"I will survive. I will not fall into despair. I will keep myself hardy until the storm passes." — Yann Martel, Life of Pi
Regulus Black was absolutely livid about the situation he found himself in. The school was notorious for teaching the Dark Arts, and he had instinctively assumed it would be strict. Given his brother's situation, he did not blame the school for Sirius's failure—Sirius was difficult, after all.
Regulus hoped that given his past life and his maturity, he would not get into trouble. But fate often plays in an unpredictable manner.
Regulus waited for his turn in the holding room. A boy, roughly the same age as himself, stepped out of the inner door. He was clearly British.
Regulus stopped him. "What is happening behind the doors, mate? Can you explain it for us?"
When Regulus spoke, everyone in the room sat up straighter, intending to listen.
The boy looked haughty and prideful. "Who are you? Do you not have any manners? You should clearly introduce yourself before speaking to anyone."
Regulus replied with open contempt. "What does a seven-year-old boy know? Just say it and keep moving."
Everyone in the room was thinking the same after hearing Regulus 'You are the same age as us'
The boy was clearly angry and looked ready to lash out. In response, Regulus parted his coat and flashed his wand, much like a gangster showing a gun to someone he was threatening.
The boy looked at the wand, then up at the expression on Regulus's face. It was intimidating.
Of course, Regulus would not actually use violence here, and he was clearly not taking the situation seriously from the moment he arrived. But the boy did not know that.
"I am Charlus Yaxley," the boy said in a hurried tone, his confidence crumbling. "There is an instructor behind the door. He just asks questions and makes us visit the man who led us inside."
"Nice to meet you too," Regulus said dryly. "Now, move on then."
Yaxley did not want to stay to see if Regulus would use the wand on him.
A person who knows how to use a wand is measured, while a wand in the hand of a child is the same as a knife in the hand of a toddler—dangerous and unpredictable. Yaxley, having a similar upbringing to Black, was smarter than most kids. He let it slide for now. As for Black, Yaxley likely thought a kid of seven years would not hold a grudge over this.
Oh boy. He does not know how this is going to turn out.
Ten minutes later, it was Regulus's turn to meet the instructor.
As he stepped inside, he found the room to be as lavish as the rest of the fortress. He sat in a chair opposite a wizard who looked more like a scholar, sporting a monocle on his nose. He was thin and tall; even while sitting, his imposing stature was evident.
Strangely, he was wearing a three-piece suit. It looked exactly like a sharp Muggle suit from the 21st century. Regulus found himself admiring the cut of the fabric and failed to notice the instructor's attention on him.
"Mr Black, you seem to be curious about my attire?"
"It is indeed unique," Regulus admitted.
"I got it from the Muggle world. But no one has to know," the instructor said. His tone was a peculiar mixture—somewhere between the drawl of Snape and the calmness of Dumbledore.
"Forgive my rudeness. This suit just fits you well," Regulus flattered him without any shame.
"Thank you for your compliment, Mr Black. You are much more polite than your brother. It is a pity that he did not decide to continue his studies with us. Many of the instructors will miss him here," he said, reminiscing about something.
Regulus involuntarily shivered. He knew that look. It was the same look his grandmother, Druella, would give when she was unable to punish Kreacher right away.
"I apologise for my brother's misdemeanours. I assure you, I would not act in such a way that would shame my family's name," Regulus replied seriously. He knew this was no joking matter when it came to the House of Black.
"I hope so, Mr Black," the instructor said in an unquestionable tone.
Regulus tried to sense the magic around the instructor. He found that the man's power was indeed formidable—more or less on the same level as his grandfather, Arcturus. He shuddered. That a man of this stature, with such magical power, was placed here as a mere instructor... this school was truly weird.
"How far are you in your magical education, Mr Black? I need to place you with the instructor that suits you. After all, we want to see you disciplined and improved in a manner suitable to the aristocracy of the wizarding world in your country," said the instructor.
"I have completed up to the third-year Hogwarts courses. I am proficient in Occlumency, too. May I ask something, Instructor?"
"That is impressive for your age. Yes, of course you may. Also, address me as Mr Morrow."
"Yes, Mr Morrow. What country am I in? There are a couple of students from the Middle East, but looking at the weather outside, I doubt I am in the Middle East."
"The location of our establishment is a secret. As for the students, there are currently fewer than fifty students from all over the world. They are all from the most influential families in their respective countries, just like your family in yours. Also, I assure you that the only criteria to join this school is not just being born into an influential family. You need to be a genius for your age."
Morrow leaned forward slightly. "But do not let that get to your head just because you got in. Students here have gifts that will open your eyes. You will learn much more than magic here, Mr Black."
Regulus got an ominous feeling about the school. He silently made a note that he could make faster progress here than at home, where he was under constant interruption. He would make full use of his gift here.
Regulus might have seemed unconcerned or jovial on the surface, but he was painfully aware of the future—a future that would cost him his freedom and his life if he stayed on the course determined by destiny.
No matter how cruel this school was, Regulus had to survive here. Or he would perish later, along with his family.