Chapter V:
The Christmas Letter

Sirius’ birthday was upon them quicker than anyone could’ve guessed – or, rather; it was upon them quicker than Regulus could’ve guessed. But that was mostly down to two things: his own birthday seeming so recent, and his managing to read an entire book two days prior to the big event.

Well, calling it a big event was a bit much. Regulus refused to allow Sirius to overshadow his academic achievements just by not dying the entire year. Turning nine was nothing special.

But he didn’t tell Sirius any of this. Not because he wanted him to enjoy his day or anything noble, but because they still weren’t speaking, and Regulus took this very seriously. He would use gestures if he needed to ask Sirius something, or even write it down. Anything to not be the first to break the silence (and Sirius did the same, because Blacks did not admit defeat. Blacks were never wrong).

No, neither of them seemed likely to change the situation for the better.

The only change that happened was Sirius worsening it, on that first of November. He’d worsened it so much.

Father had entered the study with two large stacks of paper that morning.

‘Take hold of your pen and write your name at the top,’ Father had said to Sirius, placing the stacks in front of him. ‘Then work your way through the sums.’

And oh, how he remembered hearing, and seeing, Sirius scribbling away with ease. Oh, how he remembered his grin.

How he heard his mocking, silent voice sounding through his head, telling him how useless he was, because he couldn’t write the same as he did. Because he was stuck with a slate and pencil, copying down simple words. Because he wasn’t Sirius, wasn’t as good as he was. He was a failure. A panicky, forgetful failure, who had forgotten, just for a little while, how to even write his name. Father had come to his rescue, sure, but the damage had been done and Sirius’ smug grin would forever be etched on the surface of his mind.

He still grinned now, whenever their eyes met, and mimicked writing with his hands.

Regulus hated him for it.

And he couldn’t even tell him off, not without breaking the silence. But he could get back at him. He would.

And so he made sure to sit between Grandfather Arcturus and Grandmother Melania on the sofa in the drawing room, forcing Sirius to sit in a lone armchair. And he made sure to talk to them and their other grandparents excessively, so they couldn’t talk to Sirius. On his birthday.

Only their grandparents had come. Uncle Alphard was in France and Aunt Lucretia was on holiday with her husband and his family. Their cousins were at Hogwarts, and Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella had some other thing to do. And ninth birthdays just weren’t important enough to invite the whole family. That would all be reserved for the big eleven – Sirius would have to wait two more years for that.

‘You know, I read a whole book two days ago,’ said Regulus, when the conversation fell silent. ‘It was about a wizard getting his first wand. It was really good.’

Everyone murmured words of appreciation, and Regulus sat up a little straighter.

‘I can write now, too,’ he said proudly. ‘Not as well as Sirius, but …’

‘I’m sure you can write just as well, dear,’ said his grandmother. ‘You just need to practise.’

‘I have been. Every single day,’ he said proudly. ‘Sirius hasn’t even practised at all.’

‘That’s very good. Keep up the good work and you’ll be better than Sirius very soon.’

He looked to his brother, briefly, but he didn’t seem to mind the comment.

‘Father said something similar, you know, last Friday,’ he said. ‘Said I’ll be better than Sirius soon, because I take it seriously and he doesn’t. You know he doesn’t even care if he writes his name poorly? Says it’s just a name so it doesn’t matter!’

It wasn’t a lie. Not really. The disdain for their family name was clear enough in Sirius even if he hadn’t spoken of it last Friday.

And, more importantly, it got his grandparents’ full attention. All four of them turned to Sirius, who sat slouched in the chair, staring at the clock as if it would make time go faster.

‘Is it true what your brother says? You don’t care for this family, is that it?’ Grandfather Pollux asked harshly.

‘What? No.’

‘Liar,’ called Regulus. ‘He wouldn’t put effort into his name, and he said he hates me, and he’s called Mother and Father names – he even tried to run away last summer, isn’t that right, Sirius?’

Sirius glared at him with such intensity Regulus had to look away, but he didn’t let that stop him.

‘And I bet he doesn’t like the gifts you got him,’ he said.

‘Now you’re just making stuff up,’ Sirius muttered angrily. ‘You’re trying to make me look bad on purpose.’

‘Now, now – why would he do that?’ Grandmother Melania interrupted.

‘Because he’s a little pest that –’

‘Sirius!’

Father had come over and now hovered over his chair. ‘If I catch you calling him names one more time, I swear –’

‘Sure!’ Sirius yelled, getting to his feet. ‘Accuse me all you want when he’s the one who started it!’

‘I am not accusing you, nor am I interested in games of who started what. I simply need you to be on your best behaviour. Now, apologise to your brother.’

‘Never.’

‘Apologise.’

‘No!’

Next thing he knew, Sirius was being dragged out of the drawing room, and the birthday was cut short. His grandparents left with many apologies to Regulus for their short visit and with promises of a do-over, and Mother complimented him on how mature he’d been despite Sirius’ provocation.

They ate dinner without Sirius that evening, and when Regulus was sent upstairs to go to bed, Sirius’ door was locked.

Perhaps he’d gone a bit far in getting his older brother punished, but he hadn’t fully lied – he hadn’t – and therefore Sirius had kind of brought it upon himself.

He was the one who had started with the name-calling, after all.

He told himself that a few more times to lull himself to sleep.

He repeated it a few more times throughout the following days, and weeks, as well, until he finally started to believe it.

It was almost December when that happened.

That meant it was almost time for the Christmas holidays. He was already counting down the days; Narcissa would come back from Hogwarts, and she would take him to visit the burial chamber again, and he could hardly contain his excitement about that. It overshadowed all the nasty things Sirius had said, and did away with all his guilt.

Because everything went according to plan again.

With just a week to go until the holidays would begin, Kreacher approached him, a letter in his hand.

And the letter was his. It was his very first letter, and it was delightfully exciting, so he eagerly took it and broke the seal, smoothing it out to read.

Admittedly, he wasn’t a very fast reader. Kreacher had long disappeared when he finished the letter. But that in itself was a good thing, as the letter left him in a state of such utter confusion he had to read it over again. And again. And again. And not just because of the difficult words she used, no, he was certain he knew what she meant. But he had to be reading it wrong all the same, because it couldn’t be true.

It couldn’t mean that she wasn’t coming at all; she had to come home. She had to. She couldn’t just trade him in for some Malfoy! They had made plans! She had promised! She couldn’t just leave!

But the rereads brought him to the same conclusion, so he leant against the wall and let his head rest as he tried to make sense of it through his rising tears.

Why did this happen to him of all people? Why had she picked this time to visit the Malfoys? There’d be no fun in spending Christmas on his own. If Uncle Cygnus and Aunt Druella had made her do this then they ought to have said something to him about it. She ought to have said something about it! She knew how much he looked forward to their going to the burial chamber again together. She knew!

He let out a cry, his tears spilling out, having won the silent war he’d been waging against them. He was angry. He was sad. He was devastated; his whole life was ruined. All of it. Forever. He sank to the floor and hugged his knees for comfort but it brought him none, and so he got to his feet and went for Sirius’ room, not even caring that it was weak to break their fighting for something so trivial, in such an emotional state.

But it was empty.

Of course.

Why had he even gone there? To his brother, as if he’d offer him comfort and not ridicule, as if Sirius would even understand his sorrows! No, it was a good thing Sirius wasn’t there; he would surely mock him for acting so childishly.

So down he went in his search, not for his useless brother, but for his mother and father, both of whom he found in the drawing room.

He ran in through the open door without knocking, ignoring their serious looks or the way they were bent over the Daily Prophet. He ran straight at them, tears flowing from his eyes. They were unstoppable. Especially with his parents in sight.

‘Whoa, whoa! What’s wrong?’ Father grabbed hold of him, forcing him to a standstill near the desk.

He was shaking and fell into his arms, still crying, unable to speak, gasping for air. Father held him and he let himself be held. He could do little more than lean on him for support.

Meanwhile, Father found his letter in his hand and plucked it out, holding it up for Mother to read as they rightly guessed it to be the source of his crying. When they finished reading it, in far less time than Regulus had needed, Father pulled away.

‘Listen, son. Dry your tears. They won’t do you any good; they won’t bring home your cousin. I know it is hard for you to understand this right now, but sometimes, grown-ups have to make difficult decisions. The Malfoys are very powerful, very influential … especially in these times, it would be good for us to be friendly with them.’

Regulus tried to follow his instructions and dry his eyes, but failed, and the rest of Father’s words just didn’t seem to make much sense at all. He wanted to scream and shout about the unfairness of it all, he wanted to force Narcissa to come home, he wanted to destroy something to show how angry he was, he felt so little and insignificant and worthless having to spend Christmas all alone.

‘Regulus …’ Mother crouched down in front of him. ‘Come here.’

She took him in her arms, and he snuggled up against her as she carried him to the sofa, muttering something under her breath about his weight. He ignored it. He closed his eyes. He breathed in her scent and actually calmed down a little. After a few moments of sitting there, together, he mumbled an apology.

And Mother agreed. ‘You’ve got to understand this kind of behaviour … it isn’t right. You’re too old to be acting this way, especially over something as simple as your cousin changing her Christmas plans.’

‘I know … I’m sorry …’

She pulled away from him. ‘Your father and I are very disappointed in you.’

It stung. His heart sank. Tears threatened to come back and fall again – No! No, no, no, no, no – so he desperately tried to focus on something else, something fun or cute, such as puppies or baby occamies, or –

Or the fact Father was sitting there going over the newspaper instead of paying attention to him. It kept the tears at bay as anger and determination grew in its place. He would act his age and make sure they had to take him just as seriously as they took the stupid newspaper.

‘It won’t happen again,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

‘Good boy. Now, off you go.’

He stared back at his father one more time as he got away from the sofa. He still wasn’t paying attention. Mother had turned her attention back to the newspaper now, too … Oh, why had he done this!? Why had he been a baby in front of them when he was supposed to be a big boy now, nearly grown up? He was seven!

He was a Black!

But as he left the drawing room, and his mind went over everything again – and again, and again – the tears came back.

No!

He wouldn’t cry! He wouldn’t cry over feeling bad about crying, that was a silly, childish thing to do. It would only make everything worse.

He turned and ran, back to the stairs, taking two steps at a time as he raced up, to get to his own room. He couldn’t stop the pressing feeling (it was as if he was suffocating!) nor the pricking in his eyes, but he could prevent others from seeing it and thinking him a baby.

‘Whoa, watch out!’

He sped past his brother, whom he’d nearly run into, and raced up the next flight of stairs. He had to reach his room. Fast. Now. He had no time for Sirius and his mocking words.

‘Reg?!’

He heard Sirius storm up the stairs behind him and he quickened his pace – his brother couldn’t see him in this state, he’d never hear the end of it if he did – and reached the topmost landing. He took but a second to regain control of his breathing, then continued towards his own bedroom, Sirius in tow.

And Sirius called out to him several more times, but Regulus reached his bedroom in time and ignored him, shutting the door behind him.

He sank to the floor. He heard his brother on the other side, asking him what was wrong, asking to be let in, but he couldn’t bring himself to open the door; the tears were flowing freely now, and he did not want to be made fun of.

But Sirius continued to ask to be let in, and Regulus couldn’t bear to hear more of it and moved over to his bed, silently, and lay down, pressing his face into his pillow and wishing everything would just stop.

He wished he’d never turned seven. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t good at being seven. And he was a horrible Black.

Sirius called more things through the closed door – and then there was silence.

And creaking. The door opened and Regulus stiffened, and he could hear his brother approaching, could feel the mattresses pressing down, knew his hand was hovering over his shoulder …

‘Reg … whatever happened, it’s all right,’ he heard him say, which was ridiculous, because it was far from it.

And he tried to say that, but he couldn’t get the words to form.

‘Reg …’ Sirius said again, and his hand finally touched his shoulder, and Regulus found he couldn’t keep it in any more and he crawled up against him, holding onto him as if his life depended on it.

And when he calmed down for the second time that day, he told Sirius everything that had happened. The letter, their parents’ reaction, everything. It was as if all anger and resentment he’d fostered all those weeks disappeared with that one touch.

And Sirius’ words made it all so much better.

‘It’s all right to feel sad about it,’ he said. ‘No matter what Mother and Father say.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. And if you ever feel sad about anything again, you can come to me. Because I’m your big brother.’

‘You were mad at me,’ he whispered.

Sirius shrugged. ‘Still am. But we’re brothers, remember? Our bond can’t be broken. You being annoying won’t change that.’

Regulus smiled a little at that. ‘You’re the annoying one,’ he muttered.

‘Sure am,’ Sirius agreed, grinning wide. He reached out and dried some leftover tears with the hem of his sleeve.

Regulus shifted on the bed and put his face upon his brother’s shoulder, listening to him breathe, thought about what he’d said, and supposed it had to be true.

They were on the same side, now and forever.

And so in the days that followed, they became inseparable. They found joy in each other again, and spent whole evenings just chatting away. They spent their afternoons wandering around the house, together, tricking the various portraits by moving them around and poking them. They played pretend and had fun with other games in the halls and rooms and generally had a great time.

But Christmas inched closer and closer every day, threatening to bring more tidings of comfort and joy – but also tidings of family dinners wrought with more arguments and fights. And, most of all: tidings of loneliness.

Tidings without Narcissa.

Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus were responsible for hosting this year. This was something that normally would’ve come as a most welcome surprise (Regulus never knew who hosted the events until the day of), but since Narcissa wasn’t there to take him to the burial chamber, it mostly served as a reminder of her absence and her broken promise.

Still, it was Christmas. He wore his finest robes (one of the new ones he’d got for his birthday) and stood with his family in front of their country house trying his best to keep a smile plastered on his face despite the circumstances.

Mother spoke her last words of warning (mostly to Sirius) and rang the bell.

Bellatrix was the one to open the door. There was a strange glint in her eyes that made him want to take a step back, but Mother’s hand pushed him forwards, through the door, into the entrance hall.

He had no choice but to follow Bellatrix.

She led him and Sirius to the sitting room off the side of the hall, then left to take Mother and Father away to her own parents.

Regulus didn’t mind her, most of the time, but she was hardly his favourite cousin, so he was more than happy to be left alone with his brother. The only downside was that her presence had overshadowed the cold that crept down his spine now.

He knew the solution to this cold feeling was just outside the house, down below, behind the books in a room hidden from sight.

He also knew he couldn’t go. Not alone. He’d surely get lost. And he couldn’t ask Bellatrix to come with him and show him where it was. Not when she looked like that. No, it was best to leave her alone tonight. And Andromeda would surely pick Sirius’ side …

In the end, all of it came down to Narcissa being at the Malfoys. He didn’t really know if she was having any fun, but he hoped she did. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he wanted her to be as miserable as she had made him.

Perhaps they could do as promised next year. But as that thought entered his head, he was filled with doubt. She would be here next year, wouldn’t she?

He turned to his brother, who sat next to him, and asked just that.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. She might … or she might not.’

‘But she’s our cousin,’ he argued, ‘she’s supposed to be here with us.’

‘I really don’t know.’

‘But Christmas isn’t the same without her,’ he sulked.

Sirius just shrugged again.

After all they’d done together in the last two and a half weeks, this was how he was treated. Apathy and disinterest. Mere shrugs to his very real, very important questions.

So he got to his feet, ignored Sirius telling him to stay put, and left the sitting room.

If Sirius wouldn’t answer him, he’d just have to find someone who would.

He crossed the entrance hall and went up a few steps, going straight for the kitchen.

His aunt and uncle were busying about, running around the room, working hard to prepare a meal. Father was there as well, commenting on this and that and offering more than once to call over Kreacher.

‘Father?’ He approached him and pulled his sleeve to get his attention. ‘Father, may I –’

Father turned and batted his hand away. ‘I’m busy.’

‘But I have a question,’ he objected. ‘Please?’

Father sighed and led him out of the kitchen into the breakfast room. ‘Make it quick.’

He looked nervously from the left to the right, hopping from one foot to the other.

‘Well?’

‘I just … I mean, do you know? If … if Narcissa will ever come back? – I mean …’

Father sighed again, and shook his head, then pulled up a chair and sat down. He motioned for Regulus to sit down as well.

He sat, and watched Father intently.

Father rubbed his chin, then folded his hands on his lap and stared at him. ‘Your cousin will come back home. I dare say that much. When, exactly, I cannot be sure. She mentioned Easter in her letter, did she not? For now, hold to that.’

‘What do you mean, “for now”?’

‘Families can be difficult. Things might come up. But the most important thing for you to note’ – he put his hands upon Regulus’ knee – ‘is that, just because your cousin isn’t here now, doesn’t mean she’s never going to be here again, or that she’s no longer family. Because she is. She is your cousin and always will be.’

‘But she’s left us, hasn’t she? She’s gone away.’

Father shook his head. ‘She’s been at Hogwarts for months, even years, as is the case for your other cousins. Have they left us, too?’

‘That’s different.’

‘Is it really?’ he asked. ‘When they’re at school, they’re there because education is important. With Narcissa at the Malfoys … she’s there because making connections is important. Both are equally important for the future. Neither is “leaving”. Family can’t just “leave”.’

‘But some have left!’

Father raised an eyebrow and retracted his hands from Regulus’ knee. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I mean … on the tapestry … the marks … what if Narcissa …’ He couldn’t finish his thought.

‘Regulus, listen to me: Narcissa is a wonderful, talented, exceedingly bright young witch. She knows what’s at stake. She knows what’s expected of her and she can work with that. There is absolutely no need to think she might end up – there. Please, stop your worrying, and enjoy your Christmas. Or at the very least, don’t spoil it for the rest of us.’

With that, Father rose, and went back to the kitchen, and Regulus was left behind. Alone.

Though he wasn’t sure if he could indeed do as his father had told him to, he did want to try. So he went back to the sitting room, only to find it empty. It was getting rather late, too. So maybe Sirius had already gone to the dining room? Besides, dinner wouldn’t be long now, would it?

So he went up the stairs and opened the door to the dining room, and entered, and he’d expected to see it set and decorated for Christmas – and it was, but there was something else as well.

Scattered across the table lay books. Andromeda sat there, skimming through one of the books in front of her, frowning, sighing and groaning.

‘Err …’

She looked up. ‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you in the sitting room?’

He shrugged. ‘Sirius isn’t there any more, either.’

‘And if Sirius jumped off a bridge, would you follow?’

‘Sirius wouldn’t jump off a bridge.’

She sighed again. ‘I’m not in the mood, Regulus.’

He didn’t really listen and took up a seat at the table. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Revising,’ she hummed.

‘What are you – ?’

‘Charms,’ she interrupted. ‘If you’ll let me.’

‘What charms?’

She cast him a look. ‘Will you please be quiet?’

Regulus nodded, and she turned back to the book.

He looked around the room some more, taking in the decorations. Christmas wreaths hung on the walls, a tree stood in the far back, there were coloured candles and some more things – he couldn’t bring himself to care too much, because it kept reminding him of Narcissa’s absence, and he shouldn’t think about that, because she wasn’t gone. She just wasn’t here, and therefore he shouldn’t be sad at all, he should just have fun. Just as Father had said.

‘Do you think she’ll be back at Easter?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Narcissa. Do you think she’ll come home?’

‘I don’t know. I’m trying to go over my Charms notes. Do you mind?’

‘But it’s Christmas!’

‘Yes, and I’ve got ten essays left to work on and I need to revise for an upcoming exam!’

‘That’s just not fair. Cissy’s abandoned us for some Malfoys, you’re abandoning us for some stupid school stuff, and Bella –’

She clasped the book shut with such force it startled and silenced Regulus. ‘You’re a sneak, that’s what you are. A selfish, ungrateful little sneak.’

She gathered her books with a wave of her wand and brushed past him to get to the door, leaning down and whispering, ‘The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know. Let people live their lives for once.’

And then she was gone.

He put his head in his hands.

How was he a sneak? He hadn’t come here to spy on her or anything, and she was only doing homework! There wasn’t anything to spy on. There wasn’t anything to be a sneak about.

And how was he selfish? He was at the Christmas dinner, with his family. He wasn’t the one keeping busy with other things that weren’t as important as just being here! If anyone was being selfish …

They’d never understand, none of them. And they’d never be buried in that chamber, not if they didn’t stop acting this way.

He left the dining room again and went downstairs, into the entrance hall, where he nearly walked into Mother and Father.

They cast him sour looks and told him to be on his way – so that’s what he did. He scurried out of the entrance hall, passed the kitchen, and went out the back door next to the utility room.

He was angry and alone, and nobody wanted to talk to him or take him seriously – and so he went down the path, hoping he was going the right way to find the burial chamber, because at least there his worries would be heard. At least there he wouldn’t be alone. He didn’t care about getting lost any more. He didn’t care if it got him in trouble. He didn’t care about anything any more.

He sped up, walking past the potting shed – and heard a sudden pained cry come from within. He walked around it, to the door, and found it slightly ajar. He pushed it open slightly more, so he could see what was happening inside.

Andromeda stood there, her face covered with her hands. ‘But I don’t want this!’ she cried out. ‘Don’t you understand?! I’m miserable!’

He tried to see whom she was talking to and pushed the door open a little further, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t see the other person, and couldn’t catch the other half of the conversation. All he could hear was a low whisper, and he couldn’t make out the words.

‘I don’t care what they’ll say! It’s MY life, not theirs!’

He knew he shouldn’t, but he still did; he edged open the door – too much.

He knew whom she was talking to now, for he was face to face with him. The moment lasted not even a second and Uncle Alphard’s hand shot out before he knew what was happening. His fingers clamped around Regulus’ ear and wrenched him forwards – the pain was sharp and hot and he had to fight the tears behind his eyes, had to keep them from falling because he wasn’t a child.

But Uncle Alphard dragged him across the field and the pain flared through the side of his head with every tug. He was moving too fast. Regulus had to run to keep up, stumbling, tripping over his own feet, and he lost the fight. The world blurred.

‘What did you hear?’ Uncle Alphard hissed, shoving him into the gardener’s shed.

He opened his mouth and closed it again. He blinked against the tears. The pain had softened now they’d stopped moving, and he had to think. He had to think. What had he heard?

He opened his mouth again but didn’t get to answer. Uncle Alphard twisted his ear, making him gasp from the painful sting. Fresh tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He stared up at his uncle, jaw tight, trying not to flinch.

‘What did you hear?’ Uncle Alphard repeated, voice calm but dripping with anger. ‘And don’t lie to me. I will find out the truth either way.’

‘I just heard her crying!’ he blurted out. ‘I really don’t know anything! I promise!’

Uncle Alphard narrowed his eyes and studied him for a moment.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Even if you don’t know anything, as you claim, you will keep quiet about this. All of it. Understood?’

‘You want me to lie about it?’ he asked, tilting his head to try and ease the throbbing.

‘Not a lie,’ said Uncle Alphard, his grip tightening. ‘You simply don’t mention it. Keep it a secret. Secrets aren’t lies, are they? Sometimes they are necessary to protect those we care about.’

‘I won’t say anything,’ Regulus said quickly. ‘I promise.’

‘Good.’ Uncle Alphard released him at last. His ear burnt, blood rushing back into it. He resisted the urge to grab it with his hand, and kep staring at his uncle.

‘You may go now. In fact, I think we all should; dinner will be ready soon. But remember your promise, Regulus,’ he said, his voice and eyes cold. ‘I’ll know if you – forget.’