On a very dark night, long ago, a special soul wandered about Britain, looking for a very special vessel. When I say a soul, I do not mean a person. I do not mean a muggle, a witch, a wizard; or any other kind of strange and fantastical creature which resides in this gloriously bizarre universe. I mean, a soul. A spirit. Unchained, untethered, untied and unbound, in any sense, but not for very long.
To a little cottage in Godric's Hollow, the spirit was drawn. To a man with messy black hair, and a woman with beautiful emerald eyes, it drew nearer. For it sensed that from the two a being would be created, soon. A being who would need a soul, a being worthy of such a soul as this one was. But then... Fate struck! It forked the world in two, as it has time and time again. And the Potters conceived no child that night.
And so the vibrant little soul soldiered on, riding the wind in search of a sense of... something. Something that would lead it where it must go. And there it was, a smell, almost. A strange inexplicable sense of rightness that drew the searching soul nearer. It passed through powerful magical wards, though they could not touch it, it was beyond them, ethereal, a being of the netherworld.
It came to a Gothic work of art, a mansion cloaked in the darkness of night, steeped with the darkest of magic. And there it found a pair of people, powerful people, though there was no tender touch between them. No loving caresses as the Potters had shared in the night. It was wild and primal, an outlet for the dark twisted feelings that were buried deep within the both of them, an awful black seed wedged far beneath the surfaces of their hearts. Had the soul been able to feel, it might have felt a most terrible pity for them. These poor little mortals, so full of hate!
But the soul did not feel, it only knew. It knew that the vessel that these people were about to create would be a most wondrously special being. A being worthy of a wondrously special soul. And when fate struck again, and the tiny little being, that in another life so close by, might never have been, was made, the soul joined with it, knowing not if this life would be a good one, knowing only that this was where the soul belonged. Within the child of Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange!
'Regulus. Reg, Reg, Reeeeeeeg! WAKE UP.' Regulus Rodolphus Lestrange burrowed deeper underneath his covers and stalwartly tried to ignore his cousins annoyingly cheerful voice. 'Go 'way, Dray.' WHUMPH. Regulus raised his head blearily and blinked. He was no longer in his bed. He and his silk sheets and beautifully embroidered duvet were now on the floor. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes and then narrowed them. He turned his head ever so slowly towards his excitable cousin. When Draco saw the look on his face, his smile slowly started to fade. 'I...am going...to KILL YOU!' Regulus yelled, and with a squeak Draco jumped down off the bed where he had been standing victoriously, and sprinted out the door, laughing.
Regulus ran after him, also laughing, for all he was trying to maintain his fury at such a rude interruption of slumber. He couldn't be seriously mad; after all, he knew why Draco was so excited. Today was the day their fathers had promised to take them to Diagon Alley for their Hogwarts supplies!
He had been worried, as had Draco, when Lucius had brought up Durmstrang. There had never been any question as to where Regulus would attend school. The Blacks had attended Hogwarts for many centuries, it was a tradition. But it was different in the Malfoy household. Narcissa did not hold the same sort of power there as his mother did in their own. Lucius was in charge. And Uncle Lucius was old friends with Headmaster Karkaroff, who had promised a certain "favoritism", were the Malfoy scion to attend his illustrious school. Of course, he had tried to make the same offer to Regulus' parents, but they had turned him down flat. Regulus was fairly certain they had cursed him too, he had left rather abruptly halfway through dinner, after gaining an increasingly uncomfortable and panicked expression. It would not be the first time his parents had cursed someone underneath the dining table, and Regulus had continued to enjoy his tasty dessert, and joke quietly with an oblivious Draco, while Uncle Lucius tried to sulk subtly enough that Regulus' mother didn't curse him too.
She was liable to do that. Curse people, that is, if she thought they were being annoying. Or stupid. And her curses could be rather...enthusiastically vicious. Regulus was rather used to it, it had been this way all his life, and after all, she was the Lady Lestrange. She was afforded certain privileges. But he saw how his Aunt Narcissa worried over it. Sometimes, it was about whether his mother might curse the wrong ministry official in a fit of temper. Regulus wasn't very worried about that, it had happened a few times before after all. A little gold here, a threat there, and such things tended to just...go away.
But sometimes, Aunt Narcissa worried about her son, Draco. And then Regulus worried too. Because Draco was not always as careful around Bellatrix as he should have been. There had been "incidents", in the past. They had always been minor, and Regulus and Narcissa had always found a way to distract, before the situation went much farther. And afterwards, if he was there at the time; and he almost always was, Regulus would take Draco back to the bedroom of whichever one of theirs' house it was. And if he was hurt, he would summon a house elf to heal him. And then, he would sit him on the bed, and hold him tightly, and stroke his hair, and whisper comforting, nonsensical things, until all of Draco's tears had dried up. And then, if Draco was still awake, Regulus would take him to wash his face in the bathroom, and then summon a house elf for some hot cocoa. House elves were handy that way.
When it was time for the guests, whichever family that was, to leave, Aunt Narcissa would find them. And before she took Draco away, or Regulus had to go, she would give him a look. A look that said everything. And he knew how grateful she was that he was there, to help her look after Draco. And he knew that she was sorry, that she couldn't protect him too. Not when he was home alone, and it was just him and his parents. And he also knew, that he forgave her.
But in the end, his mother and father's derision of a non-Hogwarts education for an English wizarding child, combined with Aunt Narcissa's adamant refusal to send her only son so far away, forced Uncle Lucius to see sense. And now Regulus and Draco would be starting Hogwarts together this year, and all was as it should be!
'Oomph!' Both boys went down hard as Regulus tackled Draco to the ground, giggling as they rolled across the hallway floor, and began wrestling for dominance. Regulus didn't try too hard, as Draco tended to get grumpy if he was beaten too soundly. Though his cousin wasn't small, he also wasn't particularly tall, and Regulus had recently had a bit of a growth spurt, putting him at an advantage to Draco's slightly smaller physique. Regulus was also the more active of the two boys. While Draco adored Quidditch, when he wasn't on a broom or playing with Regulus he saw little need to exert himself physically, since he wasn't exactly what one would call a ''nature person''. Regulus, on the other hand, had spent many hours exploring the dark woods behind his family's manor, and had a fondness for animals, particularly magical ones. Luckily for him, this was considered an admirable trait in British wizarding society, where it was thought that having a way with magical beasts was a sign of a strong wizard or witch.
Regulus finally pinned Draco to the floor, straddling him and and tickling mercilessly. Draco writhed, trying to escape, laughing despite his best efforts to hold it in 'Reg,' he begged, still laughing 'stop, Reg.' He hiccuped mid giggle 'Please!' Reg stopped, laughing himself, and went to stand up when they heard a noise. Both boys froze completely still for an instant, then Regulus shot up off of Draco, grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Draco spun around so they were both standing facing the direction of the sound, and each swiftly tried to straighten out their clothes and flatten their hair.
When their fathers rounded the corner, the ten and eleven year old were stood respectfully and silently in the hallway by Regulus' room. 'What', drawled Lord Malfoy 'is going on here, boys?'. 'Nothing, Uncle Lucius, sir,' said Regulus (when dealing with such situations, particularly with his Uncle Lucius, Regulus found it was usually best to be as polite and formal as possible, lest he be reprimanded for disrespect) 'we were just playing.' Lucius arched an aristocratic eyebrow at them. 'In the hallways? I had thought we raised you better than that!', he drawled coldly. Regulus cast his eyes downwards, and sensed Draco, who had been watching the interaction tensely, quickly do the same at his side. Both boys apologized correctly. Uncle Lucius sniffed. Beside him, Regulus could feel his own father watching him coolly.
While Draco's resemblance to Lucius was very striking, with the same pale grey eyes, white blonde hair and pointed features, Regulus looked very little like his own father. Despite both being thin, dark-haired and now tall as well; it was evident to anyone who knew them that Regulus took after his mother in looks. The same thick, shiny dark hair, which he wore shoulder-length. The same thin lips, and strong jaw. The same clear alabaster skin that he also shared with Draco, one of the few physical signs of blood relation between them, which Draco had also inherited from his own mother, though few noted the difference from Lucius' own rather pale skin; the resemblance was otherwise so striking.
Then there were the eyes. A striking grey, heavy hooded and long lashed, Regulus had often been told how lucky he was to have inherited such beautiful eyes, along with the Black family's ''great good looks''. Of course, the very same people who told him that also probably took part in the rumors of his misattributed paternity, which is to say; that his father was not truly his father. Such rumors were usual for any child of a prominent wizarding family who did not clearly take after their father. Regulus paid them little mind and did not think Rodolphus believed them either, but the fact that the rumors existed caused friction, as such talk was bad for the family's reputation, and it was the child who was usually considered at fault within the family. Not that Regulus could control the way that he looked, but that was the way things were.
People never dared to whisper such insulting things anywhere near his parents of course, most wizards and witches were far too cowardly for that (despite which, his parents always seemed to know anyway), however Regulus had long since perfected the art of ''overhearing''. A habit that was subtly encouraged for noble children from Slytherin families, though Regulus had never met another child as adept at it as he. One only had to be silent, and look poised and pretty as the adults spoke around them until their tongues started slipping as they failed to heed the young child's listening ears. Or perhaps place oneself conveniently on the other side of a column by the food table and listen for interesting tidbits as the men stuffed their faces and the women pretended to eat, or else ate as they liked and then excused themselves to the bathroom to vanish the contents of their stomach before it could be digested. A practice which Regulus found most disturbing, to be frank, though it would be uncouth to ever speak of such a thing aloud in polite company. Not to mention his Aunt would likely throw a fit if she knew he knew about such things.
He appreciated that, he did; his Aunt Narcissa cared for and tried to protect him. 'Meet us in the study in one hour', said Uncle Lucius, 'and I expect you both to conduct yourselves with greater decorum on our outing!'. He glared sternly at them both for a moment, then he swept away through the halls. His own father paused for a second as he walked past them and arched a sardonic eyebrow at Regulus. Regulus looked up at him apologetically from underneath his lashes, and he fancied his father's eyes softened slightly for a moment before he too swept away. Reg and Draco glanced at each other, then hurried back to his room to get ready.