• Regulus Black •

„You were the perfectly told story
that was never written."

Regulus did not know whether he should like being back home at Grimmauld Place. It wasn't that he didn't feel comfortable; on the contrary, this was his usual environment. However, the constant, heated arguments between Sirius and his mother reminded the young Black again and again how broken his family was.

When he had entered his room again after months, it seemed as if he had never been away. The thick, gold-embossed copies on lunar studies, in which Regulus had read with fascination throughout the summer holidays, had always lain untouched beside his bed. Only the thin layer of dust on the cover of the top copy suggested his absence.

Sirius, too, had barricaded himself in his room, as he had done during the holidays before, and didn't seem to feel the slightest need to spend time with him or the rest of the traditional family. At these moments, the Blacks' home was eerily quiet. So quiet in comparison to the thunderstorm that would follow as soon as his brother decided to leave the room and run into one of his parents.

Regulus enjoyed the silence, but at the same time a part of him could no longer bear it. Indecisively, he let his grey eyes wander over the silver-green Slytherin banners he had hung up in the small room before they lingered on the family crest above his bed.

Toujours pur.

That was his family indeed; always clean, always unsullied. A motto he had had drilled into him from an early age and did not aspire to break. Not like Andromeda, who had taken the Muggle-born Ted Tonks as her husband and had inevitably been an example to Sirius. For she had done what his brother thought was right today.

For Sirius seemed to think nothing of the marriages that parents made for their children in order to preserve the purity of the blood or even to raise their status. According to him, everyone should marry the person they loved. Irrespective of blood status, position of power or money, and not solely because of the family's pure-blood craze. If he had his way, parents had no say in such things.

Regulus didn't quite know what to make of it. He certainly didn't want to spend his life with someone he could barely stand either. But his cousin Narcissa and Camille's brother Lucius were probably the perfect example that both was possible. Loving someone and making the family proud at the same time.

The young Black had meanwhile settled down at his desk and folded his hands together. His fair skin shone as bright as ivory in the dim light, while his grey eyes were fixed out of the high room window. No.12 Grimmauld Place lay in the shadows of dusk and night was just wrapping its dark blue veil around London.

His gaze fled into the distance, far beyond the glaring lights of the big city, and finally stuck on a bright spot in the sky. It was an owl, making its direct way to No.12 Grimmauld Place. Regulus opened the window, for another wizarding family did not live in the area, so it must have made the journey because of the Blacks.

Sure enough, the barn owl was to land on the window ledge a short time later. Reverently, she stretched out her leg towards him, to which a roll of the finest parchment was tied. The seal of the Malfoys with the two dragons on it, the dark-haired boy recognised immediately. Camille. She had given him advance warning that she would write to him, but he had not expected such an early reply. After all, the last time they had met in person was a few hours ago.

Regulus' hands trembled a little with excitement, which is why he found it difficult at first to tie the letter from the foot of the owl, which stared at him reproachfully from its yellow eyes. No sooner had he untied the knot than the creature of the night hopped onto the window frame and impatiently disappeared again into the gathering darkness without collecting its reward. But perhaps the magnificent animal was pampered enough in the pure-blooded household anyway, or perhaps it didn't want to stay with him any longer than necessary.

The young Black sucked the ice-cold air into his lungs one last time before he closed the window again and was immediately enveloped by the musty smell of the house, which he had not noticed before. With a pounding heart, he broke the seal in two, already knowing what the blonde wanted to inform him about. And indeed, nothing more and nothing less was written in squiggly letters on the parchment than that she would pay him a visit because of their partner work. The very next day!

Hastily, Regulus let his grey eyes roam the room and ruffled his black hair. He had to tidy his room. There was hardly any disorder in it. Yet he believed that this would not be enough. What would Camille think of his furniture, his books and the pictures he had hung on his wall? Suddenly, her visit felt like an invasion of his privacy, his soul.

Indecisively, he stood in front of the cut-out newspaper articles he had pinned next to a photo of the Slytherin Quidditch team. They all contained just one subject; Voldemort. Regulus had wanted to know more about the powerful Dark Lord who had so suddenly emerged from obscurity a few years ago.

A soft knock jolted him from his thoughts. Hastily, he ran a hand over the folds of his cloak and adjusted the slipped collar. A final scrutinising look in the mirror adorned with real silver told him that his mother would find nothing wrong with his appearance. But the visitor was to put a smile on Regulus' face. "Kreacher!"

"Kreacher has been eagerly awaiting Master Regulus' return," the house-elf declared reverently, bowing so low that his long nose almost touched the ground. With an amused smirk, he retrieved the creature from its uncomfortable position and then embraced him. The old elf had been more of a family to him than his actual one had ever been. In fact, he was his best friend. Not that he would admit that out loud to Alaric.

"Kreacher did what Master Regulus told him to do," he reported excitedly, pulling some crumpled pieces of paper from his shabby robe and holding them out to him. "All the articles that were about the Dark Lord were saved by Kreacher for Master Regulus."

"Thank you, Kreacher!" replied Regulus, accepting the articles gratefully, for the newspapers that touted Voldemort in their articles were banned at Hogwarts. The Daily Prophet merely reported on his infamous deeds, but not what was worth fighting for.

Once more he bowed to the young Black. "Is there anything else Kreacher can do for Master Regulus?"

The addressed sighed and let his gaze wander around his room once more. "You could tell me what I need to change around here to make a girl feel... comfortable in here."

"A-a girl, sir?" Kreacher asked again, frowning, as if he could hardly believe that his Master was receiving such a person. Regulus merely sighed and let himself fall backwards into his bed, which then creaked and jolted suspiciously. But instead of worrying about the fact that this frame was barely supporting his weight, a dreamy smile crept onto his lips. "Not just any girl. Camille is amazing! You must have met her a few times already, she used to stay with us sometimes with her family."

"Kreacher is sure a girl will feel comfortable in the mere presence of Master Regulus," the house elf replied, bowing a third time. While his words were kindly meant, they regrettably did not help Regulus. At that moment, the front door slammed and heavy footsteps, accompanied by a walking stick, moved through the basement. It seemed that the master of the house had returned from his work at the ministry.

"KREACHER!" it thundered loudly and the addressed elf flinched. Regulus gave him a disappointed look, but promised, "We'll talk more tonight, all right?"

Eagerly, Kreacher nodded and dissolved into thin air with a final implied curtsy. Regulus rose heavily from his low bed and took a closer look at the newspaper articles from the house elf. Satisfied, he took them to his desk made of real mahogany and was about to separate out the most relevant, when he was interrupted by a clearing of his throat.

Sirius was leaning against the doorframe with a smug smile. "What's going on between you and Blondie that she's even paying you a visit already?"

"Jealous?" asked Regulus the counter question, turning his attention back to his work to be done. In doing so, he decided not to dwell on the fact of how long his brother must have been standing outside his door to have overheard that part of the conversation.

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed and entered the room with a suspicious look, not taking his eyes off the articles resting on Regulus's desk that he was busy working on. "You're becoming a Death Eater," he finally stated in a calm, yet trembling voice.

"You couldn't care less what I become or don't become," he replied bluntly, not looking up from the headlines reporting murder and torture. Merely out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sirius' collectively closing his eyes and visibly having trouble not losing his temper. "You'll never get out of there alive," he predicted.

"What do you know?", Regulus snorted contemptuously, and the next moment caught himself quoting Evan, "It is a great honour to serve the Dark Lord."

"You're fifteen!" thundered Sirius now, seeming to have thrown his previous attempts to remain controlled out the window. A pleading glint entered his grey eyes and he ruffled his dark hair. "This is not an honour, it's a death sentence." He grabbed one of the articles and waved it under his nose. "Is this really your conviction or are you doing this because of our parents? If they make you do this..."

"No one is forcing me," Regulus rudely interrupted him. "But someone has to take responsibility for your actions and restore our family's reputation! It's the only way I can..." He broke off awkwardly, pretending to be entirely focused on cutting it out, but his cheeks glowed with shame.

"It's the only way you can marry Camille," Sirius finished the sentence for him, merely shaking his head in disagreement. "With your noble ways of trying to please everyone, you'll get yourself into the grave one day, Regulus."