Chapter Text
The runes around the door of the crypt of the Ancient and Noble House of Black were intricate and ancient. Regulus could pick out Isa for rest, an inverted Algiz for marking death, and he thought that one was Othala for ancestry and legacy. He liked runes. His language tutor taught them to him, alongside French and Latin. When he went to Hogwarts he would be able to take whole classes in them, as well as arithmancy, which was fascinating, but still difficult for him to follow.
Regulus looked back to the runes on the crypt, he hoped that one day he would be able to read them all, link them together and decipher exactly what the Blacks who built this place had meant for them to say.
He didn’t properly remember ever being allowed to come this close to the crypt before, although he knew that he had, years ago when he was very small. When his father Orion had died. But now that he was older and close enough, it was interesting. He tried to focus on all the things that were happening, but it was easier to just think about other things.
Regulus was nine years old and his mother was dead.
There were so few Blacks left now. And he was the heir.
His grandfather's warm hand settled onto his shoulder as they watched his mother be entombed in the crypt. Regulus felt his face was wet with tears as he watched the door slide shut behind her. She was really gone.
His cousin Narcissa stood near them with her husband and Regulus's little cousin Draco, the young boy quiet for once in his life.
His grandfather Pollux, grandmother Melania, and great-aunt Cassiopeia stood to their other side.
And that was all of them.
All the living Blacks. Or at least all the ones they were allowed to talk about. Regulus knew had other cousins, Andromeda, but his mother had called her a Muggle-loving blood traitor. And Bellatrix who was in Azkaban.
And then there was his older brother Sirius.
Sirius was in Azkaban as well. A dreadful prison his mother had told him. Regulus tried not to think of his brother there in that cold awful place. He was supposed to hate Sirius but he couldn't find it in himself to. He didn’t know his brother.
Sirius was the reason Regulus had even been born in the first place. His mother had raged about him often enough that Regulus knew the story: Sirius had been sorted into Gryffindor, and then had rebelled against his parents and their family, ran away to the Potters, and had been disowned. Walburga had decided, despite her age, to have another child. A new heir for the House of Black.
Regulus was sixteen years younger than his brother. He had met Sirius once, apparently, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember.
Sirius was in Azkaban for being a servant of the Dark Lord, for killing Muggles. 'The only good thing he ever did,' his mother had said more than once.
But generally his mother had not spoken of Sirius. Since the fall of the Dark-Lord when Regulus was small, she preferred keeping mostly to herself, occasionally stepping in to make decisions about Regulus's care and directing his tutors. But more often than not, Regulus was left to the care and company of Kreacher, the house-elf that belonged to the Blacks of Grimmauld Place.
Regulus knew he would not be going back home to Grimmauld Place for a long while now, he would never be allowed to stay there alone, and he didn’t want that anyway. He would be moving to the Black Castle, where his grandparents lived. It had been decided that Grandfather Arcturus, Grandmother Melania and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia would take care of him now.
He hoped that Kreacher would be able to come with him.
~~
The adults gathered in a tight circle near the crypt entrance after the sealing was complete. The children, Regulus and Draco, stood slightly apart, but close enough to hear what was being said, but clearly not expected to contribute.
"You’ll be taking the boy now then?" Grandfather Pollux said to Arcturus, his voice rough with grief for his daughter.
"Of course," Great-Aunt Cassiopeia agreed, her black mourning robes rustling as she turned to glance down at Regulus. "He will be staying here at the castle with Arcturus, Melania and myself. His mother requested it before she passed."
"We're happy to take him," Grandmother Melania said, and her voice was softer than the others. She glanced at Regulus with her old kind eyes, he had always loved his Grandmother Melania. "The castle is large enough, and he'll need proper supervision." She looked pointedly at Grandfather Pollux, whom Regulus had been staying with the last few days.
"I already have Draco," Narcissa began, “Wouldn’t it really be better for him to be with another child than in the castle?” Regulus saw Lucius put a hand on her arm.
"You have Draco to think of," Lucius said smoothly. "And the boy is Arcturus's heir. It's only proper that he be raised by the Black family."
Narcissa's lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. She looked at Regulus then, and he couldn't quite read her expression. She clearly thought that he would be better off with her than here at the Black Castle.
"He'll need to continue his education of course," Grandfather Arcturus said. " I don’t have time to do that myself, but I’ll have his same tutors continue until Hogwarts. At least that can be something consistent for the boy."
"And what about the house-elf?" Great-Aunt Cassiopeia asked. "The boy is uncommonly attached."
Regulus's head snapped up at that. Kreacher. They were talking about Kreacher.
"The elf is bound to Grimmauld Place, and the Blacks that live there," Arcturus said, not unkindly, but firmly. "Orion is dead. Walburga is dead. Sirius is..." He paused, as if the word was distasteful. "...in Azkaban. The elf cannot leave."
"But–" Regulus started, then stopped. The adults had all turned to look at him, as if surprised he could speak.
"The elf will maintain the property until..." Arcturus hesitated, then continued. "Until matters are settled. When you come of age, Regulus, if your brother never returns, the house will be yours. The elf too. Until then, he stays where he's bound by magic."
Regulus felt his chest grow tight, emotion welling up inside him and more tears threatening to fall. Kreacher was the only one who had really been there, who had taken care of him when his mother was too distant or too angry. And now he'd be alone in that house. He had thought that amongst all of this, that at least he would still have Kreacher to keep him company. To take care of him.
"Can I..." His voice came out smaller than he wanted. "Can I say goodbye?"
Grandmother Melania's expression softened. "Of course you can, dear. We'll go back to Grimmauld Place now, and collect your things. You can say a proper goodbye to the elf."
It wasn't what Regulus wanted. He didn't want to say goodbye at all. But it was better than nothing. He looked to Castle Black behind them, rising up tall and brooding, there were elves there, perhaps even more than one. But it would never be the same.
"Come along then," Grandfather Arcturus said, already turning away from the crypt. "Best to get it done."
He said it so calmly, as if Regulus's entire life wasn't falling apart around him and he was barely holding on as he was swept along in whatever the adults around him decided was best.
~~
Regulus found Kreacher in the kitchen, as he usually did. He liked it down here with Kreacher, it was safe, calm and steady, there were no expectations on him. Kreacher was sitting near the stove, rocking slightly, and keening under his breath.
"Kreacher," Regulus whispered.
The elf's head snapped up to look at him, his bat-like ears perking up just a little. "Master Regulus! Oh, Master Regulus, Mistress is gone, Mistress is dead, what is Kreacher to do without Mistress?"
Regulus crossed the kitchen and knelt down next to the elf right there on the floor. His mother would have hated it, he was half sure that any members of the Black family would have hated to see him kneeling on the kitchen floor. "I have to go, Kreacher. I have to go live with Grandfather Arcturus at Castle Black now."
Kreacher's enormous eyes widened further. "Master Regulus is leaving? Leaving Kreacher alone?"
"I don't want to," Regulus said, and his voice cracked a little. He'd mostly held it together through the funeral, just shedding a few tears. But here, with Kreacher, he couldn't, he let out a hiccuping sob and reached for Kreacher. "I asked if you could come, but they said no. They said you have to stay here."
"Kreacher must stay," the elf agreed miserably, wrapping his little arms around Regulus’s shoulders. "Kreacher is bound to the Blacks of Grimmauld Place. Until Master Regulus comes of age, Kreacher must stay here alone."
"I'll come back," Regulus promised, taking the elf's gnarled hand. "And I'll visit, I’ll make them bring me sometimes. And when I'm seventeen, this will be my house, and you'll be my elf, properly. Just a few more years, Kreacher. Can you wait?"
"Kreacher will wait," the elf said, tears streaming down his flat nose. "Kreacher will keep the house for Master Regulus. Kreacher will keep Mistress's memory. Kreacher will be here."
They sat there on the kitchen floor together for a long time, neither of them wanting to let go.
When Grandfather Arcturus called for him, his voice echoing through the empty house, and down the narrow kitchen stairs. Regulus hugged Kreacher one more time.
"I’ll be back," he whispered. "I promise."
"Master Regulus must be a good boy," Kreacher whispered back. "Must make the Ancient and Noble House of Black proud."
Regulus nodded, he could do that.
He left Kreacher in the kitchen and didn't look back, because if he did, he might not be able to leave at all.
~~
The bedroom they'd given him was larger than his room at Grimmauld Place had been. Larger, and colder, and emptier.
Regulus sat on the edge of the four-poster bed and looked around. His trunks of clothes sat unopened by the wardrobe. His books and tutoring things were stacked on the desk under the window. Everything he owned, and it barely filled the space.
There was no Kreacher to help him unpack. No Kreacher to bring him warm milk before bed. No Kreacher to tell him stories and keep him company.
There was a house-elf here, Tinker, he'd seen her at dinner, but she wasn't Kreacher. When he'd tried to speak to her, she'd been polite but quickly disappeared when it became clear that he didn't need her to fetch him anything.
Regulus pulled his knees up to his chest on the big bed and wrapped his arms around them. He was nine years old, the heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, and he had never felt more alone.
He thought about Kreacher, probably still sitting on the floor of the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, alone too. Had he eaten supper? Would he be able to keep going like he had promised?
Regulus squeezed his eyes shut. Eight years. Eight years until he could go home properly, until Kreacher would be his elf, and Grimmauld Place would be his house. It felt like forever.
He was supposed to be brave. He was a Black and Blacks didn’t cry.
But there was no one here to see if he did.
~~
"And what," his tutor, Master Thornbury, asked in his dry, precise voice, "is the significance of the Goblin Rebellions to modern wizarding law?"
Regulus looked up from his notes. They'd been studying history all morning, and his hand ached from writing. But he knew this one.
"The rebellions established that goblins could not own wands," he recited. "And that goblin-made items technically belong to the goblin who made them and must be returned to the goblin who made them after the wizard who purchased the item dies. Although many wizards dispute this. That's why there's still tension at Gringotts."
"Acceptable," Master Thornbury said, which was high praise from him. "And why should you, as future Lord Black, care about goblin politics?"
Regulus thought about it. "Because the Blacks have vaults at Gringotts. And investments. It's... practical to understand who controls your gold."
A hint of a smile. "Very good, Master Regulus. Very good indeed."
Regulus felt a small spark of pride. He was good at this, at learning, at understanding and making connections between things. His mother had never really cared about his studies as long as he was occupied and out of her way. She cared more about what he thought about muggles and blood traitors. But here, at Castle Black, his education truly mattered. It was preparing him for something important.
He liked that, liked knowing that all these hours of Latin and runes and history had a purpose. One day he would sit on the Wizengamot and need to know these things. One day all of this would really matter.
Master Thornbury was already moving on to the next topic. Regulus picked up his quill and bent over his parchment, ready.
~~
Dinner at Castle Black was always formal. Regulus had learned quickly to sit up straight, change into fresh robes, and use all the manners that his mother had demanded of him, including staying quiet unless spoken to.
Tonight, Grandfather Arcturus and Great-Aunt Cassiopeia were discussing the Wizengamot.
"Fudge is trying to consolidate power," Arcturus said, cutting his roast with precise movements. "Playing to the old families, promising us influence, but Nott has his doubts of course."
"He’s a junior minister and a fool," Cassiopeia said dismissively. "But a useful fool. Better him than someone with actual convictions. But the elections are years away, much my yet still change between now and then."
"The werewolf legislation is coming up for vote next month," Arcturus continued. "Ensuring more employment checks, as there should be. Werewolves, disgusting dangerous animals."
Regulus listened, filing it all away. Werewolves. They were dangerous, his mother had taught him. Less than human, she had said. Surely the vote would pass easily.
"You’ll lead the vote for it?" Melania asked quietly.
"Of course," Arcturus said. "The safety of proper wizarding families must come first."
Regulus nodded to himself as his grandfather spoke, this was what being Lord Black would mean. Votes and laws and keeping the right sort of people in power. He would need to understand all of it.
Werewolves were dangerous, everyone knew that. They turned into monsters that could kill without thinking, or worse leave you alive and turned into a werewolf yourself. And some even said they could still harm you between the moons. His mother had told him stories about Fenrir Greyback, a werewolf who’d killed dozens of people. Who’d bitten children on purpose and turned them into werewolves too. Regulus shivered, that would be a fate worse than death he thought.
And so it made sense to keep them away from normal wixen. To make sure that everyone was safe.
Regulus cut a piece of his roast and chewed carefully. He wondered if there were werewolves at Hogwarts. Probably not, they wouldn’t allow creatures so dangerous to be around students, but perhaps in the forest nearby. He shivered at the thought.
He filed away the voting patterns that Grandfather Arcturus mentioned, and took careful note of the way that certain old families always voted together. These were the things he’d need to know for the future. The alliances and obligations that made the Wizengamot work.
This was his future after all, spread out on the dinner table like the silverware and crystal and he had to learn it all.
~~
Regulus had spent the last few months exploring the castle, he’d found most things by now, knew which corridors led where, which towers had the best views and a few secret alcoves to hide in.
He had spent that afternoon exploring as he often did when he made his way into the dim cellars. That's where he found the kneazles. He heard them first, a soft mewing coming from behind a pile of old furniture. It was a mother and her kittens he realised as he looked closer.
The mother kneazle wanted him suspiciously, her tail flicking back and forth in agitation. But one kitten, braver or more curious than its siblings crept forwards. It was small and fluffy, a dark grey colour with oversized ears and a plumed tail. It sniffed at Regulus’s outstretched hand and then rubbed its face against his fingers.
"Hello," Regulus whispered.
The kitten purred and let him hold it and cuddle with it for a few moments before it scampered back to its mother.
Regulus visited the cellars every day after that, leftovers from his lunch to feed to the kneazles. The kitten would climb into his lap and purr while Regulus read aloud from whatever book he’d brought. After a few days of this, the mother kneazle eventually stopped hissing at him.
He named the kitten Leo, after the constellation. After himself, sort of. It seemed fitting.
~~
"Regulus," Great-Aunt Cassiopeia said one evening after dinner. "Come here."
He obeyed, standing before her chair.
"You've been reading the family histories," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, Great-Aunt."
"Tell me about Phineas Nigellus Black."
Regulus recited what he'd learned: "Headmaster of Hogwarts, 1882 to 1910. He is said to be the least popular headmaster the school ever had. A Slytherin of course. He had five children."
"And why," Cassiopeia asked, "was Phineas Nigellus important to our family?"
This was trickier and Regulus thought about his answer carefully before he spoke, he did like to try and impress his Great-Aunt. "Because he showed that Blacks could hold positions of power and influence beyond just the Wizengamot. That we could shape wizarding society in multiple ways."
Cassiopeia's thin lips curved into something almost like a smile. "Clever boy. You'll do well, I think. Better than your brother."
Regulus felt something warm in his chest, praise was rare at Castle Black, but he held it close when he got it.
He would make them proud. He would be better than Sirius. That was what mattered, wasn’t it? His brother had thrown away everything, the family, the name, the legacy. He had chosen blood traitors and muggles over his own parents, his own blood.
Regulus would never make those mistakes. He understood what being a Black meant, what it required. He would be the heir that the Noble and Ancient House of Black deserved, the one that they should have had from the beginning.
He would prove that his parents had been right to have him.
~~
The seasons changed. Summer turned to autumn turned to winter. Regulus grew taller, learned more, and explored every corner of Castle Black.
His tutors praised his progress in runes and arithmancy. Grandfather Arcturus nodded approvingly when Regulus could recite the names and allegiances of every family in the Wizengamot. Grandmother Melania made sure he had new robes when he outgrew the old ones, and took him with her on her social visits, and very occasionally, she took him past Grimmauld Place to visit with Kreacher. Those were the best days.
He was almost eleven now. Almost old enough for Hogwarts. Old enough to start the next phase of his education, the one that would prepare him to take his seat in the Wizengamot, to one day become Lord Black, and to carry on the family name.
He still missed Kreacher like a missing limb, and he still thought about Grimmauld Place often. But Castle Black was home now, in its own way.
Sometimes Regulus wondered what Kreacher was doing. Whether the elf remembered to eat, whether he kept up cleaning the house, whether he was as lonely as Regulus had been those first few weeks. On the days that Grandmother Melania took him to visit, Regulus tried to memorise everything, the way Kreacher’s face lit up, the smell of the kitchen, the feeling of home.
But those visits were rare. Most of the time, there was just Castle Black, and his studies, and Leo, who eventually left the other kneazles in the cellars and started following Regulus everywhere.
Regulus was learning how to be alone, it was good practice, he supposed. For being Lord Black. You couldn’t afford to need people too much when you had responsibilities.
~~
The owl came at breakfast on a Tuesday in July as Regulus was spreading marmalade on his toast, it swooped through the open window and dropped a letter directly onto his plate.
The parchment was heavy, neat lettering on the front in green ink addressed it to:
Regulus Black
Castle Black
Cambridgeshire.
His hands shook slightly as he picked it up and turned it over to see the Hogwarts seal on the back.
"Well," Arcturus said, setting down his tea. "Open it then, Regulus."
Regulus broke the seal and began to read.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Dear Mr. Black,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...
"I'm really going to Hogwarts," Regulus whispered.
"Of course you are," Cassiopeia said briskly. "You're a Black. Where else would you go? France? Preposterous."
But Melania smiled warmly at him. "Your first step toward your future."
Regulus looked down at the letter again. Hogwarts. It was where Sirius had gone. Where he'd been sorted into Gryffindor and started his rebellion.
Regulus would be different. He would be sorted into Slytherin, like every proper Black. He certainly didn’t lack the ambition, he thought to himself. He would make his family proud.
The Sorting Hat would see what he was, clever, ambitious, and determined to restore the Black family to its proper glory. It would see that he understood duty and legacy in a way that Sirius never had.
He thought about his brother sometimes, rotting in Azkaban and wondered if Sirius ever regretted his choices. Probably not. Blood traitors never did, according to his mother.
But Regulus would never have to wonder, he knew exactly who he was and what he was meant to be.