Spring, 1966. Regulus turned five.
In the House of Black, five marked the beginning of formal education.
Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at three in the afternoon, Walburga held Family Glory lessons in the small study.
A massive Black family tapestry covered one entire wall, hanging from ceiling to floor. Gold and silver thread traced a thousand years of marriages across dark fabric, an intricate web of alliances.
Monday was genealogy.
"Here," Walburga said, tapping the top of the tapestry with a slender ebony pointer. "He was a twelfth-century healer. The acknowledged founder of our house…"
Regulus sat straight-backed on a hard wooden chair, hands resting neatly on his knees, eyes following the pointer's movement.
"Regulus," Walburga said sharply. "Repeat what I just said."
"From 1578 to 1623, the Black family intermarried with the Rosier family four times and the Fawley family three times," Regulus replied smoothly. "Interspersed with alliances to the Crouch and Travers families, forming a stable structure."
Walburga nodded in satisfaction, then turned to Sirius. "And you?"
Sirius squirmed in his chair. "Who can remember all that? They're all dead people!"
"They are your ancestors!"
"Dead is dead," Sirius muttered.
Walburga's face darkened, anger rising, but Regulus spoke before she could explode.
"Mother, I have a question."
"Speak."
"Why is it that after the fourteenth century, we only married within the Pure-blood families?" Regulus pointed to an earlier section of the tapestry. "Here, from the twelfth to the fourteenth centuries, the Blacks married into the Prewett, Macmillan, and even the Bones families. Then it stops."
Walburga stiffened. "Because those families fell."
"How did they fall?"
"They began accepting Muggle-borns. Some even married Muggles," Walburga said, her voice turning sharp. "Their blood was polluted. The Blacks must remain pure. That is our responsibility."
"But the Prewetts are still on the list of recognized families," Regulus said calmly.
"That list is a compromise!" Walburga snapped, striking the tapestry with her pointer. A few portraits flinched. "A foolish Ministry invention. True Pure-blood families are fewer and fewer. We are the last beacon in a tainted world."
Narrow-minded, Regulus thought, but understandable.
In a world where magic was hereditary, blood did matter. But reducing everything to blood alone was far too simple.
He glanced at Sirius and knew his brother would never accept this line of thinking. That was probably for the best.
A sudden thought surfaced.
Maybe Sirius leaving the House of Black would be better for him.
The idea startled Regulus, but the logic held.
The Blacks would eventually align with Voldemort. Everyone except Sirius and Andromeda.
If Sirius was destined to rebel, leaving early and joining the other side sooner might give him a better chance of surviving the war to come.
As for Regulus Black, this identity was bound for darkness.
He needed the Black family's resources. He needed a Pure-blood name. He needed proximity to the Death Eaters' inner circle to learn what they knew.
He and Sirius were walking two paths that would inevitably oppose each other.
Wednesday's lesson was blood supremacy.
"Muggles are incomplete beings," Walburga said, pacing the study, a sign she was worked up. "They have no magic. Like birds without wings. Fish without gills. Failures of evolution."
Sirius raised his hand. Regulus had taught him that much. Raise your hand when you want to argue, so it doesn't sound like defiance.
"Yes?"
"But Muggles build airplanes," Sirius said. "Planes can fly. They don't need wings."
Walburga gave a cold laugh. "Crude imitations. Metal and fuel, loud and polluting. Wizarding brooms are elegant, quiet, clean."
"But planes can fly higher, faster, and carry more people," Regulus added calmly.
Silence fell.
Walburga stared at her younger son. "Are you defending Muggles?"
"I'm stating facts," Regulus said. "Mother, if we're truly superior, we should surpass them in every way.
If the only comfort we have is that magic looks more elegant, while they outpace us in speed, capacity, and altitude, then who is actually superior?"
Sirius sucked in a breath, bracing for the explosion.
It didn't come.
Walburga stood there, lips moving, no words forming.
"Maybe the issue isn't superiority," Regulus continued, "but what we choose to develop. Muggles advance technology. We advance magic. But if we cling only to tradition while their technology keeps improving, one day the gap will be impossible to ignore."
"The Ministry has the Statute of Secrecy," Walburga said, her voice weaker now.
"The Statute depends on Muggles being unable to discover us," Regulus replied. "What if one day their technology can detect magic?
What if they invent machines that can see through a Disillusionment Charm? What if, while we argue about blood purity, they figure out how to break Muggle-repelling charms?"
Walburga was quiet for a long time.
"Enough for today," she said at last, and left in a hurry.
Sirius leaned close and whispered, "You scared her."
"Maybe," Regulus said, hopping down from the chair. "But someone has to tell the truth."
"Why are you helping Muggles?" Sirius asked, curious.
"I'm not," Regulus said, looking at him. "I just hate lies. If we're really strong, we don't need to prove it by putting others down."
Sirius nodded, not fully understanding, but thinking about it.
---
At dinner, Walburga brought up the latest gossip.
"The Nott family's daughter wants to marry a Mudblood," she said sharply. "Mr. Nott locked her in the tower in a rage. They say she'll be sent to a convent in France and kept there for life."
Sirius stopped cutting his steak.
"Why?" he asked. "She likes him, doesn't she?"
"Likes him?" Walburga scoffed. "What does liking someone get you? Can it feed you? Can it keep bloodlines pure? She's been led astray!"
"But if two people like each other—"
"Enough!" Walburga's voice rose. "Sirius, how many times have I warned you? Don't let that filthy Muggle way of thinking rot your mind. A Black has responsibilities!"
"Responsibilities mean imprisoning your own daughter?" Sirius shot to his feet, chair scraping loudly. "Responsibilities mean tearing apart people who love each other?"
"She doesn't love him! She's just—"
"How do you know?" Sirius shouted back. "You're not her! You don't even know him!"
Orion set down his utensils. "Sirius. Sit down."
"I won't!" Sirius's eyes were red. "This isn't fair! Why can't we choose who we like? Why do we have to marry someone from some list? I don't even know those people! What if I don't like any of them?"
Walburga stood as well, her wand sliding into her hand. "Say that again."
Regulus watched the scene unfold, exhausted.
Sirius's rebellion was on full display. He didn't even truly understand what love was yet, but he instinctively opposed this kind of cruelty.
Their mother, meanwhile, only knew how to press harder, forcing her Pure-blood ideals onto him.
"Mother," Regulus said calmly. "What Sirius means is that affection matters when choosing a partner. But from the perspective of family continuity, blood stability is also important. Maybe the two can be balanced. For example, choosing someone you like within the acceptable families."
Walburga paused, her anger easing slightly. "Well… of course. Within appropriate limits, feelings are preferable."
Sirius stared at Regulus, hurt in his eyes. "So you're on their side too? You think blood matters more than liking someone?"
"I'm talking about reality," Regulus said, meeting his gaze. "The reality is that the House of Black won't accept Muggle-borns. Anyone who resists will be disowned. You have to choose. Follow the rules, or leave."
Sirius understood.
He looked at Regulus, then at their parents, and suddenly laughed.
He turned and walked out of the dining room. No shouting. No slammed doors. Just quiet footsteps fading away.
Orion said nothing. He only looked at Regulus, his expression complicated.
Dinner continued in silence.