A/N: Welcome back! It has been a little while, I know, but don't for a second think I have abandoned this story. I have been, of course, busy – and sometimes the writing mood just doesn't strike. I spent some time last year writing sections of this story for NaNoWriMo. It just happens to have been written scene by scene all over the place, wherever I felt inspired. So updates will unfortunately have to wait while I fill in the gaps between. But fear not – I have big plans for this. You don't even know the half of it! I will stick to canon as much as possible, but I feel that a lot more happened behind the scenes in Regulus' life than you can possibly imagine. You have NO idea of what's to come. So, if you're willing, be patient, and I will elucidate – just not all, not yet. I have gone back and fixed up a few typos here and there, but no major changes.

Also, thanks to peeps who are following – still, even after all this time! – and those who favourited. Reviews welcome, of course!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated characters, places and events.

The Pride of His Family

Regs had made a decision.

"What's in Bath?" Regs asked Sirius as he lounged in the doorway of his brother's room, watching the latter fumble with the heavy black robes he was trying to cram into his trunk. Sirius didn't spare him a glance, preferring to add random, carelessly thought-of items such as lone socks, underwear and a pearled comb on top of the mess that Regs was certain was not going to fit.

"Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma's family home, lack-wit," Sirius replied with irritation as he tried in vain to press the trunk lid closed with both hands.

Regs rolled his eyes. "I know that, doxy-brain. I mean, why do they live there?"

"How should I know?" Sirius snarled, wrestling with the clasps. "Go ask Mother."

Regs straightened smoothly, standing as tall as he could to cast a gloom into his brother's room. Sirius looked up and sighed exasperatedly at Regs' expression.

"I'm busy," he said pointedly, gesturing to the bulging trunk. Regs raised an eyebrow.

"I was going to offer to help," he said with a carefully constructed expression of neutrality. "But if you'd prefer that I left you in peace with your fascinating thoughts, I can do so quite easily." Instead of stalking off as most would have at the conclusion of that speech, he entered the room and pushed Sirius out of the way, hands on his hips, to survey the mess. Sirius stood back with a huff. Regs stifled a smile. He knew Sirius was too proud to ask for help.
"So, you can either take everything back out and refold it neatly so that it fits," Regs began. He paused without turning, hearing the tiny sound that meant Sirius had opened his mouth to protest and quickly continued. "Or, I can try a little trick I saw Andromeda do once."

"A… magic trick?" Sirius asked hesitantly. Regulus nodded firmly. He didn't need to look to see the dark confusion on Sirius' face.

"But Regs… you can't - "

Regs took a deep breath and plunged his hands between the folds of the robes, feeling the fabric and other heavier items settle against his skin. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply again. There was an impatient shifting sound behind him.

"Quiet," he ordered. The noise stopped.

The power he'd been so very aware of ever since his bout of Alchemist's fever thrilled through him. To be honest, he felt like it was thrumming under his skin and oftentimes, like it would rip through if he didn't use it. So he had begun to pay close attention to spellcasting as it occurred around him, and was not altogether surprised at the fact that he had a great understanding of the power and how it behaved through the direction wizards gave it. He directed it now to his hands, trying to feed it through his pores so that it snared the items in the trunk and could reweave them into an arrangement he approved of. He felt the magic pooling in his hands and a slight glow bathed his face from the depth of the robes. He breathed deep again, feeling sweat gather on his face. He was having difficulty releasing the power and it simply burned in his hands. At this rate, Sirius' clothes would be nicely ironed but still not fit in the trunk. Or worse yet, he would burn them.

He forced himself deeper into the sensation of the swirling magic in his fingers. Eyes closed, he no longer heard Sirius wavering, trying to decide whether Regs was pulling his leg or not. He felt his heart beat increase, thudding in his ears. When he thought that perhaps he had overestimated his ability to manipulate the waves of power pulsing in his hands, he relaxed and felt it rush out, like the ground had vanished from his feet. The drop was dizzying but he bowed his head against the trunk to gain control of it, forcing it to work as he wanted it to. In truth, he had released too much for the small task, but he wouldn't let it ruin his work. He kept a tight rein on it, and bound the remaining magic tightly to his hands, waiting until he pulled them out of the trunk before he let the rest of it go, and, panting, began to list sideways.

Sirius waited almost five minutes in silence before he began to get restless. What was Regs doing? He thought he could tidy Sirius' trunk with his bare hands? It was a simple second year spell – just a tidying trick that required strong determination and will, and not much power, but Regs wasn't old enough to be doing first year magic, let alone wandlessly! He began to shift his weight from foot to foot, wondering if Regs really thought he could do this and was now finding out he couldn't, or if he was waiting with a grin to turn around and scorn Sirius for actually believing him. Sirius studied the back of his brother's head. There wasn't a cheeky anticipation there from what he could see. Rather, a bowed tension in his shoulders and hunched rocking – almost swaying. He opened his mouth to say something – what that was, he hadn't yet decided – then left it open in shock as his robes and belongings suddenly billowed up from the confines of the trunk, either side of his brother's head, which was bending over the lid, now motionless. The items that had, moments previously, been resting haphazardly together, now floated and swirled above their heads. Sirius tracked the progress of the pearled comb as it sailed past his cheek, then his attention was captured by his brother once more. Now with a slightly arched back, but with head still bent, he was obviously directing the belongings back into place, heavy items first, undergarments and socks folding neatly in midair before laying themselves flat onto the bottom of the trunk, quickly followed by the robes, sleeves straightening and collars smartly tucked. They were stacked and laid with room to spare as Regs finally withdrew his hands and shook his head. He seemed to be panting and turned to face Sirius with what would have been triumph, if he hadn't started to fall to one side. Sirius lunged to catch him and set him on the bed, drawing his hands away from his brother's quickly at the heat and light that was emitted there.

Regs blinked. Sirius' face swam into view with a somewhat distrustful concern. The frown on his face wasn't for Regs' health; it appeared rather more like accusation, but there was still worry in the set of his mouth.

Regs smiled weakly. He was distracted by the direction of Sirius' gaze and looked down at his hands as well. They were still glowing.

"Oh," he said stupidly. "Right. Wait a sec." Regs pushed out the residue of the tidying spell and closed his eyes as bright light flared and vanished from his digits. Opening them again, he saw his hands looking normal once more. He let out a deep breath and sat back against the headboard of the bed.

"What was that?" Sirius' voice demanded. Regs looked up. Sirius looked practically indignant now.

"I… I just wanted to practice some magic. Ever since I had Alchemist's fever – as long ago as it was, I know – I just like to reassure myself that I actually can." Regs didn't need to look to see the flash of guilt on Sirius' face. "Andromeda said that if I concentrated, maybe I could get out a few sort of – flashes of magic."

"Right." Sirius voice was flat. "And the… glowing?"

"Just… just residue," Regs rubbed his forehead tiredly. "Put too much into it."

"You put… too much into it," Sirius repeatedly somewhat scathingly. "Regs – how…? This is big stuff, I assume you realise." Regs looked up.

"It was just practice, Sirius. Nothing more. Who stopped Mother from hitting me that time?"

"That was different!" Sirius cried in frustration. Regs had finally cracked his controlled exterior. Desperate measures were called for. Apparently Sirius was taking this harder than Regs realised. Possibly he was jealous, or frightened – not that he would admit to either – but Sirius was the one person Regs would keep no secrets from. Mother and Father he trusted completely, and they would surely be proud of his achievements, but Regs had other plans for his life that they wouldn't necessarily like. He had dreams to follow after all. No, this was his to do with as he wished. A good son to all appearances; intelligent and pure, studying hard and having great influence with the Ministry. But Regs wanted power and justice for wizards. He had overheard some of his father's dealings and made deductions. They supported the pureblood idealists wholeheartedly, but those in the positions of control of the latest movement were too unrefined, too eager. More could be done by subtle politics.

Regs disagreed. He knew, with all his youth, that he wasn't necessarily right, but he could see potential there and he wanted to mould it into a beautiful world of freedom from oppression and hatred. The people were there, and the mania. All it needed… was Regs. So he was going to keep everything under wraps, at least for the moment, until he could bring it out in power and glory. Except for Sirius, who was still looking at him with something unidentifiable in his eyes. Yes, definitely time for desperate measures.

"Sirius?" Regs added a tiny tremble to his voice. He let his breath shudder on his exhale. He did not add glistening eyes; that would be way too obvious that he was faking. "Please, don't… I just wanted to try… I can't wait to go to Hogwarts!" He burst out with passion. "You're going to be there next year and I just want – I don't want to look stupid when I get there. School is everything, Sirius. Everything." The conviction of his last statement was far from faked and Sirius' gaze softened a little at the desperation he heard there. So far he had been looking suspicious of Regs' outburst; it was very unlike his younger brother, the ice prince, cool and calm and the very opposite of Gryffindor hotheadedness and recklessness. Regs put on the tiniest touch of uncertainty, as though he was unsure that he would succeed in school where it was so important to do so.

"Hey," Sirius said, flopping down onto the bed next to him. He lounged lazily next to Regs, wanting to provide comfort but far too mature – and male – for hugging. "You are smart – you know you are. And you do so well in Potions – why the worry all of a sudden? You'll probably get on the Quidditch team before I do." Sirius laughed a little bitterly. Regs felt a twinge that could have been guilt but he identified as satisfaction. Perfect.

"It's just that," Regs hesitated, looking hard at his brother as though to ascertain whether he worthy to receive the information Regs was about to impart. Sirius sat up a little straighter under the scrutiny. "It's just that I overheard Bellatrix talking about Slytherin politics. The classes are easy enough, and the teachers are nice too – but in the common room – there are very subtle ploys and plays going on in there and I don't know that I'll be smart enough to get it right."

Sirius narrowed his eyes again. "But why would you… Did Bellatrix mention you specifically? That you wouldn't be capable?"

"N-no," Regs ventured unconvincingly. Sirius swept a piercing gaze over Reg's face. Regs suppressed the urge to flinch. Sirius could be very insightful at times.

"Was it me?" Sirius growled. "Did she think that I wouldn't be capable?"

"No," Regs returned, sincerity and honesty written all over his face. But too quickly. Sirius growled again.
"That cow is going to wish she kept her mouth shut," he snarled. He simmered in silence for a moment. "Well, I doubt you'll have any trouble," he said forcefully, and Regs could hear him struggle not to emphasise the word 'you'll'.

"I know," Regs whispered. "But sometimes power is a good way to get what you want, so I'd rather be ready than not."

"A fair point," Sirius conceded. A quick glance showed Regs that his brother was still fuming and he simply imagined feeling gleeful instead of letting it show. His carefully constructed scenario had gone exactly as he expected.

"Well," Regs said, perking up and getting to his feet, sufficiently recovered. "At least your trunk is packed. Mother wanted us downstairs in the hall in about ten minutes." And with that, he returned to his own room, giving his still-frowning brother a small smile at the doorway.

At last, perhaps an increase in the conflict between Sirius and Bellatrix would force Sirius to step up his response and don the Black family honour that the rest of them wore like second skins, so that he would find his way to Slytherin and save them all from humiliation. The Sorting at Hogwarts was impartial, as far as he'd heard, so getting Sirius into Slytherin would take more than a bit of bribery or coercion on Sirius' part. He needed to actually be Slytherin. He couldn't choose it, after all. If beggars could be choosers, then Hufflepuffs would be – well, not Hufflepuffs.

The Black Estate in Bath was large and grandiose – a country retreat for the nobility when life in London required a respite. They had visited the small mansion several times over their childhood. Regs' memory of it involved meticulous uniforms of stiff black robes, quiet meals, restricted access to certain rooms and, if he was quite honest with himself, a fair amount of boredom. It had been several years since he'd been there, seeing as his parents had a tendency to remain in London since his grandparents were living in the Bath Estate after Father had taken over the family. Sirius had always complained that visiting was more of a torture than anything else, and Regs had quietly agreed. This time however, he was determined to get a look at some of the more dusty recesses of the library, certain that there were some fascinating books on lost magics – or at the very least, rare ones – that he could occupy himself with.

Their Great Aunt Cassiopeia also resided in Bath, though what she did day to day, neither of them knew. Regs' impression of her involved a certain intimidated respect; she was a demanding, impressive woman of considerable knowledge and power, strict, controlling and certainly not to be trifled with. It did not inspire confidence in the enjoyment of the visit, but Regs was not daunted. He would retreat to the library for the extent of the week if he had to.

In order to make a formal entrance, they were going to apparate to the estate rather than Floo there. Regs might stumble or Sirius would get the wrong grate. So they were taking the safest type of transport.

Every one of the house elves had been ordered to get to work on doing a hard scrub of the London property in their absence, and none had been spared to even assist Regs and Sirius with packing their trunks. So when they thunked down the stairs several minutes later to the entrance hall, the first thing she said was, "If you've forgotten to pack anything now, you'll have to do without. You can't always rely on lesser creatures to get things right; it's time you started to learn that you have only yourselves to depend on at times. And I will not be late. Come!" And with that, she opened the door and strode to the courtyard beyond, her case floating smoothly behind her at a flick of her wrist. Sirius gave Regs a look of complete dejection and followed her. Regs stepped out after his brother, pulling the ornate trunk along quickly. The door snapped smartly shut behind him and then he heard the snick of the inner lock. Father was at the Ministry and would follow this evening after his business there had been concluded. Mother flicked and waved her wand at the door and Regs saw a shimmer in the air as the protective magic took hold and sealed the house while they were gone.

"Take my arms, and don't let go of your luggage," Mother ordered, holding her own trunk in one hand. Regs firmly held her arm, and grasped his case, while Sirius did the same on the other side. "Don't pinch, Sirius!" she snapped. Before Sirius could reply, the world warped and blackness surrounded them, squeezing and sucking until Regs thought he would burst.

The ground reappeared under their feet, just a little too suddenly for Regs to land smoothly, and he jerked a step forwards before he could stop himself. Straightening quickly, he settled his trunk against the ground and cast a glance around.

The garden was resplendent and extensive, but Regs had never remembered being allowed to entertain the notion of flying in it. Such activities were for the weekends, and far away in private properties under the watchful eye of a doting uncle. The long path beyond the iron gate, topped with wicked spikes of course, ended at the grand old house.

Mother was already moving, sweeping their trunks up to hover behind them. As soon as they had passed through the gate, she dropped them to the ground, upon a small stone alter to be collected by elves. Without looking back, she swept down the path, looking neither left nor right. Regs and Sirius trotted along after her as haughtily as they could manage.

Grandfather Pollux and Grandmother Irma met them in the lobby of the estate house, stiff and formal and almost exactly as Regs remembered them from his last visit. Mother and her parents met each other for a strange midair performance of kisses that never landed and soured the faces of those who bestowed them. Grandfather shook the hands of both Sirius and Regs, and Grandmother bent to give them a stiff hug each, the scratchy fabric of her high-collared robes irritating his cheek. Regs kept a polite smile on his face and bowed to them both, but they had eyes mostly for Sirius, observing, nitpicking, frowning; turning accusing eyes to Mother, whose mouth turned further and further down as the idle small talk continued and the silent examination occurred beneath it all.

Apparently their Great Aunt Cassiopeia was predisposed to resting in the afternoons and would join them for dinner, at which point they would meet her for the first time. She was Grandfather's sister and Regs expected her to be as stern a figure as Mother was.

Finally, when Sirius had noticed the undercurrent in the room and began to fidget and burn red on the back of his neck, the adults moved the conversation away from the foyer and brought refreshments to the sitting room.

Once again, Sirius and Regs were expected to sit quietly and say nothing unless asked. They shared looks of commiseration and ate daintily from the tiny nibbles prepared until Grandfather turned to Sirius and began to quiz him on his schooling. Sirius answered hesitantly and stumblingly, and Regs was ignored once more. He had expected no less; Sirius was supposed to be the pride of his family, after all. But at least it gave him an opportunity to study his grandparents unobserved.

Pollux had steel-coloured hair that was combed back over his head in stiff lines, emphasising the harsh contours around his sharp and vicious-looking eyes. They reminded Regs of an eagle's powerful gaze. When he leaned in to grill Sirius, his face narrowed into a smooth mask of attention that was somehow both polite and grim. He did not seem like the sort of man to cross, especially in his own home.

Irma was softer and kinder but had the sort of pursed lips that made her face look a little disagreeable. She held herself straight and maintained a much more relaxed expression than her husband, but seemed no less sharp. She spoke gently and had friendly eyes, but there was still that perceptive gaze that Regs did not want to see turned onto his wrongdoings. When Pollux's questioning turned Sirius into a stammering mess, she simply laid a hand on his arm and Grandfather cleared his throat, leaning back into his chair.

"Well," he said gruffly. "He's got time to learn a bit more, I daresay."

Shortly afterwards, Sirius and Regs were directed to their respective bedrooms which lay adjacent on the second floor. Their parents' room was down the hall and around the corner, nearer to the master bedroom than to theirs, for which they were excessively grateful. The invisible house elves had already unpacked their belongings.

For the rest of the afternoon, they explored the house, becoming reacquainted with the three floors of rooms. A ballroom just beyond the main entry caught Regs' eye and he spun in circles with his arms out, marvelling at the space. Unashamedly, he grabbed Sirius by the hands and spun him around, eliciting a loud yelp from his brother as he was caught by surprise. Soon they were both giggling as they fell dizzily to the floor. Just then, Regs caught sight of the side door opening and he leapt to his feet with a gulp, hastily straightening his robes. Sirius was on his feet just as quick and they stood there guiltily, trying to catch their breath and calm their pounding hearts, with robes still askew and hair mussed around their faces.

Grandmother Irma entered serenely, pausing as she saw them standing in the middle of the ballroom. There was a momentary awkward silence.

"If you boys like the ballroom, I'm sure I can organise some dancing practice – just the three of us – whilst you are here to access it." She smiled at them, the disagreeable expression lessening, and her keen eyes pierced them, even across the vast space.

Sirius' face fell a little; Regs knew he hated the dancing they had at home, with Mother barking at them. But Regs was looking at their grandmother's face and could read between the lines. She was offering them a little getaway in the large space – probably some dancing would occur, but Regs had the idea that it would be much more enjoyable than it would have been at home. He gave her a slight bow and elbowed Sirius to do the same.

"That would be most appreciated, ma'am," he said respectfully. Sirius mumbled something similar, with a lesser degree of enthusiasm. Regs looked up again to see Grandmother Irma's sharp eyes watching him approvingly. He stood a little taller under her gaze. She saw the Slytherin in him; he knew.

Dinner was formal, as at home. Father had arrived from the Ministry, sneering and stern. He bowed to their hosts and joined them in the conversation with his back to Regs and Sirius, whom he had not even looked at since arriving. Great Aunt Cassiopeia had also descended from her room and workshop on the third level of the house, her face as lined as a Shrivelfig, and locked into a contemptuous scowl. Regs said nothing throughout the whole meal, hoping to Merlin he wouldn't be spoken to. When the torturous gathering was over, he and Sirius retreated upstairs to Sirius' room, which had a balcony window and they sat out in the warm evening air, playing chess until Mother came in to tell them to go to bed.

As he lay in the large guest bed, Regs basked in the silence of the country property, propping his hands behind his head. There was still the library to explore – Sirius had only let him glance inside – and some free time in the ballroom with their more kindly Grandmother. And, hopefully, more time with Sirius now that his brother wasn't to be locked away for lessons that Regs was not yet old enough to have, or those that pertained only to the heir of the family. Then, of course, there were the grand old gardens to walk through. The house was large enough that they could hopefully avoid their elderly Aunt and Grandfather, and perhaps the holiday wouldn't be as disastrous as Sirius had at first feared. Regs only wished that Kreacher could have come.