Chapter Text
It was Regulus’ birthday, and all he wanted was to go home.
He didn’t mean to be ungrateful, of course. He was glad of his cousin’s company, even if his cousin was sometimes very annoying, and he appreciated the effort his aunt and uncle had put into a party for a boy who was, as far as they knew, a bastard, though he had a feeling sometimes that was because there were no legitimate boys carrying the Black name anymore. He appreciated, too, the presents his aunt and uncle and cousin had procured for him, and he appreciated that they’d agreed without kicking up much of a fuss to not invite his cousin’s friends. Aunt Narcissa had told the house elves to cook Regulus’ favourite meal, and they’d done a wonderful job with it. The cake brought out for afters was just as perfect.
Aunt Narcissa was always very kind to Regulus, but sometimes when she looked at him she seemed very sad. She had a way of guessing at his preferences that Regulus had believed, when he’d been younger, meant she was a seer, but he’d mentioned his theory to Draco once, and Draco had told him in that haughty way of his that no, it was just that Regulus took too much after his father. Regulus had asked what Draco knew of his father, but it was clear that Draco didn’t know much – Aunt Narcissa must have told him, or else he must have overheard Aunt Narcissa talking to Uncle Lucius about it. Regulus would have asked Aunt Narcissa himself, but he didn’t want to make her look even sadder, so he didn’t. His desire not to upset her was also the reason he refused to leave early, even though Regulus had wanted very much to spend his birthday with his muggle friend.
Regulus’ muggle friend was a gregarious sort, and would probably have been considered impolite by Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t come to the party. Draco was sometimes very impolite, after all, and so was Draco’s friend Pansy, and she would have been welcome at the party had Regulus expressed interest in seeing her there. Regulus’ muggle friend didn’t know a thing about magic, and Regulus wasn’t about to break the statute explaining it to him, which was closer to a legitimate reason that he couldn’t have come to the party, but he was Regulus’ best friend, and had proven time and time again that he was capable of keeping Regulus’ secrets, so that wasn’t really why he couldn’t come to the party either.
No, the real reason that Regulus’ muggle friend couldn’t come to the party was that Regulus’ muggle friend was a muggle. That was it. That was all it took, in a family like Regulus’. They didn’t like muggles, which, had he not had a muggle friend, Regulus supposed he might have found reasonable. They believed all sorts of entirely wrong things about muggles, and had so far been successful in imparting those beliefs to Regulus’ cousin Draco. Regulus pretended, without enthusiasm, that he believed these things as well, when really he was usually counting the hours until he could go home and sneak down the road to play with James Finley.
In a way, Regulus had Uncle Lucius to thank for his ever meeting James Finley in the first place. Aunt Narcissa had wanted to raise her nephew at Malfoy Manor instead of letting him grow up at his own family home, which happened to be 12 Grimmauld Place. Uncle Lucius, who seemed to tolerate Regulus for his wife’s sake and for the sake of the future Slytherin quidditch victories Uncle Lucius had forecast – Regulus’ father had apparently been a brilliant seeker – had told Aunt Narcissa when Regulus was about seven that Regulus was the heir to House Black, and needed to grow up in the seat of his family’s power, and besides, was old enough not to die if left in a house elf’s care. It was unclear to Regulus whether or not Uncle Lucius really believed this, but he wasn’t about to complain, because again, just a minute or two up the road from 12 Grimmauld Place lived James.
James was Regulus’ best friend. If not for James living just down the road from 12 Grimmauld Place, Regulus’ best friend would have been his cousin Draco by default, which would have been a sorry state of affairs, as Regulus’ cousin Draco had other best friends who he seemed to like better than Regulus, possibly because they were more willing to do Draco’s bidding than Regulus was. Not to imply that Regulus didn’t like his cousin – he liked him well enough, especially where quidditch was concerned, as Draco was decent at catching the snitch, and even better with a quaffle. Draco was just demanding, and dramatic, and while he was far from witless, he suffered from looking up to his father.
Draco also liked to pretend there was no chance whatsoever that Regulus was a halfblood, even though there obviously was. That would have been very difficult to deal with if Draco had been Regulus’ only friend his age, but James sort of understood where Regulus was coming from, or at least understood all that Regulus could say about it without breaking the statute. James loved his parents, but James’ mum and dad looked nothing like him at all. They’d adopted him when he’d been little more than a baby, and shared neither James’ bronze skin, nor his hazel eyes, nor his perpetually chaotic raven black hair, nor his vision, which was awful.
(Regulus knew it was awful because he’d once tried on James’ glasses, which had given him an instant headache.)
In a perfect world, one in which Regulus’ family were capable of peaceful coexistence with muggles, Regulus would have requested they all spend his birthday at the park down the street from Grimmauld. He would have introduced James as his best friend beside Draco – one had to, as Draco was sensitive about that sort of thing, even though he had Crabbe and Goyle and Pansy and the rest – and they’d all have eaten cake together. They might have played football, too, which James had taught Regulus all about. Regulus and James might also have shown Draco their favourite tree to climb – James, always up for a challenge, liked to get into the highest branches, and Regulus would get swept up in following, though he was always more careful than James.
Obviously this world could never be more than a fantasy, and Regulus was trying to stop longing for it, but it was difficult sometimes to remember how impossible it was. Sometimes he’d do something with James that he wished he could tell Draco about, or vice versa, and he’d forget for a moment that Draco would probably never know James existed, because if Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa caught wind terrible things might happen, and then he’d remember and his happiness would go tumbling down several stories to land in a muddled heap on the pavement.
Regulus’ Hogwarts letter had added insult to injury, but he was trying not to think about that at the moment. Trying not to think about it meant he was thinking about it a great deal, of course – it meant he was going to have to tell James about magic, finally. It meant he was going to spend the coming weeks wishing James had magic, and could come away to school with him, even though that felt wrong for myriad reasons. For one thing, it was fine that James was a muggle. Regulus felt a crushing sense of guilt whenever he found himself thinking something that indicated he felt otherwise, and wishing James was a wizard certainly qualified. For another, James coming to Hogwarts with Regulus would probably mean James would be subjected to Draco, which wasn’t something Regulus wanted. Because the reality of Draco was not good for muggleborns.
Regulus still should have told James about magic years ago. He knew the statute was important, but James was James, and was very good at keeping Regulus’ secrets. Regulus and James had solemnly made a pact to be loyal to their friendship to the end, after James had a weird dream about some dogs he was friends with – or friends with in the dream, anyway – and insisted upon it. James would probably think magic was a lark, and the ability to explain quidditch to him would mean he’d finally understand why Regulus had so much trouble with football’s lack of a seeker.
But much of the magical world – or much of what Regulus had seen of it in his first eleven years, at any rate – felt cursed. It felt low, impure, full of death echoes. In all of the nightmares Regulus had about James dying, it was always magic that killed him. Because of that, and because Regulus was afraid to explain to James that he’d been lying about not being a wizard the whole time they’d been friends, Regulus hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell him yet.
At least Regulus didn’t need to tell James tonight. Tonight, it would still be Regulus’ birthday, and Regulus’ present to himself was that he didn’t need to worry about any impending confessions. He and James were going to see a film, and eat the cake that James’ mum was preparing for them, and have his first sleepover, which was some sort of muggle coming of age ritual. It had all been difficult to clear with Kreacher, but Regulus had managed, and wouldn’t be due back until lunch the next day. Kreacher thought Regulus was meeting a wizard friend, and while Regulus did feel a bit guilty about the lie, it also felt a little more justifiable because it was Regulus’ birthday. He could have a little subterfuge as a treat.
“Mother,” Draco was saying in his usual imperious manner, “Regulus and I would like to play quidditch.”
Regulus hadn’t said he’d wanted to play quidditch, but to Draco’s credit, Regulus wanted to play quidditch more often than not. One of Regulus’ birthday presents – the one, unsurprisingly, from Uncle Lucius – had been a new broom similar to the one Draco had received on his birthday in June. Regulus’ was a different colour, but that was where the differences ended.
Aunt Narcissa gave the piece of the sky that could be seen through the nearest window a searching look. “You may,” she said, though her lips had pursed at the cloud formations there. “Regulus, dear?”
“Yes, Aunt Narcissa?”
“Do be sure to come in the moment it starts to rain. And ensure Draco does as well.”
“Mother,” said Draco sharply, “Regulus is younger than I am. He can’t order me around.”
“Yes, darling,” said Aunt Narcissa indulgently, “but it is his birthday.”
Draco was undeterred. “His birthday is proof I’m older.”
“We’ll come in if it starts to rain, Aunt Narcissa,” said Regulus. He was peering at the sky outside the window as well, wondering if rain was a bad omen for sleepovers. Likely not. James had sleepovers with his classmates year round, and rain was hardly rare in their part of the world.
Draco grumbled something more about Regulus being the baby of the family – which was comical considering they were only a little over a month and a half apart in age, according to the family tapestry – but he couldn’t have been that bothered about it, because his next move was to grab Regulus’ arm and drag him away to retrieve their brooms.
Regulus’ new broom was a very nice broom, and the game he played with his cousin was a very good game. Regulus caught the snitch every time, but Draco wasn’t going easy on him, and nearly had him in the first half of one bout; by the time it did, in fact, start to rain, Regulus had stopped counting the minutes until he could go home to see James, and had started to truly enjoy himself.
The boys landed – Draco was less keen on this than Regulus was, but while Draco could be petulant, he also loved his mother and feared his father, and that was enough to keep him from putting up much of a fight.
“How did you do that feint at the end?” Regulus asked him as they made their way inside.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” was Draco’s haughty reply.
“I would like to know, yes. That’s why I asked.”
“Well, I’m not telling you.” Draco stuck his tongue out at Regulus. “I need an edge if I’m going to make seeker.”
“If you’re going to make seeker?” Regulus frowned at him. “You’d make a better chaser. Are you really trying out for seeker?”
Draco nodded, though he looked unsure. “Father says it’s the most important position on the team.”
Regulus considered this. He thought of the muggle sports James liked, one of which was essentially quidditch played on foot. There was no seeker in that game, which should have meant it could drag on for hours, but it seemed to go alright more often than not. “I don’t think it is. It’s sort of ornamental, isn’t it?”
They stowed their brooms away. Regulus always left his at Malfoy Manor, as there was no point keeping it at Grimmauld. The boys did all their flying in the manor gardens.
“I don’t think it’s ornamental,” said Draco defensively. “It decides the match.”
“I don’t know about that,” Regulus mused. “Keeper is probably the most vital, followed by chaser and seeker. Defence is the best offence. But a team needs to be balanced. And you have a better chance of getting on the team if you try out for chaser.”
“First years never get on the team anyway,” Draco grumbled. “We’ll have to wait years.”
“One year.”
“That’s what I said,” Draco huffed, though the pink in his cheeks made it clear he knew it wasn’t. “It’ll feel like years, anyway.”
“Probably,” Regulus conceded. “Are you looking forward to it?”
“Obviously,” Draco scoffed. “Are you not? You aren’t scared, are you?”
Regulus thought of James, who was never scared. James, who he was going to need to find out how to owl. James, whose absence would in part be the reason time would pass so slowly for Regulus. “Scared?” he said. “No, why should I be? It’s all been mapped out for us already. I just prefer being left to my own devices. I imagine we’ll be closely watched at Hogwarts.”
“Doesn’t your house elf watch you like a hawk? That’s what he’s ordered to do, isn’t it?”
Regulus shrugged. Another thing he could never tell his family was that Kreacher was like a father to him, house elf or not, and though Kreacher worried, and Regulus worried about worrying him, Kreacher had always understood Regulus, perhaps similarly to how Aunt Narcissa understood Regulus, and knew Regulus needed space in order to be at peace. “Kreacher takes care of me, of course, but one house elf is different than an entire army of professors. Isn’t he?”
Draco groaned. “Salazar, I’ve just remembered. Mother wrote a letter to Uncle Severus demanding he look after us.” The frown that accompanied the words was a particular sort of frown that only Draco and Aunt Narcissa were capable of. It made Draco look very pointy.
Regulus frowned as well, though not in the same way. “I don’t think your Uncle Severus likes me.”
“Oh, he doesn’t,” said Draco breezily, frown smoothing out and spring entering his step. “He hated your uncle, you know. Mother said. And I don’t think your father got on well with him either.”
“Did Aunt Narcissa tell you that, or were you eavesdropping?” Regulus asked.
“Eavesdropping, obviously.” Draco rolled his eyes. “They don’t tell me anything about the family. Well, mostly they don’t.”
“Did she say anything else about him?” Regulus pressed. “When you were eavesdropping?”
“Oh, no, it was just brought up because she was trying to convince Uncle Severus. He was perfectly fine looking after me, but she had to practically blackmail him to get him to look after you.” Draco delivered this news cheerfully. “I do wonder why he hated your branch of the family so much, though.”
“My uncle killed a lot of people, didn’t he?”
Draco shrugged. They had just rounded a corner and were close to the sitting room, so instead of answering immediately Draco called: “Mother! We’re going to my rooms!”
“Alright, dear, but remember that Regulus is due back at Grimmauld at eight,” was Aunt Narcissa’s reply.
“Yes, mother!”
“Thank you, Aunt Narcissa,” Regulus called, at lower volume than Draco had. It was nevertheless sufficient for his Aunt Narcissa to hear him. Draco sometimes carried on like he wanted to be on stage. It was not a trait Regulus shared, which was good. Just as with quidditch, balance was necessary in friendships.
“Of course, my dear,” said Aunt Narcissa. “Do enjoy yourselves.” She then went back to speaking to Uncle Lucius in tones too low for Regulus to make anything out, which was all very well and good, for Draco was already pulling away.
Regulus briefly quickened his pace to a jog so as to catch up. He and his cousin didn’t speak again until they reached Draco’s vast and ostentatious room, and each found a seat. The room reminded Regulus of the sorts of places muggle princesses lived, at least according to all films featuring princesses that Regulus had seen with James. James’ mother loved films, and had an extensive Veeaytchesse collection. Veeaytchesse was a muggle invention in which films could be kept. One simply fed the Veeaytchesse box corresponding to the film they wanted to watch into the Veeaytchesse player, which would transmit the film via electricity to another, larger box called the Telly. A lot of muggle films featured princesses, and therefore rooms like Draco’s.
“Uncle Severus wouldn’t care about your uncle doing all of that,” Draco said, as soon as he’d shut the door behind them. “I don’t think he would, anyway. And Uncle Severus is reasonable. Mother says so.”
“Why don’t you think he’d care?” Regulus asked. He thought he already knew what Draco was about to say, but was curious nevertheless to hear him out.
“Your uncle killed muggles, didn’t he?”
“Not only muggles,” Regulus said, even though in his opinion, the killing of muggles was more than enough to condemn Sirius Black. “Everyone knows that.”
“I suppose,” said Draco with another roll of his eyes. “But father said there were blood traitors, too. Well, he has said. Not to Uncle Severus.”
“But to Aunt Narcissa?”
“No, to me.” Draco seemed abruptly to lose his ability to make eye contact. He glowered at the floor, shame-faced. “Father found my chocolate frog cards.”
Regulus’ eyes went wide. Uncle Lucius was at his most terrifying whenever he found Draco with seditious material, and Draco’s chocolate frog card collection included a number of figures Regulus was positive his uncle thought of as such. The Dumbledore card would have been the least of Draco’s worries. “Was that why...”
“Why I wasn’t allowed to see anyone for nearly all of July?” Draco slumped dramatically in his favourite chair, which was where he’d been perched since they’d entered the room. “Salazar, yes. And he didn’t only burn the blood traitors and mudbloods. They’re all gone.”
Regulus didn’t know what to say. Draco had spent ages building his chocolate frog card collection. He tried to think of something that might be of any comfort at all, but nothing was forthcoming.
“It’s for the best, though,” Draco sighed, indifferent to Regulus’ silence. “I mean, he was right to set me on the correct path again. The point is that while he burned them he saw the Harry Potter card, and he told me that Harry Potter’s parents were a blood traitor and a mudblood. And then he said something about your uncle, too. I didn’t really catch it, because I was-” Draco stopped abruptly, looking embarrassed. “Well, never mind.”
Regulus’ dislike of Uncle Lucius was strengthened by several degrees. He decided to give Draco some privacy, and moved the conversation along. “He’d be around our age, wouldn’t he?”
“Harry Potter?”
Regulus nodded.
“Yes, he was a year old when he killed the Dark Lord. Unless he’s a squib or they’ve sent him to Durmstrang or something, which I doubt, he’ll be at Hogwarts with us.” Draco’s nose wrinkled. “But if both of his parents were Gryffindors, well...”
“Probably not the same House,” Regulus finished for him.
“But I don’t know,” Draco sighed. “Someone that powerful shouldn’t be in Gryffindor, should they? It feels wrong.”
Regulus hummed noncommittally. “Godric Gryffindor was quite powerful.”
“Maybe so, but Merlin was a Slytherin.”
“I don’t think they sort people based on how powerful they are, though,” Regulus argued.
“No,” Draco countered, “but only Slytherins know what to do with power. Father says so.” Draco drew himself up, puffing out his chest. “And I’m going to be in Slytherin.”
“We probably both will,” Regulus said with a shrug.
“Maybe,” said Draco. “But we don’t know what House your mother was in.”
“Or if she was at Hogwarts at all,” Regulus said, going along even though he was a bit sour about Draco invoking his mother. Whoever she was, she had not shown up on the tapestry – which was believed to be the result of either a curse, or of enduring wards. Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius had investigated thoroughly, but while they had been able to confirm that Regulus was a descendant of House Black, and from his father’s line, no further information had come to light.
“She must have been a pureblood, though.”
“Presumably.” Regulus had never been given reason to believe that his father had not carried the same prejudices that Regulus’ living family did. And if that were true, well, who would have put up with the man but another pureblood? But in truth, his family had never confirmed he was a pureblood – only that he was of his father’s blood.
“Obviously, or you wouldn’t be here,” said Draco, who was some combination of unaware and in denial of Regulus’ ambiguous blood. He hopped off his chair. “Do you want to play chess?”
Regulus glanced at the ornate grandfather clock that loomed in the corner of the room. “We might not have time for a full game.”
“I’ll beat you quickly,” said Draco dismissively.
“Hurry up, then.”
By the time the game drew to a close, it was three minutes to eight, so instead of tidying up the game, Draco walked him to the sitting room, where his uncle and aunt were presumably still sitting.
“Draco?” Regulus whispered while on the way there.
“Why are you whispering?” Draco whispered back.
Regulus glanced every which way to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard, and told him, as quietly as he could: “If you get more chocolate frog cards, you can hide them at Grimmauld.”
“I don’t want more chocolate frog cards,” Draco hissed. “They’re beneath me. Father said.”
“Suit yourself,” Regulus whispered back.
“I’m concerned you don’t understand that.”
“They’re just cards, Draco.”
“They are not,” Draco bit back, now well above a whisper. “They’re not just anything.”
Regulus shot him a look, but did not otherwise reply. If that was how Draco felt, Regulus couldn’t do a thing about it. Particularly not within earshot of Uncle Lucius – and they were getting within range of it.
No further significant conversation passed between him and Draco – after that, they found Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius in the sitting room, and Regulus said his goodbyes and thanked them all for celebrating his birthday with him. He would see them soon – the family trip to Diagon Alley, which was really the Malfoy trip with Regulus tacked on, would take place on the 31st of July, just half a week away. Regulus was not honestly looking forward to it, but he was diplomatic enough to pretend he was before taking a handful of floo powder and leaving Malfoy Manor for the day.