The following morning, when Regulus tried the handle of his bedroom door, to go downstairs, for breakfast, he found that it wouldn’t open. Frowning, he tried again, but nothing happened; the door was locked. He sighed and laid back down on his bed. This wasn't the first time. Ever since he and Sirius had left ... Well, Mother and Father just couldn't trust them any more. And he supposed last night had done nothing to convince them otherwise, because again they had left when they had had clear instructions not to. Again they had ignored them in favour of their own plans. He really oughtn't be surprised to find his door locked; it appeared to be the only way they could be sure that he and his brother would do as asked.
After a few more minutes of just lying there, he got up, walked over to his desk, got the book Father had given him about a week ago, and sat down to read it, to pass the time and to memorise its contents, for he had been told that if he knew the book inside-out, he would be allowed to use a real quill, and real parchment, instead of the writing slate and pencil he still used now. It was so much more than just a book to him. It was his everything. His future. He hoped Father hadn't changed his mind because of what happened last night and set to reading the page on how to make a pen for what he was sure was the six billionth time.
Take quill from a goose, that is somewhat round, The third or fourth in wing to be found, And if sometimes of those none come to hand, Take pinion as next, when Raven’s quill is scant, And rive it just in the back as may be, For ragged your slit else you shall see, Amidst the slip that runs up the quill, Were it of gander, then it will not spill. The feather shave off, the quill do not pare, The stronger your pen in hand you may bear. Make slit without teeth, your pen good and hard: Thinner, and shorter, on right hand regard: The slit somewhat long, the nib somewhat short, Then take it in hand in most comely sort. Your thumb on your pen as highest bestow, The forefinger next, the middle below: And holding it thus in most comely guise, Your breast from the board if that you be wise, Your body upright, stoop not with your head, Lest you take harm when you are well fed.
He was just about to recite it, out loud, without looking, to check if he really knew what it said, when he heard the lock click and his bedroom door opened. Father stood in the doorway, hand outstretched.
‘Come, Regulus. Come with me.’