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On his way to Scrivenshaft, Regulus spotted Sirius and his usual entourage coming out of the joke shop. He slipped into the shadows of a nearby passageway to avoid another tedious confrontation.
Over the din of students enjoying the first Hogsmeade outing of the term, he heard his brother’s barking laughter drawing closer. Regulus continued deeper down the alley, hoping the darkness would swallow him.
Regulus kept his eyes on the street, waiting for them to move on so he could leave and go back to the castle and wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings. The rustling of gravel and a sharp noise, like the snap of a twig, came from behind him. Alarmed by the sound, he spun on his heel, his wand already raised and ready.
“ Expelliarmus! ”
The blackthorn went flying through the air. Regulus stilled, just for a second. He knew he’d heard that voice before, but right then and there he couldn’t place it. Balling his hand into a fist, he swung out, but before he could land a single punch, his attacker pinned both of his arms behind his back. He had a chance to examine his attackers before they pulled a hood over his head. They were dressed in school robes, the hoods pulled down, with only the lower part of their faces visible.
Regulus struggled against the one restraining him and managed to free himself enough to jam his elbow back.
“Bloody…” an intangible string of curses followed. “Hold him still, will ya.”
Regulus was passed off into another much tighter grip. He felt a sharp pain as they twisted his arms, and before he knew it, he felt the familiar compressive pull of apparition.
*
They reappeared shortly thereafter. The moment his captor released him, he tore off the hood and shook out his flattened chin-length hair until it fell back into its usual raven waves. Looking around, he found himself in an unfamiliar foyer.
The first thing Regulus did was consider his escape options. There were only two doors. One was at the same side as large windows covered by thick drapes, suggesting it was the door that led outside, meaning the second door had to lead deeper into the house. His next thought was to look for a suitable weapon since he was currently sans wand.
The entire room was decorated with the sole purpose of showing off the owners’ wealth. A style popular with the nouveau riche. One-of-a-kind Tiffany lamps, priceless artefacts, and delicately crafted silver pieces, none of them heavy enough to be of any use to him. The walls were adorned with paintings in gilded frames— one of them a Modigliani he’d only ever seen in art books. Against one wall, Regulus spotted a pair of Louis XVI walnut bookcases. Circa 1890s, if he were to guess. They were masterpieces of French cabinetry and wood sculpting. French walnut and hand-bevelled glass. They were truly remarkable. From the sculpted floral wreath to the foliate sprays adorning the subtly arched crown. The centre panel was a work of art depicting the timeless quiver of arrows symbolising the power of the French monarchy. They were worth around 7,000 galleons each.
Regulus let out a soundless whistle at the sheer gaudiness of it all. He wrinkled his nose. Too bad all that money couldn’t buy taste.
Well, it appeared whoever owned the place had neither. The place was deserted; if the layers of filth covering every surface was anything to go by, no one had lived there for years. That didn’t mean someone hadn’t visited recently. The dust had been disturbed in places, leaving behind geometric shapes where something had once stood.
Regulus turned to face his kidnappers, who still hadn’t removed their hoods. He had already figured out they were Sirius and his bande d’imbéciles . He reckoned his brother wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to force Regulus to bond with him. Even Sirius couldn’t be so stupid as to think that would work. No, if Sirius was anything like Regulus, he planned to use him to extort Walburga and Orion for ransom money. He had to admire the initiative. As the Black family Heir, he was probably worth quite the sum. It was right impressive, when he thought about it, he couldn’t help but feel chuffed he hadn' t been the one who came up with the idea.
Shrugging out of his black peacoat he folded it over his arm, since there was nowhere he wanted to put it. The four of them regarded him in silence, arms folded over their chests, high enough to cover the house emblem on their school robes. He watched them beneath lowered lids, when he saw his wand sticking out from the pocket on the one standing a little ahead of the others, his eyes narrowed further.
Minutes passed, and Regulus was just about to demand they cut the crap when they finally removed their hoods and he came face to face with his kidnappers for the first time. It wasn’t his brother and his moron friends, it was much worse.
Mulciber, Rowe, Avery, and Snape, all members of his own bloody house. The small stab of satisfaction seeing bruises already forming on the latter couldn’t compete with the annoyance he felt. He had been bested by children . It didn’t matter that they were all pretty much the same age, they were children all the same. Tilting his head, Regulus arched his brow. Was this some sort of delayed initiation, a way of welcoming him into Slytherin? In that case, he’d show his appreciation just as soon as he got his wand back.
The door Regulus had assumed led deeper into the house opened and in walked none other than Walburga Black. Her hair, as black as his shot with strands of silver, was drawn back into a high bun, pulling the skin around her eyes tight. He heard voices coming from the other room, but couldn’t make out what they were saying before she closed it behind her.
Regulus' expression never changed, while on the inside he was cursing his bloody awful luck. He recognised the pin adoring the green blouse she wore underneath formal dress robes. He had seen it on enough Slytherins to know what it meant. So, this was an initiation then, just not the one he imagined.
“Walburga.” He nodded a short greeting. “To what do I owe this questionable honour?”
“Regulus,” Walburga said stiffly. “Would it kill you to call me mother ?”
Regulus tapped a finger to his chin. “I don’t know,” he pursed his lips as if giving it some serious consideration. “Better not chance it.”
A muscle in her jaw ticked, and her mouth tightened. Once, a lifetime ago, her reaction would have had him in knots. Now it had no effect.
Red in the face with badly concealed anger, Walburga practically tore the coat from his arm. “I’ll take that,” she gritted.
She looked him up and down. Took in the loose fitted trousers, a white oxford with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and top three buttons undone. Her eyes, so similar to his own steel grey, were cold as flint. “What. Are. You wearing ?”
He glanced down on himself, as if having no idea what he’d put on that morning. “I believe they’re what people call clothes.”
Walburga’s complexion flashed to puce. She glared at the four Slytherins, still waiting for their orders like good little snakes do. She pointed her gnarly finger at Mulciber. “Tie,” she all but shrieked.
“Uh, ma’am?”
“Someone give me a tie.” When none of them reacted fast enough, she snapped her fingers, “Come on, I haven’t got all day.”
“You cannot meet him looking like that,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “You are the Heir to The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. You will not embarrass me.”
Silently wondering how much practice it would take to say that pretentious shite with a straight face, Regulus looked up to the ceiling, rolling his eyes.
Being the fastest, Rowe removed his tie and handed it off to Walburga.
She reached for Regulus to put the tie around his neck, but before she could touch him, Regulus wrapped his fingers around her wrist. He didn’t squeeze or apply any pressure, but it was enough to stop her. “Don’t.” His voice, low and rough, held a clear warning.
Walburga’s hand fell to her side, squeezing into a fist, her nails digging into her palm. She cast one glance at the four Slytherins, then switched to speaking in quick French.
“ Soyez simple et court .” Walburga instructed crisply.
“ Morgan, il ne s’agirait pas que j’ai l’air intelligent ,” Regulus' voice was heavy with sarcasm, because Morgan forbid he’d come across as intelligent.
Walburga drew in slow, steadying breaths, beads of sweat forming above her lips. ”Intelligent, c’est ça. Évitons l’ironie .” she snapped.
”Bon bien je serais juste moi-même .” The corner of Regulus' lips pulled up in a half-smirk.
The muscles in Walburga’s hand twitched as if wanting to reach for her wand, or perhaps to slap him. “Mais est-ce tu m’écoutes vraiment là?” she grit out, her face twisted, ugly in her anger; teeth bared and nostrils flaring.
The conversation ended when the door opened and a wizard with thinning blond hair, dressed in dark trousers and a vest stretched to its limit over their extended stomach, held it open for them to enter.
“One last thing,” Walburga held out her hand to stop him, but didn’t try to touch him, “you will address him as ‘My Lord’, nothing else. Not Tom, not Mr Riddle. Just ‘My Lord’. Am I making myself clear?”
Regulus snorted. “Crystal.”
Without another word, Walburga walked into the other room, expecting Regulus to follow.
Pausing at the threshold, Regulus took one moment to look around. There were a few notable differences from the other room. First, it had been cleaned in the last decade. Second, it was sparsely decorated, supporting Regulus’ theory that the owners had spent most, if not all, of their galleons decorating the foyer . Besides a large dinner table, there was only one bookshelf, bare, except for a handful of cheap trinkets, the only thing remaining the same were the oddly formed shapes in what little dust was there.
No more than a few seconds had passed, but apparently it was too long. A hand in the middle of Regulus' back pushed him forward, then they forced him down onto a spindly-looking chair.
“ Incarcerous .”
Ropes twisted around his wrists, tying his hands behind his back. He sat facing the long, rectangular table.
Thirteen wizards and witches sat around it, fourteen as Walburga took the only available seat. Regulus vaguely recognised some of them from before he was sent off to France, but not enough for him to put names to their faces.
He was unarmed, outnumbered, tied to a chair, and didn’t know if he would be walking out of there alive. My kind of party .
He wiggled his wrists a little, testing the strength of the binds as he let his eyes wander amongst those gathered.
Pinched lips and restless tapping of fingers drew Regulus attention to one wizard holding a beautiful leather-bound book. He huffed and put it down on the table, rubbed the back of his neck, then picked it up again, only to repeat the process. His large, hairy hands covered most of the russet-coloured front so Regulus couldn’t make out the full title, just that it was in latin. Moving on, he noticed someone playing around with their wand. Fidgeting, switching it from one palm to the other. From the looks of it, they were testing the weight, the density, like a first year would before familiarising themselves with it.
The next two sat closer to each other than any of the others did. One of them was blond, hair so light it looked almost white, and reaching their shoulders; the other black hair, slicked back. Right hands hidden underneath the linen cloth, left resting on top of the table, ring fingers swollen, with identical chafing surrounding their golden wedding bands. Beside the differences in hairstyle, they wore matching ruddy complexions, their foreheads shining with perspiration.
The rest of them were unremarkable. The only thing noteworthy was the grey-white smudges on the sleeves of the one seated closest to where Regulus sat.
“Now, who might this be?” The question came from the head of the table, spoken in a snakelike hiss.
There was a slight tremor to Walburga’s voice as she answered. “This is Regulus, My Lord, the heir to the…”
“The heir?” he interrupted her. “What happened to the last one?”
Walburga opened and closed her mouth. Looking so much like the tropical fish swimming around in the wall-to-ceiling tanks in his old dorm room, Regulus almost smiled.
Realising she had been rendered speechless, Regulus answered for her.
“He was tested and found wanting.” Regulus pulled up the corner of his lips to form a half grin. “He was good, but I’m better.”
Tom, Mr Riddle – because whoever’s Lord he was, he certainly wasn’t Regulus’ - narrowed his eyes and put Regulus under full scrutiny. “You don’t seem very afraid,” he noted, sounding curious.
Dark brown hair, parted at the side of his temple. Medium height, medium weight. He looked just like any other bloke, except for the eyes. They glowed a dark red. Regulus could see why he had everyone shaking, but then again, Regulus wasn’t just anyone. “Ever considered that maybe you’re just not that frightening?”
Mr Riddle reclined in his chair. Regulus recognised it as a Louis XIV. What is it with these people and their love for French royalty ? The frame consisted of gilded wood, with intricate carvings and armrests extended to the edge of the seat. The rectangular back, with its velvet upholstery, looked rigid and uncomfortable. If Regulus remembered correctly, and he knew he did, it was one of the more flamboyant pieces from that period. It was a chair fit for a king, or someone considering themselves to be one. “Okay, impress me.”
Oh, don’t worry. I will . Regulus sucked in a deep breath and started talking. “That one over there,” he nodded to the person reading the book, “can’t read.” The wizard in question sputtered indignantly. Regulus ignored them. “Have you noticed how every time he opens the book it’s to a different page? It could be that he exaggerated his knowledge in dead languages to appear more useful, but from the surprised looks he’s giving me , my guess is he had no idea that the book he pretended to read was written in Latin.”
Regulus shifted around on the chair. Having his arms behind his back presented a minor obstacle, the legs scraping and slamming against the hardwood floor with each movement, but eventually he came face to face with his next target. Difficulty aside, it was better than having to twist his neck every time he looked to face someone new. “That,” Regulus pointed his chin to the acacia wood in the wizard’s hand, “is not his original wand. If I dared to guess, which I do, I’d say it’s the third... no the fourth one since he lost his. And from the looks of it, it won’t take long until he’s on his way to lucky number five.” Everyone turned their eyes on the wizard in question. Regulus' smirk became less forced as he continued. “See that grip? He can barely stand to touch it. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t make the wands shift their loyalty. I’d take him to Ollivander’s soon if I were you or he’s going to get himself and others killed.”
Regulus shifted around again, leaving behind ugly scrape marks on the floor, and he turned on the two wizards. The way they studiously avoided looking at each other was more revealing than if they had. They might as well have ‘deception’ painted on their foreheads. “Those two are cheating on their wives… with each other.”
“That’s enough.” Walburga bit out.
Regulus raised a single brow. “Do you want me to tell you who stole the silver?”
“Regulus!”
“I was asked to impress.” Regulus managed a shrug. “I merely did as I was told.”
“Hmm,” Riddle hummed, peering at Regulus through his crimson eyes, before letting his gaze wander around the table and the seated followers. “Let’s confer.”
Doing his best to get comfortable on the very uncomfortable chair, Regulus leaned back to listen as they discussed him like he wasn’t there.
“So, what are we going to do about him?” Tom asked.
“We stick to the original plan,” Walburga suggested, rather timidly making it sound more like a question, “invite him to join?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s too…” Riddle stroked his chin, as he searched for the appropriate word, “challenging, too… unpredictable.”
Turned out being talked about over his head got old, real fast. “I’m gonna save you the trouble. I’m not interested.”
“You’re turning us down?” The wizard speaking gaped at him. “Do you not understand what an honour this is?”
Tom, on the other hand, looked intrigued.
Regulus rolled his eyes. “And yet, my answer is still no.”
For the first time since they entered, Riddle acknowledged the four Slytherins by the door. “Untie him,” he ordered.
“Not necessary, I freed myself minutes ago.” Regulus stood, the rope dropping to his feet. “I’ll just see myself out.” He stroked his cheek a few times with the back of his fingers, like he was caressing his imagined beard. “ À la prochaine .”
When Regulus approached the door, Snape stepped in front of it, blocking the exit. Regulus held out his hand, palm up. “My wand please.”
Snape glared.
Despite being inches shorter, Regulus gave him a stare-down. “Do you want a bloody lip to go with that black eye?”
“Are you really going to just let him walk out of here?” Walburga seethed, sounding appalled.
“Oh,” Riddle answered. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last we’ve seen of Mr. Black.”