Author's note: I love the Blacks, particularly Regulus and Narcissa. They're fascinating both in their own rights and in how they relate to each other. This fic is an attempt to poke at one of those relationships (well, one and a half if you count Regulus' thoughts about Sirius) and see what happens. It draws from personal headcanon rather a lot, which I would be more than happy to talk about at great length if anyone asks. The title, of course, is a variation on A Song of Ice and Fire's House Tully family motto, which goes "Family, Duty, Honor".
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling. No money is being made from the writing of this.
Madame Oxanna of The Gilded Lily serves the best firewhiskey in London. Regulus knows this to be true because Sirius once made him visit every single pub in the city and confirm this fact. Regulus' head hurt for days after that adventure and he'd sworn as he vomited for the fifth time in an hour that he would never drink again. That vow he kept for approximately three months, right up until Sirius flashed him that daredevil grin and pressed a bottle of beer into his hands. Regulus was fourteen at the time, and he thought his brother would come out all right in the end.
Regulus is seventeen years old now and Sirius hasn't come out all right at all.
He nudges his glass of firewhiskey a bit to the right so that it sits exactly opposite him. He does it more for something to do than because he actually cares. Regulus doesn't pay attention to details for the most part; his mother has dedicated countless hours of both of their lives to teaching him to be observant, but Regulus never did get the hang of analyzing a situation with nothing but a glance. Sirius is better at it, but Sirius isn't a Black anymore and so the talent goes to waste.
He takes a sip from his glass, resisting the urge to check his watch. He arrived early at the pub, too restless to stay at home. The silence there is more oppressive than ever these days, each moment of quiet swollen with the reminder of the person who once delighted in breaking them. It's been two years since their mother and Sirius mutually agreed that he'd rather die than set foot in the Black family home again, but still Regulus sometimes half expects to hear him pounding down the stairs or howling with laughter at something one of his friends sent.
He pushes Sirius out of his thoughts and takes another drink.
He's positioned himself so that he can see the pub door without difficulty, so he recognizes his cousin immediately as she steps inside. Narcissa always did cut a striking figure, and she has only grown more aware of this with age. She is wearing silk robes today, black of course, and her white-blond hair is pinned and tucked elegantly away from her face. She ignores the way men's eyes slide towards her and instead moves to join Regulus at his table.
"Cousin," she says, tilting her head in greeting as she sits.
"Cousin," he returns. Madame Oxanna comes forward to give Narcissa her own glass of whiskey then retreats, leaving the two alone. Regulus discreetly twitches his wand and activates one of the pub's privacy barriers, cutting himself and Narcissa off from the chatter and prying eyes of the rest of the pub. Neither of them would be so crass as to visibly relax at the privacy, but her smile is slightly more genuine and he takes his time putting his wand away again.
"Thank you for coming," he says, taking another sip of his whiskey. It really is very good.
"It was entirely my pleasure," she says, and her smile is as real as it ever gets. He smiles back, a smile that doesn't come anywhere close to reaching his eyes. Regulus can't remember the last time he felt like smiling out of happiness instead of etiquette.
"How fares Aunt Walburga?" she asks, taking a drink from her own glass. Regulus' mother never did recover from the stress of the final confrontation with Sirius, and the entire family knows that it's only a matter of time now. Of course, it's only a matter of time for all of them and Regulus shrugs slightly.
"As well as ever. She and father went to the Greengrass' for tea yesterday."
Narcissa smiles thinly. "I am pleased for them," she says. "And yourself?"
Regulus shrugs again. It's not an answer. "Is your husband well?"
She looks at him sharply but accepts the deflection for the moment. "Quite well. He had an appointment with the Minister herself earlier this week which went very well indeed." Her smile displays true pride at her husband's accomplishments. Regulus feels a sharp stab of jealousy; he knows full well how rare it is for arranged marriages to be as functional as his cousin's and he honestly doubts that he and Acantha Greengrass will manage as well if the negotiations between his parents and hers end as expected. He pushes the emotion aside and does his best to look happy for her.
She takes another delicate sip of her firewhiskey, free hand resting on the table. Her wedding ring gleams in the firelight; she's adept at keeping it well on display without seeming to flaunt it. "How goes your last year at school?"
He shrugs once again, a gesture that would make his mother frown fiercely. He can't bring himself to care. "As well as ever." He hesitates. It's now or never, and he invited her here because out of everyone in his family she's the most likely to take it calmly and he needs to tell someone or he'll burst. "I have become quite close to some of Cousin Bellatrix' friends."
She stiffens, face suddenly completely impassive. It's a mask he knows well, the one they were all trained to use when something surprised them so as not to broadcast their shock. Even Sirius does it, for all that he swore to forsake his upbringing completely. Regulus once again forces Sirius out of his thoughts.
Narcissa takes another drink and when she finally speaks again her voice is particularly composed. "Lucius has as well."
"I know," he says, which is as close as either of them will ever come to admitting that they've seen each other at meetings. Regulus is half curious if Lucius was the one who sponsored him; he knew even as the question crossed his mind for the first time that he would never ask.
Silence stretches between them. He fights the urge to fiddle with his glass and loses. His mother would be appalled.
Finally she takes a deep breath, uncharacteristically displaying her hesitation, and says, "This is not the path I would have expected from you, I must admit."
"It's the right thing to do," he says and not even he could say whether or not he actually believes his own words. Narcissa certainly doesn't, and she gives him a sharp look.
"Right and wrong has no place in decision making," she reminds him. She's almost frowning, head tilted slightly downward in the code the two of them developed years ago to communicate silently. She's not pleased. He didn't expect her to be. She's probably the only one of his relatives who isn't. (Sirius wouldn't be, a treacherous voice says in his mind and he drains his glass in an effort to keep it quiet. Sirius isn't a Black and his opinion doesn't matter.)
"Sometimes we must choose according to our ideals," he says. It's an unconscious echo of the words her own sister threw at the family when she was seventeen and he sees Narcissa struggle to hide a wince.
"There are things more important than ideals." Her voice is sharp, her eyes filled with disapproval. "I would advise you to consider those carefully before making any decisions."
"The decision has been made," Regulus says quietly, and in an instant her mask returns, impassive and unreadable as ever.
"I see. In that case I offer you my congratulations."
Her words are polite and her tone equally so but he shrinks back anyway. He's known her for more than long enough to read censure into her polite mask and he wonders why he ever thought to tell her. It would have been better to start with his parents and bask in their approval instead of fielding Narcissa's distaste. He had not thought her quite so averse to the cause, truth to be told. Not enthusiastic, perhaps, but certainly not opposed to it. He pours himself another glass of whiskey and offers her the bottle. She declines.
"I regret to say that I must leave you," she says, rising. "I fear I have a pressing appointment."
He nods, standing in turn as per the rules of etiquette. "I am pleased that you could join me and I apologize for taking so much of your time," he says, bowing formally. She acknowledges his apology with a tilt of her head.
"The pleasure was mine." She hesitates, then adds, "Before I leave, Cousin, a word of advice. There may come a time when ideals begin to crack. You will find it wise to have something to fall back on should that time come." With that she steps away from the table, the wards parting to let her through. Regulus watches her leave then slowly sits down and drains his glass in a single gulp. The burn of the firewhiskey does little to assuage the chill suddenly filling him nor does it erase her parting words from his mind. Regulus represses a shiver.
He shakes himself and orders his thoughts to behave. Having a backup plan is only common sense, and Narcissa has always been more reliant on her head than her heart. No doubt she did not intend for her words to sound quite as ominous as they did. He picks up his cloak and settles it around his shoulders, pulling the fabric smooth and straightening the clasp. Then he too exits the privacy of the warded table and strides over to the bar to settle his bill. Around him people fall back respectfully. Regulus, once more fully in the grip of his training, keeps his back straight and does not deign to acknowledge them. He is a Black and he serves the Dark Lord; he knows his place in the world and he will not shame his family by betraying his rank. He is an obedient son, a loyal heir, and he will make his parents proud.
He walks out of the Gilded Lily without looking back once.