that change precisely what she meant? Would family somehow become less important? Or other people more important? People who weren’t even Blacks, people who deserved absolutely nothing in this world and least of all his – their – attention.
Would, perhaps, family not be invited to parties any more, from a certain age onwards?
But no, that didn’t make any sense, either; he’d been to her party as well, and he was family. The whole family had been there. Besides, it didn’t hold with what they’d always taught him about the importance of family and family relations …
No, whatever she was talking about couldn’t be about family in that way.
So what was it about? ‘Fun’? Fun was for little children, so why should he want to have fun? He was older now. Being older came with responsibilities (such as him choosing his own robes today!), and taking part in those responsibilities would make his family more proud of him than any fun ever could.
So that’s what he told her, and he really hoped that was what she had meant all along.
‘I want to make them proud. Responsibilities make them proud,’ he said, puffing out his chest.
Bellatrix smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘Yes, yes – very good.’
Then she turned away.
He never could understand her. She was too unpredictable. It reminded him of the Runespoor on his magical creatures wallpaper in his room. She was just as odd and stubborn as the middle head, surely. To fit this, Andromeda would be on the right and Narcissa on the left.
He was more of a Planner as well, which he supposed was why he got along best with Narcissa, and understood nothing of either of her sisters.
Speaking of, there came Narcissa, running at them at full speed.
‘Regulus!’ she called as she reached them, ‘Regulus, please, can we talk?’
‘We were talking, Cissy,’ said Bellatrix sternly. ‘Some other time, perhaps.’
‘But it’s important,’ she pressed.
‘If it’s really that important, and it really can’t wait, then you can have a word with him right here,’ Bellatrix said, gesturing around her.
Narcissa rolled her eyes. ‘Fine! Have it your way, then. As always.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh, nothing.’
The two girls glared at each other for a short while, until Narcissa gave up.
‘Reg – I really do need a word. Because, well, I don’t know, but I think you should just, you know … embrace everything.’
Regulus stared. She wasn’t making any sense.
‘Family is important,’ she said, as if it was some big revelation.
‘I know that.’
‘I just mean … You’ve been having … doubts, haven’t you?’
‘Doubts?’
‘Well … I overheard Uncle Alphard and Aunt Lucretia, they were talking about you and about how you’d talked to Sirius about – about running away?’
‘That’s not true!’ he said, defiantly. ‘He’s the one who talked about running away. He’s the one who was dangling out of a window all of last night! Not me!’
The two girls looked at one another.
‘Sirius hung out of a window last night?’ Bellatrix asked.
‘Yes! Father –’
‘What did he tell you? You say he talked?’ she pressed, closing in the gap between them, practically shoving Narcissa aside.
‘He did, yesterday. He said we’d go to Uncle Alphard’s. He wanted me to join him. But I said it was a stupid idea! Because it is a stupid idea. And then he still went and did it all on his own.’
Regulus crossed his arms angrily. He didn’t like being accused of something, especially not something so stupid, and especially not of something his stupid brother had carried out. It made him very angry and annoyed.
But not nearly as angry and annoyed as Bellatrix, whose fierce glare seemed to bore into him. She lunged forwards and grabbed hold of his shoulders before he could try and back away from her, and the intensity of it all made him shudder.
She let go of his shoulders rather suddenly, pushing him back a little. He stumbled but didn’t fall. For a moment, he stared at the way Bellatrix paced. The anger in the way she walked, the way her feet came down on the floor, the force of it all … She was positively fuming, and, as far as he could tell, her anger had not yet reached its peak; it was still building, building, bubbling up to the surface where it threatened to spill over.
She had these fits every once in a while, whenever something truly bad happened. Not quite as frequently as Mother, but far more destructive, and Regulus was familiar enough with the outburst that was bound to follow to know he had to make a run for it.