They stood side by side for a few long moments, both eyeing the contraptions in the centre of the room, ones Regulus now knew his ancestors lay in. It was a funny idea, picturing them in those stone things. Sleeping. No; dead.
He knew what that meant, being dead. Well, he knew it was something that only happened once, and that it meant the person was no longer in this world but in the next. He also knew that nobody knew just what was in that next world, or where it was, or how it all worked. Actually, he wasn’t too sure if he knew what it meant after all. He wasn’t sure if anyone knew.
But whether he knew or not, whether he understood or not, whether anyone was even able to know or understand – something about it all drew him in.
Perhaps if he just …
He took a few tentative steps towards one of the contraptions and looked back at Narcissa, the question burning in his eyes and his hand almost shaking with desire as it hovered just above the stone.
Narcissa nodded.
He let his hand rest upon it.
The stone wasn’t as cold as he had expected it to be, so deep underground. But it wasn’t hot, either. It was warm, and pleasantly so, and it radiated not from his fingertips inwards but from his heart outwards. It spread through his body from his head down to his toes and it seemed to exit his body through his hand, and it was such a strange feeling he pulled it back from the contraption almost immediately.
The feeling disappeared.
He reached out again, something inside of him missing the warmth. He grazed his thumb over the stone and could clearly feel the heat building again, building, building –
‘They say the dead never really leave us,’ said Narcissa, and he jumped at how loud and close her voice was. She stood next to him now, still smiling, looking around the room.
‘It’s true. Because they’re here,’ she said. ‘And they know we’re here, too, and they’re proud of us. And they’ll be so much prouder when we’re old and all shrivelled up and joining them – after we lived our lives to the fullest, after we’ve left our own marks on the world … wouldn’t that be wonderful? To be a part of this? To lie with the best of the best someday?’
Regulus looked around the room. The best of the best. A funny feeling fluttered through his stomach at the thought.
‘You can feel it, can’t you?’ she continued. ‘The heat. The whispers. I can hear them, too.’
He closed his eyes and reached out his hand again, touching the stone once more. The warmth exploded throughout his body and his mind was spinning, spinning, picking up on something no louder than the wind but distinctly human. Something inside him lit up at that, and he opened his eyes again, to find Narcissa beaming back at him, touching the stone herself.
‘We’ll make it, you and I. I just know it.’
He was convinced by those words. After all, he had heard his ancestors. He had felt them. He was already with them now, so why not stay around after he was dead, join them, send whispers and warmth out to the next generation of Blacks just as they were doing right now?
And so they spent the day; trying to talk to their ancestors, asking for advice, never leaving the room except for lunchtime, briefly. They stayed until it was almost five o’clock and Regulus, inevitably, had to go back home.
‘Can I come back tomorrow?’ Regulus asked Narcissa pleadingly as they made their way back outside.
‘Can’t,’ said Narcissa. ‘I’ve got finish up on some homework this weekend.’
‘Monday, then?’
‘I’ve to go to Diagon Alley and pick up my new robes …’
‘I could come after?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll be busy until I come back for the Christmas holidays, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘It’s such a busy time, just before school. You’ll understand some day, when you’re old enough to go.’
‘I want to go now,’ he whinged.
‘I’m sorry, but you can’t. You know you can’t.’
She said nothing more to any of his requests the rest of the way back to the house, and so Regulus stopped asking. But inwardly, he was devastated. He didn’t want to have to leave now, and go back home. He didn’t want to have to wait until Christmas! He didn’t want Narcissa to go back to Hogwarts and leave him alone with Sirius again. He wanted her to stay, or for her to take him with.
But the only one taking him anywhere was Father, who was already waiting for him by the front door, and took him home in one, swift, spinning motion that dizzied him as much as it always did.
They landed in the dining room, and Father barely gave him a chance to adjust. He just told him to sit down.
And so he did.
But he felt oddly empty inside. Cold. Silent. He longed to go back to the place his ancestors lay, where he could spend hours surrounded by people who had done incredible things. Not Father. What had he ever done? Not Mother. And certainly not Sirius, not with his antics. Sirius would never end up in that burial chamber.
‘Did you not have fun today?’ Mother asked as she, too, sat down at the table. He hadn’t even heard her enter.
‘I did,’ he mumbled. She wouldn’t understand.
‘Yet you seem so …’ she sighed and shook her head.
She said no more about it for the rest of the evening, and neither did he. Father occasionally spared him a look that seemed to ask what was going through his mind, but never voiced his thoughts, and Regulus didn’t feel up to starting the conversation about all he’d seen today. It wasn’t something he could easily bring up over dinner. It wasn’t something trivial.
So he only spoke of it when he and Sirius had been sent up to their rooms.
He took Sirius with him and sat him down on his bed.
‘You should’ve come with me today,’ he started.
‘To Cissy’s?’
Regulus nodded. ‘Did she take you when you were seven?’
Sirius looked utterly confused.
‘The burial chamber. With our ancestors,’ he clarified.
Sirius still looked confused. ‘We haven’t even got a “burial chamber” –’
‘Yes, we do!’ he said, excitement building. Because if Sirius didn’t know … ‘I went there today, and everyone was there, in the burial chamber –’
‘There’s no such thing,’ Sirius maintained, crossing his arms.
‘But there is! I saw it! And they were talking to me! Our ancestors, they were there!’
‘You’re making this up,’ he argued. ‘Imagining things. It’s all in your mind.’
‘But they spoke to me. They spoke to me. How could they speak to me if they weren’t there?’
Sirius clasped his hands and rose from the bed. ‘The dead are dead. They are gone. Whatever you heard, it wasn’t them. Goodnight.’
‘That’s not true, I could hear them, they’re there, Sirius, I’m telling you!’ he called out, but Sirius ignored him. The door fell closed and Regulus glared at it for a while.
‘It’s your loss, if you don’t believe me,’ he muttered under his breath when it became clear that Sirius was not coming back.
And it was Sirius’ loss, of course, this disbelief. He would never hear their ancestors. He would never feel their presence. He would never know how it felt to stand in their midst.
But to be made out a liar? To be accused of making it all up? To say he was imagining things?
It made him angry. Very angry. So angry he wanted to destroy something.
He balded his fists and tried to push the feeling down, but failed; the urge was too strong, and he punched his pillow several times, and his mattress, and his thigh – ow! maybe not his thigh, but he did hit his pillow again.
It didn’t help. The room seemed to close in around him. His chest ached and he wished desperately for Sirius to come to and understand he hadn’t been lying. He wasn’t making stuff up. If only he could prove it. If only he could take Sirius with him next time.
He curled up in his bed, not even bothering to undress. He didn’t feel up to it. He didn’t feel capable. He felt horrible and childish, pushed aside and not believed, and there was nothing he could do about it.
It was only by some miracle that he managed to sleep that night, even if it were but a few hours. Even if, when he woke up, his conversation with Sirius still haunted him.
He had simply wanted to share in his wonder, and it had resulted in disappointment.
And he shouldn’t have been surprised. That’s what hurt so much: he shouldn’t have been surprised that Sirius had managed to twist the conversation and make him miserable instead of excited, because that’s what Sirius did. Sirius loved making everyone feel miserable.
But nobody ever seemed to understand that. They all liked Sirius too much to see.
The resentment remained and all weekend he spoke not a single word to his brother. He barely even looked at him. He avoided him at all costs. He stayed mostly in his room, sulking, longing for the burial chamber and the warmth he’d felt there. He hoped that, come first of September, Narcissa would somehow miss the train to Hogwarts. Then he’d be able to visit her – and their ancestors – sooner.
But he knew his chances were slim. Had anyone ever missed the Hogwarts Express? But even if, by some miracle, she did; there were countless other ways to go to school. It wouldn’t keep her at home.
And so the weekend passed and made way for Monday, and Monday cast away all of his resentment, all of his anger. It pushed back his wishes and the whole visit to the burial chamber; it was the first Monday after his seventh birthday, and that meant the start of his formal education.
He made sure to arrive early and seated himself at his new desk in Father’s study. It was a small one, compared to Father’s, or even Sirius’, but it was beautiful and made him feel grand and important. And he made sure he sat upright, with broad shoulders and a straight back, and his hands neatly folded on his lap.
The contrast couldn’t be greater.
Sirius slouched in his chair. Sirius was impatiently drumming on the wood with his fingers. Sirius yawned and stuck out his tongue whenever their eyes met. Sirius did all sorts of things Regulus would never dream of doing on such an important day.
He glanced back at the door occasionally, intently, as if he could summon Father just by thinking very hard about it, though of course that didn’t work. There were Summoning Charms, but he wasn’t sure they worked on people – and he’d need a wand and plenty of practice for that, anyway.
But Father did enter, eventually, and he carried with him a a hornbook, a writing slate, some paper and even parchment, and also a couple of quill pens, an inkwell, slate pencils, a sponge and blotters, sand, and a little knife. All were floating beside him until Father directed them to put themselves down upon his own desk, away from either Sirius or Regulus, except for the hornbook.
As it came near, Regulus could make out the lesson sheet bearing the inscriptions. He wasn’t stupid; he knew these inscriptions as the letters of the alphabet. He wasn’t completely illiterate, that was impossible with an older brother and older cousins so intent on reading him books and getting him to guess the letters for the last three years of his life. But to be put on the spot …
And he was, for Father drew up a stool and sat down, still holding the hornbook. ‘After today’s lesson,’ he said, ‘I want you to have this. Keep it on you at all times.’
Regulus nodded, eyeing the hornbook with much curiosity. It was silver and rather pretty. And it would be his after this? Really? He looked sideways to Sirius, but he didn’t seem very impressed.
‘For now,’ Father continued, ‘let’s go over what’s written on here. Regulus?’
But Regulus, not wanting to guess incorrectly and disappoint everyone, didn’t say anything. He simply stared at the shapes – the letters – in front of him, trying his best to be sure of his case but not knowing how to be.
‘All right, let’s go slowly. This is A,’ Father prompted, pointing to the first one, ‘the letter of Astronomy, Amulet and Alchemy. And this is …?’
‘B, for Billywig, for Butterbeer and Broomstick. C is for Cauldron –’
‘Yes, yes, Sirius,’ Father interrupted, annoyed. ‘I should hope you know this by now. I wasn’t asking you; I was talking to your brother.’
Sirius scoffed but spoke no more.
‘Regulus, your turn. Can you tell me what sound this makes?’ Father pointed to the next letter, and he knew he could no longer remain silent. He had to say something. He had to dig deep into his memory and come up with the right letter.
‘Err … D … as in … er … Dark Arts?’
Both Father and Sirius laughed. ‘That’s certainly creative, son, certainly … Let’s keep that one: D is for Dark Arts. Brilliant!’
‘No, it’s for Dragon,’ Sirius protested, ‘It’s for Dragon, and Demiguise, and –’
‘And Dark Arts,’ said Father, and that was that.
The rest of the lesson was much the same, reciting letters and voicing them, and knowing what words matched the letter best.
After three hours of hard work, they were done, and he got to take the hornbook with him. And only then he noticed the engravings depicting all sorts of things easily traced back to what the letters stood for. Whenever he sounded out a letter with the hornbook carried around his neck, the appropriate engraving would spring to life. There were many, including an Erumpent, and a Flitterbloom, a Hippogriff and an Invisibility Cloak – which was his personal favourite: the engraving was completely invisible until the word itself was mentioned. It took him a while to figure that out.
This all made it far easier to study than he’d imagined, and by the end of the week he had mastered the entire alphabet – and it had taken over his life. It was all he did. He only thought back to Narcissa and the burial chamber when the first of September came around, and he became very much aware of the fact that his three cousins were all boarding the train to Hogwarts whilst he was stuck in his father’s office, dissecting words into letters and forming new words with those letters.
‘Regulus’ for example became ‘Rat’, ‘Elf’, ‘Galleon’, ‘Umbrella’, ‘Lamb’, ‘Unicorn’, ‘Silver’ – all of which could be further dissected. ‘Rat’ became ‘Remembrall’, ‘Acromantula’, ‘Transfiguration’; and ‘Elf’ would be ‘Enchantment’, ‘Lunascope’, ‘Fluxweed’ – and so on. The trick was to come up with more and more difficult words each time, yet all he could think of was his cousins, and how they had to feel, spending so much time away from home. If they felt lonely or sad.
Did they miss him?
He felt all funny inside and decided to break his vow of silence, and, for the first time since he’d told him about the chamber, approached Sirius as they left Father’s office.
‘Want to play wizard chess with me?’
‘Oh, so it can talk,’ spat Sirius as he brushed past him.
‘What?’
‘You’ve been ignoring me for ages,’ Sirius scoffed, leaning back against the railing.
‘Well, I didn’t –’
‘You “didn’t mean to”?’
‘Well, you wouldn’t believe me about the chamber!’
‘Because it’s not real.’
‘It is!’
‘Is not!’
‘Is too!’
‘No, it isn’t!’
‘It is, just because you didn’t get to go when you were seven –’
‘I didn’t go because it isn’t real!’
‘It is real!’
‘No it isn’t. And you stink!’
‘I do not! And it is!’
‘Yes you do! You’re a poopyhead!’
‘I’m not, I’m not, I’m not!’
‘Poopyhead,’ Sirius sang, sticking out his tongue. ‘Poopyhead.’
‘ARGH! I hate you!’ Regulus yelled, anger and the same need for destruction building inside him. He clenched his fingers into fists and stormed down the stairs before he’d do something worse.
But Sirius seemed not to care. ‘I hate you more,’ he said calmly.
He turned back around, standing halfway on the stairs. ‘I hate you the most!’ he called back.
Sirius stuck out his tongue on the floor above him.
‘Children, children! What’s the meaning of this?’
Regulus – and Sirius, for that matter – jumped up at the sudden voice sounding through the hall below.
They leant over the bannisters to see who had interrupted their bickering, and Regulus’ heart was still racing when Sirius broke the silence. ‘Aunt Lucretia!’
She stood in the entry hall and told them, rather sternly, to come downstairs – and they did not have to be told twice. They went down as quickly as they could without running, and came to a halt in front of her.
‘Now, what’s all this about hating each other?’ she questioned.
‘He started it!’ Regulus pointed at Sirius.
‘That’s not true!’ Sirius protested. ‘He –’
‘One at a time, please! Sirius?’
‘He was lying to me.’
Aunt Lucretia raised her eyebrows and turned on Regulus. ‘Were you?’
‘No!’
‘He was!’
She sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter if he lied or not. You mustn’t say such things, or you’ll come to regret it. Apologise to your brother, both of you. Go on.’
‘Fine. I’m sorry,’ Regulus mumbled.
‘Good enough. Sirius?’
‘Sorry,’ he spat. ‘Happy now?’
‘Quite. I’ll leave you two to it, then. I’m here to see your father. Do you know where he is?’
Sirius vaguely pointed at the ceiling and Aunt Lucretia brushed past them to get upstairs. They waited for her to disappear from sight, then turned to each other again.
‘Poopyhead,’ Sirius whispered, and Regulus could only glare at him; nobody ever picked his side, and Aunt Lucretia would surely hear if he said anything.
But they were Blacks, and when Blacks grew angry, they either exploded or imploded – or both. And seeing as both brothers preferred not to get in any more trouble, they imploded and ignored each other for the rest of the day.
And the day after.
And the day after that.
Because that was the problem that lay at the core: working through issues together, talking about it, trying to fix it – it was a foreign concept to them both.