Arcturus Black | POV
I have regretted that decision every day since I consented to the marriage of my only son, Orion, to Pollux's get. The stupidity of the Crabbe troll-line seems to have seeped straight into Walburga's bones. Of that whole wretched branch, only Alphard possessed anything resembling sense or decency.
Still, there is little value in weeping over sour milk. One must work with what remains, even if it requires a firm hand and a great deal of pressure to turn curd into something that might yet pass for cheese.
My son's idiocy never ceases to astonish me.
Muggleborns are lesser, yes. That much is obvious. But they are not useless. They form the bulk of our population, the backbone of our markets, the hands that keep our institutions moving and our vaults full. Without them, the wizarding world would be halved, and our fortunes with it.
This does not mean nobles marry peasants. Of course not. Lines exist for a reason. But any society that wishes to endure, any nobility that wishes to prosper, requires those beneath it. If nobles slaughter the peasants, who tills the fields? Who crafts the goods? Who purchases the products of noble enterprises?
It is elementary. Painfully so.
And yet, this simple arithmetic of power and survival seems to have vanished from the minds of this generation. Replaced by theatrics, slogans, and the intoxicating pleasure of destruction without foresight.
I find myself longing for Lucy. Had my daughter been here, this house would not feel quite so hollow, nor my thoughts so sharp with irritation. She possessed clarity. Balance. An understanding that strength lies not merely in purity, but in control.
Ever since I heard those blasted revelations about the Lestrange boy, my appetite has deserted me. Each meal tastes of ash. Each conversation echoes with the same unwelcome thought.
The Black family will end in my time.
No.
I refuse to allow it.
I refuse even to entertain the notion.
If the world insists on descending into madness, then it will do so without my consent. And if I must bend tradition, break pride, or bloody my hands to ensure the survival of this house, then so be it.
The name Black will not fade quietly into history.
Not while I still draw breath.
So, I have made my plans.
First, countermeasures for the imprisonment and eventual death of my eldest grandson, Sirius. And most importantly, the coming death of Regulus Black, my second grandson, which I want to avoid at all costs.
I find a grim sort of satisfaction in one thing at least. Regulus is finally growing a backbone. I had thought Walburga's cursed upbringing had crushed any chance of that. Yet here he is, learning to stand despite his mother. His spine may bend, but it exists. More importantly, he has begun to think independently.
That alone gives him a chance.
Sirius, on the other hand, would rather shatter than bend. There is no give in him. No patience. No respect for structure. He ran away without consulting me, without understanding the currents he was leaping into. Pride masquerading as courage. A Black flaw, honed to a lethal edge.
I should have taken a firmer hand in their upbringing. That failure rests squarely on my shoulders.
But regret is a luxury. I cannot afford it now.
The need of the hour is countermeasures. The crisis is already in motion.
Regulus must act as my eyes and ears among the Death Eaters. He has the temperament for it, restraint, intelligence, the ability to listen and survive. Sirius, meanwhile, must be maneuvered into compromise, for the greater good of the family if nothing else. I need to know the designs of both Black and White. Both kings are moving their pieces, and I refuse to be the pawn swept aside between them.
It feels like the 1930s all over again.
Me in one camp. Reggie, my brother in another.
Dorea aligned one way, Cassiopeia another. History does not repeat, but it certainly enjoys mocking us.
My brother, Reggie should been a grandfather by now, but he not wasted himself grieving over Vinda Rosier, who was always far more enamored with Grindelwald than with him.
My thoughts were interrupted as Kreacher popped into the room.
"Master, young Master Regulus wishes to meet you."
"Hm. Tell him I am free this evening."
"Kreacher will tell Young Master Regulus," the elf replied, and vanished with a soft crack.
I noted, not for the first time, the new attire the house-elves wore. A welcome change. In the past, they had been an eyesore, a reflection of careless tradition. This particular reform had begun with Lestrange, then Malfoy. I would wager a vault of gold that clever little brat had a hand in spreading it.
My thoughts returned, inevitably, to Sirius and Regulus, my grandsons.
They had once been close. As children, inseparable. And then Walburga poisoned that bond, soaked it in bitterness and dogma until affection curdled into resentment.
Now, All my plans hinge on the coordination of those two boys. On trust. Mutual, fragile, essential trust.
If they cannot even sit together for an hour, cannot speak openly without tearing at old wounds, how am I to ensure their survival?
When Regulus comes, I will explain everything. I may even convince him.
Sirius, however…
Sirius will require a different hand altogether.
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Later That Evening | Arcturus Black | POV
The fire had settled into a low, thoughtful burn by the time Regulus arrived.
I was nursing a glass of firewhiskey, its warmth slow and medicinal, my pipe sending thin ribbons of smoke toward the ceiling, when the door opened.
Regulus stepped in quietly. Too quietly. Always observant, that one.
"Come, grandson," I said, not bothering to look up. "What is it you wished to speak to me about?"
"Good evening, Grandfather," he replied. "I hope your health has been well."
"Yes, it has," I snapped, waving the pipe dismissively. "Spare me the courtesies and get to the point."
There was a pause. Not hesitation. Calculation.
"I believe," Regulus said carefully, "that I may have discovered the source of the Dark Lord's vaunted immortality."
That earned my full attention.
"And that would be?" I asked, my voice flat, measured.
"Horcruxes," he answered. Then, after a breath, corrected himself. "Five of them. At least."
The glass froze halfway to my lips.
"Truly?" I whispered, then felt the word curdle into something uglier. "Horcruxes? Merlin-damned Horcruxes."
The pipe clenched tighter between my fingers as I cursed under my breath, the implications unfolding with brutal clarity.
"No wonder," I growled, anger bleeding through my composure, "no wonder your Dark Lord is slipping into madness. Splitting the soul once is atrocity enough. Multiple times…" I shook my head. "There is a price for such blasphemy. Always."
My fury found its true target soon enough.
"And your mother," I spat, "forcing you into his ranks. Curse you, Walburga. Arrogant, short-sighted fool."
I turned my gaze fully on Regulus then, truly looked at him.
Pale. Controlled. Carrying knowledge that could either end the Dark Lord… or doom House Black beyond recovery.
"Do you know the locations of these Horcruxes?" I asked at last, my voice steady now, the storm banked but not extinguished.
"At least one," Regulus replied. "But my godson advised against acting on it. He believes it would alert the snake."
"He is right," I said without hesitation. "It would. Such an act would echo through the Dark Lord's wards like a scream in a cathedral. No. We deal with them only after his first fall."
Regulus exhaled slowly. "Then… what do we do now?"
"Now," I said, setting my glass aside, "we determine whom to trust. We map the Ministry, carefully. Who bears the Mark. Who moves under Imperius. Who answers to Dumbledore. And most importantly…" I fixed him with a hard look. "How to free you from that cursed brand."
A flicker crossed his brow. Hope, fragile as spun glass.
"Is it possible, Grandfather?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"It must be," I said, with absolute conviction. "I refuse to believe there is no solution. I will scour the world if I must. From India to Brazil. From Scotland to New Zealand. From China to America. From Norway to South Africa. There has to be something."
I paused, then added, more gently, "I have already informed Cassiopeia. She will visit shortly to examine the Mark herself."
Relief softened his shoulders, just a fraction.
"Do not lose hope, grandson," I said. "I stand with you."
Then I hardened again, because tenderness alone would not keep him alive.
"But understand this. I will rely on you utterly. When you walk out that door, remember who you are. Regulus Arcturus Black. You have a purpose. The family depends on you. I depend on you. Perhaps even the wizarding world depends on your actions."
I did not soften the truth.
"You will lie. You will deceive. You will act a part so well that even those you wish to protect may misunderstand you. You may be vilified. Hated. And if you fail…" I let the sentence hang. "…the future awaiting us will be one we do not wish to inhabit."
I saw the weight settle onto his young shoulders, and for a moment, guilt stirred. Then necessity crushed it.
"I know it is too much to ask," I continued quietly. "But I have no one else. Your brother would rather break than bend. Courage without restraint is a beautiful way to die and a terrible way to win."
I leaned forward.
"This will fall to a Slytherin. To wit, to patience, to layered plans and hidden contingencies. Gryffindors charge. We endure. We outlast. Hogwarts itself was not born of reckless bravery alone. It was Slytherin's diplomacy, political acumen, and strength that made its existence possible."
I met his eyes.
"Do this well, Regulus. Walk carefully. Think three moves ahead."
The fire crackled softly between us, and in that sound, I heard the turning of history.
" Now go, I would meet you in a week, and spend more time with your Godson, may be his visions can give us an edge, we certainly lack".
Regulus was now invigorated with a renewed resolve. He has always lacked confidence, hopefully, I was able to give him enough today.
" Thank you grandfather, I will not disappoint you, " Said Regulas and he walked out, there was surety in his steps now.
Meanwhile, I am thinking of how to approach my other bull headed grandson, Sirius Black.