Chapter Text
June, 1976
Aunt Druella and Narcissa accompanied Regulus to his house. Neither mentioned the state of his parents, but the tension evident throughout the journey made it clear that none of them knew what they could expect to find at Grimmauld Place.
Regulus had not received a single letter from his mother since they parted ways. Every now and then, he had dutifully sent her an update about his grades or health, as she had demanded in the past, but he never got a response. The silence coming out of Grimmauld Place was more terrifying than all the angry letters he had received in his life combined.
He built the courage to ask his aunt what was going on by the time they apparated to his street. "Aunt Druella?" Regulus asked once she and Narcissa paused to collect their bearings.
His aunt peered over, apprehensively. "What is it, dear?"
"Have you heard from my mother lately?"
His aunt looked eerily similar to her youngest daughter when she tried to shield him from seeing the pitying expression on her face. "I fear we have had little to no contact with your parents over the last few months. My husband deemed it best to give them some space. We have been busy trying to fill their roles in the ministry as they take a well-deserved break."
Regulus had expected as much. "Okay." He murmured.
His aunt rubbed a hand on his shoulder. "I am sure your presence will bring the best out of your mother once more. It is not an easy thing she has endured." She sighed, glancing at her daughter. "We all can attest to that."
Narcissa pursed her lips. His cousin's eyes assessed him briefly before she turned to her mother. "Might I walk Regulus to his door?" She asked.
Her mother seemed a bit surprised. "Ah, I suppose that is best. I doubt Walburga is expecting visitors. I will wait here for you."
Regulus was secretly relieved that his aunt wouldn't be coming to the entrance with him. He feared he'd be placed in the awkward position of convincing her all was well if no one was there to greet him. And chances were, no one would be. He'd be lucky to earn a moment of their house elf’s time, let alone convince his mother to exit her study.
"You must visit us this summer," His aunt insisted as he collected his trunk. "Our manor feels so empty these days."
"I will," Regulus agreed. He was certain that his cousin and aunt, even if she was especially high-strung since her second daughter moved out, would be better company than the empty corridors of Grimmauld Place.
Regulus and Narcissa were halfway up the street before they dared to speak again, not wanting to be overheard.
"Your mother didn't ask my parents to receive you," Narcissa informed him, softly. "They have not heard from them since your folk cancelled the New Year's gathering."
Regulus felt a chill crawling up his spine. "I see."
Narcissa tapped his hand lightly with hers. "If you need anything this summer, let me know, okay? I do not know what state you might find your parents in. I know both of my parents are rattled by their uncharacteristic silence."
Regulus nodded. There were only a few left in his family that he could turn to for help. He had every intention of salvaging his remaining relationships. Even his relationship with Bellatrix might be more fruitful than seeking assistance from their elders.
"What are you going to do?" Narcissa asked as they paused near the concealed house. "About your preparation as heir?"
Regulus scowled at the cobblestone path beneath his feet. "I must force them to guide me. What other choice do I have?"
Narcissa nodded. "You were always capable of this, Regulus." Her voice was strumming with certainty. "All you lacked was the tools. They shed far too much attention on Sirius when he never was the reliable option. You must break out of that habit now. You must fill the role in a way he never could."
Regulus knew she was correct - he must do his duties to the family, as there was no one else to leave it to, but his childhood had given him none of the confidence he needed to do his part. It was never meant to be him. Being a spare had been the backbone of his upbringing. He had spent an entire lifetime making himself small so his brother could be big. He had never known he had the ability to be anything but small.
That was the way it always was in his household. Whether his parents loved his brother or hated him, it never made a difference. Sirius was the sun the household revolved around, leaving little thought for the stars cast aside in his wake. His parents had set his brother aside in the end, but it had not been a choice either relished making. Now that they had done the unthinkable and named him heir over his brother, neither had lifted a finger in preparing him or presenting him as heir.
He was no fool. He knew that he was the heir by default, and both parents had never wanted it to be him. Even his mother, who had told him to prepare himself for years, seemed shell-shocked that what she always feared would happen had taken place. Both his mother and brother, for whatever reason, always seemed to believe it'd work out somehow, never fully accepting the reality until it was too late. And now, yet again, Regulus was left behind to pick up the pieces.
With a final goodbye to his cousin, Regulus left her standing on the street to reveal 12 Grimmauld Place with the note his mother had gifted him years before. He entered the house without glancing back, closing the door behind him.
Grimmauld Place was silent as he shuffled into the entrance foyer, dropping his trunk and cage down with a loud bang. The noise echoed through the halls around him. It almost seemed deserted when he peered down the surrounding corridors. Most candles adorning their walls hadn't even been lit, making the darkness of the manor even more prominent than usual.
"Hello?" Regulus called.
Only the whistling wind through an opened window somewhere nearby answered him.
Regulus left his trunk and owl to take a few hesitant steps deeper into the house, faltering when he entered the main corridor, his eyes resting on their family tapestry. Despite the vastness of the ancient tapestry, depicting his family line back to the 13th century, he knew the sprawling tree like the back of his hand after spending years inspecting it with care. He and his brother had a childhood game of memorizing the stories of every ancestor who shared their name. Sirius' name was a dime a dozen. His brother had a second game though, one he found less amusing. His brother used to investigate in detail why some faces were burnt off their tapestry. For whatever reason, his brother had always found those investigations amusing, poking into family secrets the Blacks of the past went out of their way to erase from their history.
Regulus spotted the change immediately. His brother's face was scorched off their tapestry.
Regulus turned away, unable to bear the sight of the tapestry for a second longer. There wouldn't be a single aspect of their home that wouldn't remind him of what happened. For better or for worse, his brother had left his mark on every corner of their childhood home. It dawned on Regulus that he was going to be trapped in that horrible old manor for the rest of his days. He would never get any relief from the past, any relief from the misery that was so deeply embedded into the walls of the house. The thought was enough to make him feel ill.
His mother did not emerge from wherever she was hibernating until halfway through supper. Regulus had not bothered waiting, only assuming he would be dining alone when he found the hall empty. And yet she came, even if she was late - something she never would have dreamed of being in years past.
"Regulus," She nodded, taking her seat primly. "I nearly forgot you were due home today. Did your Aunt and Uncle receive you?"
Regulus nodded, inspecting her carefully. She appeared more pale and slender than he recalled her being. Even in the dim light, he could pick up on the heavy dark circles cradling her eye sockets, and how sharp her shoulders looked beneath her cloak.
"How were your grades?" She asked, not meeting his gaze.
"Did Hogwarts not send an owl?" Regulus wondered, perplexed.
His mother gave him a sharp look. "Mind yourself, Regulus. I did not check the post."
Regulus was only feeling worse as the conversation went on. Both the physical alterations to his mother's appearance and how scatter-minded she seemed were forming a horrible conclusion in his mind. He felt as though he was finally seeing his mother as a human for the first time in his life.
Something was horrifying about growing up and realizing that his parents were never the impregnable fortresses he had always seen them as. Viewing his parents as flawed and scared, so horribly human, made him feel more vulnerable than ever. How was he meant to pick up the pieces of his broken family without a single strong hand left to guide him?
"They were not much different than they were in years past," He replied, robotically. "If I may, what should I be working on over this break? Given the recent changes..." His voice faltered away, not wanting to upset her by reminding her of what occurred.
If his words upset his mother, she didn't show it. Her strained face was completely vacant as she spoke, as if she was barely there at all. "Your father will formally name you heir to this estate and in the eyes of the law," his mother told him. She had deep circles under her eyes as she sat there listlessly. "Once he has passed, you will be head of the family."
Regulus did not say anything for a moment, waiting for her to go on. She did not say anything else though, her hollow eyes dropping down to inspect the meal. The hall was silent for a minute, apart from her fork scratching along her plate.
"Do you intend to prepare me for the role?" Regulus asked, restraining the urge to grow frustrated with her non-answers. He knew his mother was struggling to accept his brother's departure, but he needed her to return to him at some point.
She stared at him, her eyes strangely empty. "You should shadow your father in his work." She suggested, faintly.
"His work?" Regulus questioned, "Has he done any work as of late? Have you seen him lately?"
It had only taken one walk down the corridor where his father's study was situated for Regulus to get a read on his father's state. The reek wafting out of his office doors suggested he had done nothing of use lately.
His mother blinked in surprise, stirring a bit. "Do not speak that way of your father, Regulus. He is still the head of this house."
Regulus was unable to restrain one bitter thought from leaking through his lips. "And we are all worse off for it."
"You cannot speak like that," she insisted, vehemently. A bit of her usual sharpness returned as she rebuked him. "I raised you to behave with better manners than that. Respect your elders."
Regulus wished, for a pause, that he had an ounce of his brother's courage. He knew what his brother would have done in such a situation. Sirius would have stood at the foot of that table and shouted across, accusing his parents of abandoning him, demanding that they fulfill their roles as his mentor and teach him what it meant to be heir, not simply dump the position on his lap. But Regulus was not his brother. He had done everything right his whole life, bit his tongue against every wrong done to him, followed every last rule - and for what?
"Mum," he leaned forward, his chest stretching across the table, "Please. I need your help."
"Regulus," she exhaled a long breath, hanging her head weakly, "I need a break from all of this. You must be my strength for now, as I have succumbed to my weakness as of late." Her eyes grew foggy again. "I always believed myself to be strong enough to make the sacrifices necessary to fulfill my role here, my son. I thought I was prepared to give up my children for a just cause, to save our family and protect the sanctity of wizardkind as we know it." She shook her head, her eyes blurring. "I was wrong. I did not have the strength to do it."
"It is already done," Regulus pointed out. "You have already done what was necessary."
"It is done," she agreed, somberly. "And yet, not a day passes where I feel a sense of victory or accomplishment. I was more a mother than a leader in the end. I did not expect it."
Regulus stared down at his plate, her words shattering any remaining guise of normality in their home. His mother had always been the rock in the family. No matter how deep his father had sunk, she had always been the anchor keeping their family secure. Now they were lost in the waves, with no one to hold down the fort any longer. It all fell to him, with or without the tools he needed to survive.
"I want to fulfill the responsibilities left for me," Regulus started again, "But I am unable to do that when I have received no training or guidance on how to be the head of our family."
She only shook her head, her face growing dark. "I am no head of this family. You must urge your father to teach you."
"My father, who has never learned my name?" Regulus asked, stonily. "He would sooner groom Kreacher to run this estate."
She stared back, helplessly. "What would you have me do, Regulus? I once believed I had the power to guide that man into being the leader this family needed. I was a fool. I have no power here, my only role as the lady of this house was to raise capable heirs, and even in that, I have failed."
"Mum," Regulus pleaded, "You have not failed."
"I have," she insisted. "And they are all out there ridiculing me, mocking my failures. This is how I will be remembered."
"No one would dare to criticize you for enduring what all sacred twenty-eight parents fear most," Regulus argued. "Besides, your children are not all you have to show for the life you have lived."
His mother laughed, the noise cold and empty, "You do not understand the plight of a woman, my son. I have nothing else to leave behind. They will criticize me, as I have criticized everyone else who failed to mould their offspring into proper pureblood wizards worthy of their names and titles. My arrogance and pride have been my downfall."
Regulus let her words rest in the room for a moment, trying to think up another way to break through to her. "I do not care what they think of us." He insisted. "You have been a great mother to me, but I need you to compose yourself and assist me with carrying this family in your stead."
Her gaze flitted over to his momentarily, the dark circles under her eyes giving her a sickly look. "My best years are behind me. You must forge your own path, my son."
His mother left her meal half unfinished without another word, leaving him alone again in their silent dining room. The hall had never felt as lonely and miserable as it did then.
"Does Master Regulus wish to dispose of his dinner?" Kreacher asked after he found Regulus sitting in silence for ten minutes.
"Yes," Regulus agreed. Then he turned, his interest piquing, "Kreacher, have you been serving my father as of late?"
The house elf appeared a bit uncomfortable. "The master does not wish to share..."
Regulus interrupted. "He is residing in the house, I presume?"
"Yes," Kreacher agreed. "In no state to come out though, no. The master remains in his study."
"Do my parents ever speak face to face?" Regulus wondered.
Kreacher tilted his head. "Not often, not that Kreacher sees."
Regulus nodded, slowly. "Is my father working?"
Kreacher appeared uncomfortable once more. "The master does not want Kreacher to-"
"Neither my father nor mother are in any state to be calling the shots," Regulus said pointedly, "I know you serve them first and foremost, but I am being left to manage the household while they are incapacitated. I must know what is happening."
Kreacher nodded after a pause, his eyes slowly widening. "The young master must protect the Noble and Ancient House of Black." He agreed. "Kreacher serves the Black Family loyally. Kreacher will help Master Regulus fulfill his duties as heir, yes." With that, the house elf answered his earlier questions, "The master and mistress mourn the loss of their son, that blood traitor, no-good boy. He has broken their hearts."
Regulus already knew that. "Has my father sat at his desk in recent months? Have you ever seen him leave, even once?"
Kreacher shook his head, "The master is ill. He drinks and he sleeps. He does not eat much or confer with his confidants, no."
Regulus released a long breath, collecting himself. "I must speak to my father." He decided, begrudgingly.
Kreacher shook his head, fervently, "The good, young master mustn't see his great father in such a state..."
Regulus was no longer listening, rising from his chair with a fire lit within him. He had no other place to turn to for help.
He had long dreaded entering his father's study. The ominous door to the study had always towered over him as a child, forever warning him of the dangers that lay beyond it. Even if he had never been sent there for misbehaving as his brother often was, the threat had been used on him on several occasions. The threats of being sent to his father's study to be corrected had installed a fear in him he never unlearned, despite never even discovering what would take place within the office walls.
And now he was willingly forcing his way into that very same office. The door was locked, but Regulus did not care, whisking out his wand to unseal it with a simple unlocking charm. He wondered if his parents had always used such simple spells to protect their spaces from their nosy children. He was baffled they were that confident that he and his brother would never develop the nerve to use underage magic.
The study matched the reeking odour resting around its entrance. As soon as Regulus walked in, he was overwhelmed by the stench of an office that was housing an unkempt man.
Empty bottles and half-eaten meals were littering the desktops that once consisted of his father's work. The bookshelves his father once treated as his most sacred possessions seemed uncared for, with layers of dust coating every visible surface. And worst of all was the bed set up at the back of the study, something Regulus doubted had been there in past years. Even if his parents rarely shared their quarters, his father had always used their guest bedroom. His father had issues with his low mood and alcohol usage as far back as Regulus remembered, and yet, the situation had never seemed as dire as it did then.
Regulus stared at his surroundings with disgust for a few long seconds. He was certain that Kreacher was no longer cleaning up after his father judging by the hoards of garbage inside the study. He was certain the elf would never neglect his duties - his father must have forbidden the elf from assisting with cleaning.
A movement drew his eyes to the back of the study, where a hidden door slid open to reveal the man himself, in considerably worse shape than he had been when Regulus saw him last. Most noticeable was his hair. Not only was a beard growing over what once was a clean-shaven chin, but his father's hair had also grown longer, nearly reaching his shoulders in some spots.
The two of them froze as they stared at each other, his father's lips curling up slowly.
"Why are you in here?" The man hissed as he recovered from his surprise. "What do you children not understand about respect?"
Regulus did not know what to say for a second, caught off guard by his father's immediate hostility. "I needed to speak with you."
"Get out!" His father ordered furiously, though how he staggered when he stepped forward rid the command of much of its bite.
Regulus remained rooted to the spot. He watched the man struggling to right himself as he travelled over to his desk. He had never seen his father in such a sorry state before.
"I am being named as your heir," Regulus said, "Are you even aware of that?"
His father seemed too preoccupied with steadying himself behind his desk, placing both hands on the desktop for balance.
"Father," Regulus said, the word sounding foreign on his lips. He walked closer, needing to attract the man's attention. "I am not prepared to take on this role without any guidance. I will only be home for two months. I need to receive this training now."
"You do not dare to tell me what I should do," His father snapped, running a hand through his unkempt locks of hair. "Who do you think you are?"
Regulus did not back down. "You must climb out of your cups and mentor me," he insisted, growing bolder in his desperation. "Only you can teach me the heir responsibilities for our family."
His father staggered forward, his long grown-out hair nearly resembling his son's for a moment as it swayed around him, beyond how horribly greasy and tangled it was, as if his father didn't even realize he had longer hair yet.
"You shut your mouth," His father spat, holding an accusing finger out. He was swaying far too much to find his threats fear-inducing, despite how much violence Regulus knew he was capable of. "You do not have the slightest clue of the sacrifices I have made to keep this family afloat. I gave up everything, and you are too bloody selfish to fulfill a single role?"
Regulus took a few steps back when the man drew closer. He couldn't resist the urge to protect himself. He had always been quite terrified of the man. Aging had not rid him of that fear.
His father was close enough for his rancid breath to blow against Regulus' face. "You will do as your father commands. I will hear no more of this incessant backtalk from you, Sirius. What I ever did to deserve such an unruly child, I do not know."
Regulus' stomach hardened. "I am not Sirius." He muttered, hatred strumming through his veins. It made him brazen.
His father made a gargled noise as he returned to his desk chair. "Get the hell out of my study, boy." He snapped, before he yanked open a desk drawer by his knees. "You will never enter my quarters without permission again. You children have no right to cast judgements at me." His voice was rising in his anger, "I am your father!"
"Hardly," Regulus replied. He doubted the man could even hear him. Even when his father peered directly at him, he was quite certain the man did not see him. He never had to begin with.
His father would be of no help. He had known that before he came to his study, but he needed to see it for himself.
Regulus turned on his heel, trying not to inhale as he darted toward the exit. He pushed into the corridor, gasping in breaths of fresh air, free from the heavy odour of liquor that was resting in every corner of his father's self-inflicted prison.
He was on his own.