The steam twisted around him, winding into shimmering emerald spirals. It rose out of the bath in the form of hazy, misty manticores and hippogriffs, dragons and sea serpents, a snarling chimaera that charged into the tiled wall and burst into a thousand pearlescent curls.
Regulus tilted his head back to watch the steam drift upwards and bounce against the ceiling. The bathwater lapped against his chin, warm and soothing and smelling of home.
If he stayed there long enough they might forget about him. If he stayed there until the bubbles dissolved and the water turned cold and his skin puckered and wrinkled and the Hogwarts Express came and went without him, they might all forget he had ever been there at all.
He took a deep breath and slid down the slippery tub, submerging himself fully beneath the water.
His hair was seaweed, drifting in the water and tickling his face. His limbs were oddly weightless as they floated, just like in those photographs of space-muggles Sirius had stolen from Merlin-knew-where.
It was pleasant under the water. Mother's shouts and Sirius's stomping weren't fully silenced, but they sounded more distant. Regulus could imagine that they were happening somewhere else, someplace where he wouldn't have to contend with their sulky moods afterwards.
He slipped lower. His foot, sliding along the bottom of the tub, knocked against the bath plug.
When they'd been younger, before Sirius had gone to Hogwarts and found himself new friends to torment, back when it had just been the two of them, Sirius-and-Regulus, so close in age and so alike in appearance that they could have been twins, back then, Sirius had told him that all plug holes led to different universes. To terrifying underworlds and fantastical realms.
This plug hole, Sirius had said, the one in their shared bathroom on the top floor, left to a dark and gloomy cavern filled with the souls of the dead.
It had been humiliating, the way Regulus had cried all night long afterwards. His heart had stopped in terror every time he closed his eyes, while visions of the dead, stretching towards him, reaching out for him, danced across his eyelids. He hadn't slept for a fortnight and hadn't bathed for even longer. Sirius had been punished with a month of dinners in isolation which, in hindsight, probably hadn't seemed like that much of a punishment to the boy who'd detested family dinners, even at the age of seven.
Sirius rarely told Regulus stories these days. His tales and his imagination were reserved for his new friends, his Hogwarts friends, his Gryffindor friends.
Regulus wondered whether he would make friends, in Slytherin, who could tell stories as vividly as Sirius did. He doubted it. He thought he would be lucky if he managed to make any friends at all.
Suddenly, as in those nightmares of the plug hole and the cavern and the dead, a bony, long-fingered hand tightened around Regulus's shoulder. He forgot he was underwater and opened his mouth to scream, choking as the bathwater rushed in. The hand jerked him upright and he came up retching, spluttering, gasping for air.
He gripped the edge of the copper bathtub and tried to regain his breath. His sopping hair dripped down into his face and he blinked furiously, his eyes stinging, as he pushed it away. And as he wiped the soapy water from his eyes and his mouth the blurry image of his house-elf, standing on a stool beside the tub, came into focus.
Kreacher did not look pleased.
"Master Regulus is too old to be playing merpeople in the bath. Master Regulus will be going to school in September."
"I wasn't playing merpeople," he protested. "I was just... resting."
"Master Regulus does not have time for resting."
He glanced about the bathroom for a clock that he knew did not exist. "What time is it?"
"Time Master Regulus ought to be ready," Kreacher said sternly. "Out now, Master Regulus."
He stood shivering as the cool air whispered across his damp skin, the water sluicing down his legs, and stepped into the fluffy bathrobe that Kreacher had levitated over to him. He tied it tightly around his waist and shuffled towards the small fireplace on the other side of the bathroom.
"Kreacher has laid out Master Regulus's new robes," Kreacher said as he steered Regulus away from the fire and towards the bathroom door. "Master Regulus must hurry."
Regulus scampered into his bedroom and dressed quickly, taking the briefest of moments to run his hands over the smooth silk lapels of his new robes and admire the dainty embroidery at the cuffs and collar, and, when the mirror on his dressing table had deemed his appearance 'Acceptable', he hurried downstairs.
Sirius was, by some miracle, already in the drawing-room; Regulus must have taken even longer than he'd realised in the bath. He went to stand next to his brother and cleared his throat.
Sirius, who was bouncing up and down on his toes and making his shoes squeak while he fiddled with his buttons, ignored him.
Regulus sighed. "Stop it," he whispered, glancing sideways at Sirius.
"Stop what?"
"Fidgeting."
Sirius tugged at his collar as he protested, "I'm not!"
But he was. He always fidgeted and always complained whenever they were told to wear dress robes, even though they weren't proper dress robes, just silly little juvenile ones with silly little juvenile capes and the collars weren't even that stiff anyway. Kreacher had barely put any starch in them at all.
Regulus sighed again. He'd never understood his brother's aversion to dressing appropriately.
"You are fidgeting," he insisted in a hiss, "I can see you. Stop it, before Mother—"
"Before Mother what?"
The two brothers jumped at the sound of her voice. In their alarm, they both pushed their shoulders back and stood up straighter. Neither of them dared to turn around to face their mother.
Regulus tried to swallow his heart, which had lodged itself somewhere in his throat upon his mother's sudden appearance. And while he could neither see nor hear her - Walburga had always had the terrifying ability to slink around the house, as silent as a serpent, appearing where he least expected her to - he could smell the rich, musky scent of her perfume and knew she was drawing closer.
And then he saw, out of the corner of his eye, her pale hands alight on his brother's shoulders and her golden, jewel-bedecked rings sparkle in the candlelight - for the curtains were closed, even though it was the height of summer. The curtains were always closed in the drawing-room to preserve the family tapestry, that most precious of heirlooms.
Regulus stood very still. His mother often considered movement a sign of weakness and he did not need to give her any more reason to consider him weak.
"Did you wash your faces and comb your hair, boys?"
"Yes, Mother," they intoned.
Regulus resisted the urge to lift a hand to his hair, to make sure it still lay as neat and tidy as it had when he had triple-checked it in each and every mirror that he'd passed on his way downstairs. There was another mirror, above the fireplace; perhaps, if he could subtly lift himself up an inch or two, stand on his tiptoes and stretch his neck, he might be able to—
"I do hope you are not lying to me."
He knew she was speaking to Sirius (always to Sirius) because he had never lied to her - would never, could never - but he couldn't help the way his stomach still twisted with nerves. He tried to wipe his clammy hands on his robes without her noticing.
"No, Mother," Sirius said, his voice teetering at the edge of defiance.
Regulus risked a glance at him. His hair might just pass for 'combed' beneath the eye of someone who wasn't as critical as their mother, but—
The grandfather clock in the far corner of the room struck seven, rescuing them all. Regulus clasped his hands together and stood straighter, fixing his gaze straight ahead at the fireplace.
On the second booming chime, the boys' father strode into the drawing-room and came to stand behind his youngest son.
"All is well?" he asked.
"Of course it is," Walburga replied, in a voice that suggested her displeasure that he could have ever asked such a thing.
As the clock chimed for a third time the fireplace erupted into vivid green flames. Regulus flinched at the brightness and took a step backwards, drawing a hand up to shield his eyes; he was steadied by his father and firmly pushed back into position before his mother could do more than tut her disapproval.
On the fourth chime, Regulus's paternal grandparents appeared in the midst of the green flames, and by the clock's seventh and final chime they had stepped out of the hearth, foisted their cloaks onto Kreacher, and were greeting their son and daughter-in-law over their grandsons' heads.
Regulus glanced sideways at Sirius again. Sirius rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue, but quickly schooled his expression as Arcturus and Melania turned their attention to their only grandchildren.
He felt someone - his mother, he assumed, by the ferocity of the jab - prod him in the back.
"Say hello to your grandparents," she ordered, her voice a low hiss.
"Hello, Grandfather. Hello, Granny," the boys said together. Regulus gave his grandparents one of the (hopefully) charming smiles he had been practising in the mirror in an effort to make up for Sirius's impertinence.
Arcturus Black was the oldest and most senior wizard of the family, and thus automatically inspired terror in Regulus. He was technically still the Head of the Family, too, although he had bequeathed the daily mundanities of that role onto his son when he had retired to the family's country estate in Buckinghamshire. He gave his grandsons a cursory glance and a sharp nod of acknowledgement before he stepped aside to inspect the room for any signs of change.
It must be odd, Regulus mused, to have been born somewhere and grown up there and spent almost your entire adult life there, and to then return to it as an old man while it was now occupied by your son and his sons.
His heart took another leap into his throat. A dizzy feeling swept over him as he realised that the exact same thing would happen to him, one day. One day he would grow up and move away from Grimmauld Place into his own home. One day Sirius would be promoted from the status of Heir, would succeed to that of Head of the Family, Head of the House, and Regulus would be nothing more than a visitor.
An intruder.
He turned his head sharply to the side and stared at the magnificent family tapestry. Sirius thought it was stupid (Sirius thought everything was stupid). Sirius had once even kicked it, a blatant and horrifying display of disrespect that had kept Regulus up all night worrying, terrified that his brother's desecration of such an ancient, delicate, living monument to their family history would invoke some terrible curse that would rain down upon their heads while they slept.
It hadn't (not yet), but Regulus still couldn't beat back the ice-cold, dementor-like hand of dread that squeezed his soul at the thought of what his brother might do to the tapestry once he was its rightful guardian. Once no one could stop him from doing otherwise.
"Oh, Sirius," Granny Melania said indulgently, wrenching Regulus's attention away from the future, "was an entire year at Hogwarts truly not long enough to teach you how to tie a tie?"
"Apparently not," he said, quite cheekily, in Regulus's opinion.
"What did you say?" Walburga strode back over to them - she had been inspecting something in the Slytherin Cabinet on the opposite side of the room with Orion and Arcturus - and gripped Sirius by the chin, turning him to face her, despite his noisy protests. "What is— did you not just tell me you had combed your hair?"
"I did comb—"
She pushed him back a step or two, her brow furrowed as she looked him up and down. "What is this pathetic excuse for a tie? Why is your shirt creased? Is that dirt?"
"It's not my fault," Sirius protested.
"Your improper attire most certainly is your fault."
"Well, if Regulus hadn't—"
"I haven't done anything!" Regulus squawked, terrified that their mother would redirect her wrath towards him.
"You did!" said Sirius. "You made Kreacher polish your stupid shoes about seven times over, so I couldn't—"
"Well, maybe you shouldn't have left everything until the last minute like you always do!"
"I didn't!"
"Enough!" Walburga snapped, pressing her fingers to her temple. "I have had enough of your attitude this summer, Sirius."
"But I haven't even—"
"Alright, it's alright," Melania said in a soothing voice, stepping between them to intervene before the argument could escalate. Regulus stood to the side, head bowed, feeling sheepish. "Walburga, dear, is the table ready? Perhaps we should all proceed to the dining room."
Walburga turned to her, her face tight with displeasure, and Regulus thought for a terrible moment that she was about to start shouting at Melania, of all people, her mother-in-law, until she acquiesced, raised her arm, and said, stiffly, "After you."
Sirius brushed past them and marched out of the room with his head held high. Regulus followed at a more sedate pace, but allowed himself a small smile as his grandmother linked their arms and patted him gently.
"You mustn't let him rile you, sweet pea," she said.
"I know."
That was something far easier said than done. Sirius was just so incessantly annoying - and more so than ever since he had come home from Hogwarts for the summer holidays.
"Your father and his sister were much the same when they were your age," said Melania. "Always arguing about this and that and just about anything they could think of."
Regulus glanced over his shoulder at his father who, with his head bowed and lips pursed as Walburga whispered angrily to him, was still standing in the drawing-room doorway. It was strange to think of him - of either of his parents, really - being eleven years old. It must have been a very long time ago. He wondered whether his father had felt as nervous as he currently felt at the prospect of leaving home for the first time, of going away to a strange, big school filled with so many strange, big people.
He looked back at his grandmother and thought he would rather not know the answer.
As soon as they were all settled at the dining table - with Arcturus and Orion taking the heads and the others between them, Sirius sulkily slumped beside his mother and Regulus next to his grandmother - gilt goblets shuffled into position at their place settings. Regulus watched warily as a gleaming crystal carafe drifted towards him and poured a small measure of dark red wine into his goblet. A water jug quickly followed, hopping over to dilute the wine, and once it had retreated the goblet stirred and shook itself to mix Regulus's drink for him. He looked across the table and had to raise his hand to his mouth to conceal a giggle as Sirius's attempts to impede his own water jug were thwarted by their mother rapping the back of his hand with her soup spoon.
"Mother, are you well?"
Five dark-haired heads turned towards the only fair one in the room. Melania set her goblet back down on the table; Regulus could see that her hand was trembling, and felt his throat tighten.
"Quite well, thank you, Orion," said Melania.
She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and then reached for her goblet again, this time using her left hand to support her right wrist. Regulus glanced at his father; he was watching her dubiously but made no further comment.
After Kreacher appeared in the doorway to introduce the soup course - cullen skink, to Sirius's obvious displeasure - the family lapsed into companionable silence. The only sounds to be heard in the room were silver spoons clinking against porcelain dishes and the odd sigh from Sirius.
Regulus was just thinking how pleased he was to have managed to finish the entire bowl without spilling either a drop of soup or a crumb of bread anywhere on the table or himself, when his father cleared his throat.
"Have you enquired about employing a Healer?" he asked Arcturus, as their soup dishes stacked themselves up and vanished to the kitchen.
Arcturus frowned and cupped his ear. "What did you say?"
"A Healer," Orion repeated. "For Mother."
Arcturus narrowed his eyes and leant back in his seat. Regulus imagined that he could see his grandfather's eyebrows bristling, like two hairy black caterpillars marching to war.
"Are you trying to suggest that I am neglecting to take care of my own wife, boy?"
Melania attempted an intervention. "Archie—"
"No, Father. What I am suggesting is that Mother has clearly deteriorated since the beginning of the summer and that perhaps she might benefit from having a specialist Healer, at home, to help with whatever it is that she needs."
Regulus looked at his grandmother. She had been terribly ill a few years ago with a severe case of Salamander Fever, but she couldn't have caught it again or she wouldn't be sitting here beside him. It was terribly contagious. And he couldn't see anything that would suggest a deterioration - although he wasn't entirely sure what that even meant - but he supposed that her hands must have been shaking again because the bright white tablecloth around her place setting was marred with cream-coloured soup splashes. With wide eyes, he glanced up at her; she winked at him and waved her hand, instantly vanishing the stains.
"I appreciate your concern, Orion, but I have no need of a Healer," she said calmly, clasping her trembling hands together at the edge of the table. "I am not decrepit yet."
Across the table, Walburga sighed heavily and drained the last of her wine. Sirius eyed the carafe hopefully as it drifted down to refill her goblet, but it ignored him and moved back to the other end of the table.
"I'm not saying you're decrepit," Orion began, "I am simply—"
"You are simply making a fuss over nothing," said Melania. "I shall continue to take my daily tincture as I have been instructed by Healer Knotwell, and that is the end of that."
Regulus felt a shiver run down his spine. The name of Healer Knotwell - the family Healer, the horrid witch who, since his birth, had prodded and poked him and treated him for what felt like every disease in all the known and unknown worlds - always seemed to induce in him an involuntary tightening in his chest, a stiffening of his limbs, the throbbing of a headache behind his temples.
Orion stared at Melania for what felt like an age. She didn't seem bothered, however, and merely spoke quietly with Regulus about his Aunt Lucretia's latest escapades. Lucretia, Regulus's father's sister, had recently decided that she simply must purchase a flying carpet, and was apparently in heavy negotiations with a rugmaker in Iran about the possibility of commissioning one large enough to fit her, her husband, and their seventeen dogs.
The main course - beef wellington, Arcturus's favourite - was served and passed relatively peaceably, until Arcturus set down his fork and said, in his deep booming voice, "Now, what about this war business?"
Regulus shrunk down in his seat. Sirius, on the other side of the table, sat up straighter.
"Do you think that is a suitable topic of conversation for the dinner table, Archie?" Melania asked mildly.
He ignored her. "Abraxas is being far too coy about the whole thing, if you ask me. Have you heard anything from your brother, Walburga? He always seems to manage to disappear at the slightest whiff of trouble."
"No," she said curtly.
Sirius was glancing between their grandfather and their mother, watching as intently as if they were playing Quidditch. Regulus caught his eye; Sirius raised his eyebrows and continued to shovel forkfuls of garlic potatoes down his throat while he watched the conversation.
"Pity," said Arcturus. "What about the other one? He runs in Malfoy's circle, usually has some decent insights as to—"
"Archie."
"What?" he snapped at his wife.
"If you don't mind, I would rather we didn't discuss politics over dinner." She glared at him until he subsided, muttering something about 'men's talk'. "Now, boys," she said, glancing at her grandsons in turn, "are you looking forward to September?"
With some effort, Regulus swallowed his carrot and placed his cutlery down carefully. But before he could think about whether it would be more appropriate to lie to his grandmother or to confess to her, in front of the rest of the family, that he was terribly nervous and confused and downright scared about the prospect of leaving home for the first time, of travelling so far away - to Scotland - of living somewhere entirely new with a group of strangers, of potentially sharing a room with mudbloods, blood traitors, and worse, Sirius cut in and started bleating on about his stupid friends.
Regulus fiddled with the stem of his goblet and frowned. All Sirius had done since he'd returned home from Hogwarts was talk about those idiots. Whenever Regulus had asked him if he wanted to go to the museum, or to see the thestrals at Aunt Cassiopeia's, or to play Quidditch, or to visit any of their various family members - all things that Regulus hadn't been able to do all year while Sirius had been at Hogwarts, since his parents still didn't think him capable of doing such things on his own, without his big brother - Sirius would say "maybe later" or "not now, Reg" or "I just need to finish writing this letter to James, Reg."
Well, he thought, scowling, sod James.
James would have to be the one to get used to being pushed aside when they returned to Hogwarts in September, when Sirius would finally have his brother by his side again. James would have to be the one to sit alone like a sad, lonely ghoul whenever Sirius said "maybe later" or "not now, James" or "I would much rather give Regulus a tour of the castle and show him my favourite secret passage and ask the elves in the kitchens for a picnic to take to the Lake, James."
"—and this summer's been so boring," Sirius said, quite dramatically.
"I'm sure it hasn't been all that bad, dear."
Regulus huffed. Sirius didn't deserve diplomacy from their grandmother - or anyone else, for that matter - when he was in such a wretched mood.
"No, you're right. It's been awful," Sirius said. "I can't wait to go back. James is going to try out for the Quidditch team this year, he said his father bought him the new Comet at the start of hols—"
"Holidays," Walburga corrected him, in a bored voice.
"—not that he needs it," Sirius continued, "he's a brilliant flyer even on the ratty old school brooms. He's definitely going to be Gryffindor's star Chaser and win us the Cup!"
An impenetrable cloud of awkwardness descended on the table at the mention of the word 'Gryffindor'. Their father had stiffened, his goblet stilled against his lips, while their mother cut through her beef with an unnecessary level of aggression.
Regulus sniffed. He twisted his napkin in his fingers, his toes twitching. "Comets are stupid," he muttered to his half-finished plate.
"What did you just say?" Sirius snapped at him.
"Nothing."
"You said Comets are stupid!"
"No, I didn't!"
"Well, what would you know, anyway," Sirius said viciously. He was clenching his cutlery so tightly in his fists that his knuckles had turned white. "You're so stupid you can't even tell a Cleansweep from a mop!"
"Sirius!" their mother snapped. She seized Sirius's shoulder - he had half-risen from his seat and looked about ready to launch himself across the table at Regulus - and forced him back down. "Apologise to your brother."
"What? Me? He started it - he said Comets are stupid! Make him apologise!"
"A Comet is a broomstick. Your brother is not. Apologise at once."
"I wish he was a broomstick," Sirius muttered.
"Sirius," said their father, an unspoken warning in his voice.
"Fine!" Sirius shouted. He was breathing heavily, glaring at each person around the table in turn, but saving his fiercest for Regulus. "Sorry you don't know anything about brooms, Regulus."
"Go to your room," Orion ordered.
"What? I said I was sorry, didn't I?"
"Go to your room!"
Sirius stood with a jerk and knocked his chair to the floor. He flung his napkin down on the table, gave them all another hideous scowl for good measure, and stormed out of the room. Everyone was silent. Regulus sat very still and watched his parents' fury slowly dissipate as the sound of Sirius's stomping footsteps faded away.
"Well," Arcturus said, at last, leaning back in his chair as he finally finished his dinner, "I did suggest that you ought to send the boy to Durmstrang."
"And if anyone in this family had thought to listen to me, he would be there as we speak," said Walburga.
"He's a high-spirited young wizard, I'm sure he will soon grow out of these little displays," Melania said placatingly. "Besides, Durmstrang is so far away!"
"Beauxbatons, then," countered Arcturus, with a wave of his goblet. "Anywhere but Hogwarts. That school is getting worse and worse by the year. You'd better have your wits about you come September, boy!" he barked at Regulus.
Regulus nodded, his eyes wide, as he shrunk back in his chair.
"Regulus will be fine," said Orion.
"You said the same thing about Sirius, and look what happened there!" Walburga hissed, her lip curling.
"I still believe that Hogwarts will be the best place for both of them."
"With that muggle-lover in charge?" Arcturus scoffed.
"Yes," Orion said firmly. "Despite his... proclivities, Dumbledore certainly knows how to attract an excellent teaching staff. Horace assures me that the curriculum remains unparalleled."
"You both did very well under Horace," Melania said, nodding to her son and daughter-in-law. Walburga rolled her eyes.
"And Hogwarts' facilities are exceptional," Orion continued. "But most importantly, I refuse to allow any member of this family to travel to the continent and be educated by Europeans."
Arcturus made a throaty sort of grumble, but Regulus was watching his mother. Her family - on her mother's side, of course - were European. German, specifically. She looked as though she was literally biting her tongue.
"Well, now that we've settled that matter," said Melania bracingly, "I suppose you will be wanting a glass of port to wash down your meal, Archie?"
His demeanour changed in an instant as he rose from his chair and beckoned Orion to join him. "Let us retire to the study," he said. "I want to see how you're getting on with the accounts. Have you settled that business with the Longbottoms? Callidora has written to me every single day since March. That incessant witch and her hideous owls - I've half a mind to remove her inheritance entirely."
His voice trailed off, his mutterings and grumblings dissipating into nothing as he and Orion trekked across the landing to the family library, and Orion's adjoining study.
"Your grandfather does like to exaggerate," Melania said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Callidora's owls have barely come once a week."
"I shall retire," Walburga said abruptly. "I have a headache. Be good, Regulus."
"Yes, Mother," he said dutifully, though he thought that it was quite unnecessary for her to order him to do such a thing. He was always good.
As Walburga left the dining table, Kreacher apparated into the room to observe the tidying up of the dirty dishes and to make sure they cleared themselves away properly. Regulus grinned at his dear friend and, in a quiet voice, thanked him for the meal.
"You are a sweet boy," Melania said. Regulus smiled at her, his heart swelling as she leant over to kiss his forehead. "Will you indulge your poor old granny in a turn about the garden?"
"Yes, of course," he said, leaping to his feet to help her out of her chair. "Haggarty came by last week. He let me help him strengthen the charms on the lights."
"On the garden path?"
Regulus nodded. "They'd started floating away whenever there was a breeze so Sirius and I had to keep rushing up on our brooms to catch them. It was quite fun, actually," he added, "although I suppose it's good that they've been fixed, really. Mother and Father wouldn't have wanted to carry on doing that once we— once we're at Hogwarts. They hate flying."
Melania hummed in agreement. Regulus took her arm and helped her down the back steps that led into the garden. He was horribly aware, at this proximity, of how frail she seemed these days. He could feel every brittle bone in her arm through her pale, paper-thin skin.
"I hear you're getting rather good at flying."
He felt his cheeks burn and ducked his head. "I wouldn't say good."
"Will you be trying out for the house team?"
Regulus glanced at her. He noticed how she had quite specifically said the 'house' team, not the 'Slytherin' team. He looked away again, his stomach lurching. He couldn't dare to think such a thing - not after Sirius, not after Gryffindor - and besides, he didn't want to be in a different house. Blacks Sorted into Slytherin and he was a Black so to Slytherin he would go.
"First years aren't allowed to play Quidditch," he said, kicking at a loose stone.
"Perhaps they will make an exception for you. Your great-great-grandfather was once Headmaster, after all."
Regulus shrugged. "I don't know. Father told me that Professor Slughorn told him that Slytherin have an excellent Seeker at the moment. A fifth year. They've won the Quidditch Cup three years in a row."
"Perhaps you could try out for another position? I'm sure your father or grandfather could get you onto the team, if they petitioned the school."
"Maybe. I don't know. Seeker is the position I like best." He sniffed and scratched the side of his nose. "Uncle Alphard says I suit a Seeker because I'm small."
Melania hummed again. She paused halfway along the path and reached her hand out towards a glowing sphere of yellow light. There were many of them here, bobbing along the edge of the path at about shoulder height, gently floating upwards and downwards like sea-birds on a wave.
"Are these the lights you helped Haggarty with?"
Regulus nodded.
"I didn't realise you'd received your wand so soon," she said, while gently coaxing a ball of light into her palm. "Sirius didn't get his until the week before he left - although perhaps that was a blessing, considering how much he liked to show off with it."
"No..." he said slowly. He looked down at the path, twisting his foot into the grey stones that marked the way. He shouldn't have said anything about the stupid lights. Him and his stupid big mouth - now he was going to get Haggarty into trouble, and it was all his fault.
"You did it wandlessly?" Melania asked, the surprise plain in her voice.
"No... I... Haggarty let me use his," Regulus whispered. He glanced over his shoulder, half-convinced that his mother had somehow heard him and would march out of the house to berate him at any moment.
"That was very kind of him." Regulus looked up at his grandmother, surprised by her response. "Wizards don't often like to lend their wands to others," she said gently.
"He is kind," Regulus agreed. "For a half-blood," he added, glancing over his shoulder again.
"Kindness isn't related to one's blood status, Regulus. People from all walks of life can be kind. And we, in turn, must be kind to them all."
"I know."
He supposed the half-blood with the beads in her hair who worked at the sweetshop was quite kind, too. She had given him an extra liquorice wand on his birthday.
"Well, let us sit down for a moment, shall we?" Melania said, releasing the sphere of light again. "My legs are getting tired and there's something I wish to give to you."
"A present?" Regulus asked eagerly. He walked her down the left-hand path that led to a covered wooden bench, the canopy of which was entwined with yellow and peach-coloured everblooming roses.
"Yes, a present," she said, her chuckle turning into a throaty cough.
Regulus sat down beside his grandmother and waited for her coughing fit to subside. She patted his knee, tucked her handkerchief back up her sleeve, and produced a small, mustard-coloured box from an inner pocket of her robes. He took it from her trembling hand - feeling his own hands quiver in anticipation - and carefully lifted the lid. Inside, lying on a bed of dark grey silk, was a tiny golden horseshoe.
"Oh," he breathed.
He lifted the horseshoe charm up and out of the box by its delicate chain, and held it up to get a better look at it. It seemed to shimmer and twinkle in the late evening sunlight, and Regulus saw that it was engraved on one side with a series of strange, rune-like symbols - three on each arm of the horseshoe, and one on the curve at the bottom.
"It is an amulet, of sorts," Melania explained. "I hope that it will bring you luck and keep you safe while you're at school, so far away from us."
He blinked as he felt his stupid eyes grow stupidly wet. "Thank you, Granny," he said quietly.
"That's quite alright, sweet pea," she said. "We're all going to miss you very much."
Regulus wasn't so sure about that, but he allowed her to pull him closer for a hug anyway. He tilted his head to the side so he could continue to gaze at the glimmering horseshoe - his glimmering horseshoe. He wasn't sure if he had ever been given anything so beautiful before, so delicate and charming and—
"Did Sirius get one?" he asked suddenly. "A— an amulet?"
Melania chuckled and ruffled his hair. "Yes, I gave a similar one to Sirius last year."
Regulus huffed and angled himself away from her. She pulled him back, an arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, and kissed the top of his head. He acquiesced; he supposed it was acceptable for her to want Sirius to be safe, too.