Nearly four weeks later, Freya Grey was back at the Black house. Not at as a dinner party guest, but as Regulus's friend. It seemed rather odd to both of them for her to come yet again, despite the fact that they really were close friends. Regulus preferred keeping both halves of his life apart from one another, while Freya had never been to a friend's house before.
"Did you draw all these?" Her onyx eyes scanned over the pictures all over his walls. Charcoal figures marked up the walls next to Slytherin memorabilia.
A small, contained smile came onto his face, but there was some sadness in it. "It's important to have a hobby."
"They're beautiful." She marveled at one of the Hogwarts towers.
Freya could follow any potions recipe she found and conjure whatever charms she wanted, but she was most definitely not an artist. Painting, drawing, and the horrific sculpting were far out of her expertise and patience. Nonetheless, she never tired of seeing Reg's work. Even when he was first starting out and his dragons looked more like bloated lizards vomiting water, she found it fascinating.
Then she noticed, something was different from these pieces. A certain tame and precision, that made her curious about the work he did in the common room. "Did you ever finish that drawing of grindylows?"
Silently, Regulus went to the bottom of one of his drawers and pulled out a sketchbook. He moved in an odd manner to hold back his excitement to a smaller degree. He sat on the bed, one leg bent to the side and the other dangling off the edge, and Freya followed in suit.
Flipping through the pages, he landed on the one she was referring to.
Gauging her reaction, he gently flipped the page to the next one.
"I'll never know how you do it." She murmured.
"You could do it, too, if you so desired." He reminded her teasingly, letting her go through the pages. "Of course, you'd have to deal with the charcoal smudges."
"And risk my blouse?" She shook her head. "I'd rather perish."
After a few minutes, she felt Regs turn ridged and carefully close the sketchbook. Her eyes moved to the doorway and saw Walburga Black standing there with her carved smile.
"Hello, mother." A tone appeared in Reg's voice that made it seem like he was a different person.
"Hello, dear." Walburga smiled as warmly as it seemed possible for someone of her stature. Then her hawk-like grey eyes slid over to the girl next to him. "Freya, you should stay for supper... if that's okay with your mother, of course."
Freya met her gaze smoothly. "I appreciate your hospitality, but..." She saw Regs tense slightly however, he remained very passive. Then she understood she wasn't being asked; she was being told, and it irritated her. But still, she kept Regs in mind as she continued. "It'd be my pleasure to join you."
Approvingly, Walburga nodded. "Kreacher will let you know when supper is ready."
Then she disappeared from the doorway, and Reg's shoulders unknotted. This sat poorly in Freya's stomach, but she reminded herself things were different in this house.
Regs cleared his throat and began tucking his sketchbook away. "Perhaps we should continue with the tour of the house."
As Regulus listed off the rooms of the house, which seemed endless, Freya looked like she was expecting a test after it. How could one family need so many rooms? And have names for all of them? Additionally, she was rather disappointed in their literary section, a few books, mostly non-fiction and all pure-blood authors.
Soon they settled back into the living room with a chessboard between the two of them. Regulus was cunning, but Freya knew strategy much better than him.
After a moment, Regulus excused himself to the restroom.
Gently, Freya rested her head on her palm as she stared at the board. After a second, she heard a soft melody playing through one of the walls. It was muffled.
Sitting up straighter, she strained her ears to follow the sound and knew it was from the music room. Watching to make sure Mrs. Black wouldn't make another round, Freya stood up and followed the noise.
Carefully, she crept through the halls until she found the piano from which the sound was coming. Skilled hands moved across the keys, it wasn't classical, but it was too jazzy either. Suddenly, the music stopped.
"Staring is creepy, Freya." Sirius Black noted, not even looking up from his piano.
"What was that?" Freya asked.
"That was music, Freya. It's what people listen to for fun. You might not be familiar with that concept." He replied sarcastically, turning to her. She remained unamused and unsatisfied. He turned back around. "I made it up."
"It's lovely." She complimented with a frown.
"Glad it has your seal of approval." Sirius's eyes combed over her as she approached the piano. "Did you really like it?"
"No, I'm simply wanted to feed your already gigantic ego."
"Well, you've done so quite successfully." Slowly, Sirius started to play again, and Freya focused on the movements of his fingers. He never quite received this much attention for his piano work, his parents hated it, and he's never had the opportunity to do it at school. A slight nervousness came to him, and he cleared his throat. "So, I trust you've enjoyed your time here. Prissy parties and fancy curtains."
"Good curtains have never harmed anyone." Freya defended.
This made the corner of Sirius's lips turn up slightly, but soon they flattened down into a frown at the sharp voice that pierced the air.
"Supper's ready," Walburga announced, eyes dark with distaste as she stared at both her son and Freya.
Freya straightened out and lost all connection she had to the piano. "Yes, Ma'am." With a gentle nod of her head, she regarded Sirius then walked out of the room. Walburga let her squeeze past, her attention fully on her eldest.
"Come on, son." She spoke, and Sirius wanted to vomit.
***
"An attack at the square." Orion read off the Daily Prophet, his eyes combing over the newspaper. "Six dead."
Walburga's gaze flicked over to it and didn't seem displeased once she saw their targets. "It's been a long time coming." Taking a spoon full of soup, she set it down. "Glad someone's doing something about it."
Everyone under the age of eighteen tensed.
"People are dead, and you're happy?" Sirius couldn't hold back his shock or his temper. "Have you no value for human life?" He said incredulously, then looked at Freya or Regulus for support, only to find them with pin-straight backs and eyes focused elsewhere.
"Mud-bloods and muggles." Walburga shot back, fully resting her spoon in her soup. "Barely counts as human." Freya flinched.
"They are people."
"Mud-bloods are mud-bloods."
Freya couldn't help but feel she had been dropped too far in a pool. How could someone be so narrow-minded and foolish? Blood purists were common, sadly there were quite a few in Slytherin, but Freya could never understand it. Regardless, she never shoved her foot in the conversation unless someone asked for her opinion, which was rarely.
"Don't call them that." Sirius matched his mother's wild burning eyes. "Muggle-borns."
Walburge stared down her son to avail; her voice was tense and cold. "Regulus, perhaps you should show Freya to the music room."
Quickly, Regulus dabbed his lips, ignoring his mother and brother's start of a screaming match. He took Freya by the hand and led her out of the room, noticing how roughly she had pushed her chair away from the table.
Silently, they pretended to ignore the shouts coming from downstairs.
Reg's fingers went to the first tune he could somewhat remember. Freya leaned next to him. "You play?"
"Not as well as Sirius." He admitted.
Freya swore she heard some glass breaking and saw the way Regulus flinched. Still, she ignored it."He's very skilled from what I saw."
"He used to play all the time when we were children," Regulus said fondly, playing over the destruction below him.
***
Both Sirius and Walburga had a rather explosive temper and stubborn ideas. Neither of which ever combined well.
"Don't you ever embarrass me like that in front of company, again." Walburga hissed, throwing a vase. Her eyes were burning, but her voice was cold and harsh on Sirius's ears.
Unable to master cool-anger, he exploded into a shout. "Of course, wouldn't want the world to know the Great Black Family has problems, jolly good job doing that!" He looked around the room and gestured grandly, eyes watering with tears. "I hate this house and everyone in it."
A sharp noise filled the room, and Sirius didn't feel the sting until after. He touched his cheek carefully, softly. She hit him.
Her eyes had no remorse in them, but there were the starts of tears in her eyes. "You are not my son."