Author's Note: To my reviewer Ssooooooooo - Yes. :)

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

The End of His Beginning

The last Quidditch match was as painfully mediocre as expected. Gryffindor finished the year with their first victory, beating out Ravenclaw 310-240. Both teams had tried to raise their scores before the snitch showed up, but the temptation of having one game under their belt proved too much for Gryffindor. Regs watched from the stands, wincing as the Hufflepuffs screamed themselves silly once the final score was announced, for it secured them the Quidditch Cup for the year. It also put them in the lead for the House Cup, though Slytherin was not far behind, and Ravenclaw had a lot of house points that hadn't come from Quidditch.

Their classes were entirely revision at this point, and Regs spent a lot of his spare time practicing spells, particularly the ones he'd learnt in Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Only a third of his coloured buttons were brown again, but he thought that he was slowly improving the counterspell. He'd managed to cast most of his spells to a normal degree now, rather than blasting them, but it took a lot of effort to control them. Ciara was now unavailable for any practice, snowed under with OWL preparation. Narcissa was also buried under piles of books as she studied for her NEWTs, along with Lestrange and his gang. They cancelled the next full moon meeting on account of exam preparation.

Regs had not been face to face with Snape since his encounter against the Gryffindors. He'd seen the boy at meals of course, and across the room, but Snape appeared to be avoiding him at all costs, which was both completely fine with Regs and not at all unexpected.

He'd passed Sirius in the corridor once or twice, and his brother had opened his mouth to say something and shut it again, looking conflicted. Regs had no intention of ignoring his brother but he really had no patience for Sirius' self-righteousness. Three on one was definitely not sporting, something which Regs rather thought that Sirius prided himself on. He was sure they'd hash it out over the summer holidays.

The week before the start of their exams, Parkinson raced into the dormitory one evening before bed with an awe-struck expression and his hair sticking up in all directions.

"Oh, Merlin, you'll never believe it!"

"Believe what?" Wilkins yawned and rubbed at his eyes.

"Professor Summerfield's been fired!"

"What?" Elias sat up so fast that his blankets slipped to the floor. "Why?"

Parkinson planted himself at the foot of Elias' bed, hindering Elias' attempts to tug his bedclothes back into place. "Well, I asked Peregrine Bole, and he said it was for personal reasons, but I knew there had to be more to it, so I asked Marion Bletchley and she said that apparently Professor Summerfield was caught behaving inappropriately with some of the students."

"What does that mean, exactly?" Wilkins frowned. "She was, like, touching them or something?"

Parkinson nodded dramatically. "I mean, she's not going to Azkaban or anything, but clearly Dumbledore didn't like how friendly she was getting with the students."

Regs had a fleeting memory of her hand on his shoulder. "That's unfortunate. She was a good teacher."

"Would you rather she was still around and doing that?" Elias asked incredulously.

"I mean it's unfortunate that she was getting too friendly, as Parkinson put it, not that she's been fired for it," Regs clarified. "I liked having a duelling specialist teaching Defence. I bet she was teaching the upper years some cool stuff that we won't get to learn now."

"Yeah," Wilkins said wistfully.

"More like she was teaching them stripping charms," Nott muttered from the corner and Parkinson quickly stifled a startled laugh.

"Ugh, I'm going to be dreaming about plants," Wilkins moaned. "I spent all evening studying Herbology."

"Well, they'll be done by next week," Elias said bracingly. "And then you can go back to your normal dreams."

The staff table looked strangely empty without Professor Summerfield at it, and their last revision lesson became a free period. Professor Flitwick was going to oversee their Defence Against the Dark Arts exam. The first year Slytherins found an empty classroom for themselves and went around casting all the spells that they'd learnt in all their classes. Regs was pleased that with a concentrated effort, he was matching his classmates very well. The General Counter-spell was the least consistent of all his spells, but he thought that he would be able to manage it well enough. He produced his handful of buttons for the rest of his classmates to practice on and re-enchanted them once they had all turned back to brown so that they could keep practicing. The girls were the most serious he'd ever seen them with the looming stress of exams overhead, and Regs noted that Joanna Tripe seemed quite at home now amongst Tabitha Burke, Sylvia Montague and Judith Mulciber and their pre-existing friendship.

Their Transfiguration exam was first – McGonagall had set them a handful of Transfigurations that they had worked on throughout the year – including the mouse to snuffbox. Regs performed as he usually did, his snuffbox turning out nicely but taking longer than most to complete. Regs concentrated really hard on his Charms incantations and was relieved to find that his spells behaved as normally as was possible for him – his feather rose nicely, he could lock and unlock doors without setting them on fire at last, and repair a cracked teapot, as well as conjuring fire without roasting his classmates. All in all, his hard work had paid off, and the half-Goblin teacher had no reason to mark him poorly.

Their History exam paper was possibly as boring as their actual classes, and though Regs could see some of his year mates feverishly flicking through their pages in the hopes of finding a clue as to which goblin did what in which year, he knew this material well – having covered it twice now – and found the test rather easy. For Potions, they simply had to brew two of the concoctions they'd already managed that year, including a Forgetfulness Potion, which Regs thought was kind of funny for an exam you were supposed to know by memory. Their Astronomy exam was also a written exam, testing them on general knowledge that they had covered in their night-time classes and some simple planet maps that they had to label with the relevant moons.

There was, of course, no exam for their Flying classes, and Regs knew that they would not have them next year. Instead, he intended to be flying for the Slytherin house team and having Quidditch practice in the evenings, rather than training sessions with Professor Elmsworth. The flying instructor shook Regs' hand at their last session and said that he hoped to see him on the pitch next year. Regs was rather hoping that he could convince Mother to get him a new broom to have with him at school so that he wouldn't be flying his older one in proper matches.

Their last two exams were Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology. The first one, Regs was rather pleased with – they were tested on Lumos and Nox and had to perform first the Leg-locker Curse and then the Dancing Feet Spell, before cancelling it with Finite Incantato. Regs had his wandlight spellcasting well beneath his belt now, and took his time casting the offensive spells to ensure that they would work. He ignored Flitwick's gaze, having convinced the diminutive half-breed that he was a competent spellcaster, and concentrated on performing his magic with as much control as possible. He was not being tested on his speed.

Herbology was probably his worst subject. He had little interest in it for its own sake, and only so far as the plants they were using were useful in Potions. He disliked being grubby and kneeling in the dirt, and so his efforts were probably less enthusiastic for this subject than for the others. Nevertheless, the exam was not too difficult and he washed his hands with great satisfaction when it was done, knowing that it would be several months before he was required to do such work again.

Finally free from their exams, they had a week to enjoy being at Hogwarts without the burden of classes, and the weather was turning rather nice. Regs wandered the grounds with Elias and occasionally Nott when the boy could be bothered to socialise, exploring the outside of the castle that they had neglected. Regs thought he knew probably at least three-quarters of the inside now, at least for the well-worn paths it took to get between his classes. There were, of course, parts of the castle he had yet to visit; classes that he didn't take that were held in different areas of different floors, or some of the towers that could be seen from outside, but were impossible to navigate to from the inside even when you thought you were in the right place. And naturally the towers that were the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor common rooms were not places that they could readily explore. But there was a large hut that Regs knew Hagrid, the gamekeeper, lived in, down by the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Now that Regs thought about it, the Forbidden Forest was a terrible name for a place that they wanted students to stay away from. If Regs knew anything about children, and Gryffindors in particular, it was that they often could not back down from a dare, and a forest that was forbidden right on their doorstep was just a disaster waiting to happen. The lake was actually much bigger than Regs had thought it was, and they spent an entire afternoon walking around it in the sunshine. On the other side of the grounds was the Quidditch pitch, and further around the greenhouses was a long sloping lawn that went down to the Forest, interrupted only by a young willow tree that stood on a small knoll. They wandered towards it after breakfast on their last day but were soon stopped by a Hufflepuff prefect, who warned them that the tree was not an ordinary willow after all.

"It's a Whomping Willow," the sixth year girl said seriously. "If you get too close, it'll whomp you. It was only planted a year or two ago, so it's still settling in, and it doesn't like being disturbed."

"Duly noted," Elias said drily. "We'll stay clear of it."

"I mean it," the prefect said. "Those branches reach further than you'd expect!"

"Thank you," Regs said politely, wanting to get away from the girl whose surname he didn't know. "We'll be careful."

They went further up the slope than they had planned to and stood observing at the very innocent looking tree.

"We could throw a rock at it," Elias suggested. "Test out its reflexes or something."

Nott, who had been trailing behind them a short way, bent and hefted a fist sized stone. "Go on, then."

Elias took the rock and looked at it. "Uh, it's a little bigger than I was thinking."

Nott snorted.

Regs shrugged when Elias looked at him, and Elias sighed, spun on his heel and heaved the rock in a great arc towards the willow tree. They watched it fly, Elias panting. As it reached the tree, the branches whipped to life and with a bough like a great club, the tree walloped the rock right back at them.

Elias yelled and they all went diving in different directions, the stone landing with a heavy smack right where Elias had been standing.

Regs clapped his hands to his mouth to stop himself from laughing and Nott was smirking as he got to his feet and brushed himself off. Elias slowly stood up and stared at the rock that was half buried in the ground. He turned around and looked at the tree, sitting just as innocently as it had done before he'd thrown the rock.

"Alright," Elias said. "Don't mess with the tree."

As expected, Regs passed all of his exams, with Herbology providing his lowest marks. He'd done particularly well in Potions, of course, History of Magic and Astronomy, with good results in Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms and Transfiguration. Elias had topped the class in Charms and done the worst in Astronomy. He shrugged it off.

"I'm always way too sleepy to pay attention at midnight," he said to Regs. "I think I've learnt to associate Astronomy with sleeping; I nearly fell asleep in the exam too."

They packed their trunks the night of the End-of-Term Feast, finding their wayward items of clothing that had ended up in strange places, and swapping belongings that had gotten mixed up. Elias somehow had Regs' scarf and Regs found his friend's Transfiguration text in his own book pile. Parkinson and Wilkins left to go down to the Feast, chortling over some joke, and Elias wasn't far behind them. He looked over at Regs expectantly, waiting.

"Why don't you head down, I'll be there in a minute," Regs suggested, and Elias nodded. Once the dormitory door had shut, he passed Nott's cloak to the boy, who took it and shoved it into his trunk, closing and locking it.

"Thanks," Nott muttered.

"No problem," Regs said. "You know, you're welcome to write to me over the summer holidays."

Nott looked up, startled. "Okay."

Regs shrugged. "Don't have to, but I'll write back. I live in London, owls should be able to find me easily enough."

Nott tipped a shoulder up. "Okay."

Regs left it at that, and went down to the Feast, sliding into a seat next to Elias. They chatted to the girls for a few minutes until Dumbledore stood up and raised his hands for silence.

The headmaster looked round at them all with a genial smile and Regs had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Here it came, the cheesy speech.

"We've reached the end of a wonderful year. I hope you have all learnt something new from your teachers, and from your friends. I'm glad to see that many of you have done well in your exams. Despite a few detentions for perhaps a handful of you," here his eyes flickered towards the Gryffindor table, "you have emerged with a wealth of new knowledge and maybe even some new friends. I must remind you all, however, that magic must not be used outside of school."

Now Regs did roll his eyes. What a terrifically boring man. This was the wizard who discovered the twelve uses of dragon blood?

"Congratulations to Hufflepuff for winning the Quidditch Championship, but we must award the end of year points for the House Cup. In fourth place, Gryffindor, on 618 points."

Regs smiled faintly. Sirius must be happy about that. He was probably responsible for losing as many points as their Quidditch team had won.

"In third place, Slytherin, on 657 points."

Oh, wonderful. Well, that would change next year when Regs helped them smash the other Quidditch teams out of the water.

"In second place, Hufflepuff, on 692 points -"

Cheers were erupting now from the Ravenclaw table. Despite Hufflepuff's Quidditch victory, Ravenclaw had clearly clawed back their lead from points given out in classes.

"In first place, Ravenclaw, with 705 points."

The Ravenclaw table was whooping and applauding and Regs leaned over to see Julian Travers shaking someone's hand, with a smug smile stretching across his face. Regs settled back and looked at his plate, wanting very much to eat dinner now without the ringing in his ears. He tuned out of the last of Dumbledore's waffling and slumped in relief as the food finally appeared. They were halfway through the meal when the Blood Baron floated past, looking and acting very ghostly. He stopped near the fifth year prefects, who glanced at one another and bent in to speak together. Regs caught Bole glance down at him and tipped his head at the Bloody Baron. Regs smiled and shrugged and went back to his dinner. Whatever had been wrong with the ghost, it appeared to be entirely resolved.

After far too much dessert, they managed to roll themselves back down to the dungeons for the last time. Regs sat up for a while, thinking, planning what he would do over the summer and listened to the heavy breathing and gentle snores of his dorm mates. In the end, he went to sleep and dreamed of Lord Voldemort, a wizard standing on a clifftop with a flowing cloak and a brightly burning wand, but he didn't see the wizard's face.

They took the carriages drawn by nothing back to the train station, and just as for the Christmas holidays, all of the Slytherin first years took a compartment together. Regs felt a strange sense of déjà vu as they pulled back into London. This time he was going back home for many weeks instead of just one or two. He hadn't seen his parents since Christmas, and he was looking forward to seeing Kreacher again.

Sirius was nowhere to be seen when Regs got onto the platform, so he said goodbye to his friends and gave Elias a handshake and told him to write. Nott disappeared quickly into the crowd, but Regs was not surprised; the boy had never said anything about his family at home, and clearly he didn't want anyone to see them either. Regs took up his trunk and wheeled it along until he spotted Father's figure in the distance and turned towards it more quickly.

"Regs! Wait!"

Regs stopped and turned and there was Sirius hurrying to meet him, panting. His brother pulled up alongside him and Regs nodded. They went on together, Sirius' mouth already pressed tightly together and a frown on his face.

"Hello, Father," Regs said politely as they reached Orion Black, Sirius hurrying to say the same. Father surveyed them both, his eyes flat and unreadable.

"Come along," was all he said, and they followed as he strode away, out of the sea of people greeting each other cheerfully and hugging one another. Regs saw Sirius turn back and search unhappily through those they left behind and when he turned back to the front, his shoulders were low.

Father stopped when they were far enough away from the muggles about the train station and grasped both of their shoulders with a hard grip. They disapparated back home in the usual tight squeezing whirlwind and Regs took a great breath when they appeared back in Grimmauld Place. He hated the feeling of his breath being torn away from him, the feeling of such pressure that he couldn't draw breath. He supposed that when he learnt to apparate by himself, he would do it often enough that it would seem more natural.

"Go inside and put your trunks away, then come to drawing room," Father ordered them and pushed the door open. Regs carried his trunk up the stairs, lifting it on each step, whereas Sirius dragged his, letting it thunk loudly on every one. Regs felt the irritation bubbling and thought about saying something but pushed the impulse down. If he spoke up about everything that Sirius did that annoyed him, he would never have a moment of peace. This was not the hill to die on.

He put his trunk at the foot of his bed neatly, leaving it for the house elves to see to, and went to wash his hands and straighten his robes before heading back downstairs again. The drawing room was lit with candles and lamps and Mother was lounging there, so Regs made his bows to her and then waited for Sirius to join them. Eventually, as Mother's mouth grew more and more pinched, Father left the room with a quiet awfulness and Regs stood with his back straight and his eyes fixed across the room until there was shouting somewhere in the house and then Father dragged Sirius into the drawing room by his ear. Sirius' face was screwed up in pain and he was struggling; his robes were dishevelled and his hair tangled about his head and in Father's fingers. Regs did not move.

Father threw Sirius down onto the carpet and stood back, his arms folded. Mother's expression grew very ugly but she did not speak. Sirius staggered to his feet, his fists clenched, and glared at her, his chest heaving. The silence drew out, longer and longer, and Regs knew that Sirius would break long before Mother would. Sure enough, Sirius could take the silence no longer and drew a great breath to speak. Before he could utter a single word, Mother flicked her wand at him and Sirius was silenced.

Pure fury crossed his face now, and he ranted and raved, gesturing wildly, though not a sound came from him. Mother watched him stony-faced, and gradually her face turned to pure disgust, a loathing that Regs had not seen from her so entirely before. Sirius knew that his silent tirade could not last forever, but Regs had a feeling that he was saying a lot more than just insults – Regs was not well-versed at reading lips, but he thought he caught a few potion ingredients in there. Perhaps Sirius was trying to prolong the inevitable.

"Enough," Mother said at last, and Sirius came to a halt, his hands shaking. His face was set and determined and hard, but Regs knew it was only partly real. There was fear in there too; some of that bravado was a mask. "I have had quite enough of you."

Regs breathed. He did not enjoy listening to this, or take pleasure in Sirius' punishments. But all Sirius had to do was what he was told and everything would have been fine.

"You will not be allowed out to visit anyone this summer," Mother said quietly, staring at Sirius, still from where she sat. "You will not be allowed to go to Diagon Alley before the next school year. You will not be permitted to leave your bedroom for two weeks except for meals and to use the bathroom. You will not use your owl to send mail for this time. You will stay inside and use this time to complete your assignments, and to listen to your father as he attempts to teach you the lessons you have failed to learn time and time again. No longer – we are sick of your miscreant behaviour, the unending reports from your Head of House that you have had detention every week since the Christmas break. You will learn to obey us. Do you understand me, Sirius Orion Black?"

Sirius' face was ashen, but he nodded. Regs was slightly surprised. Mother usually shouted when she was angry; perhaps this quiet litany had affected him more than her shouting. It must have been unnerving, Regs thought. But it was not so, not when it wasn't directed at Regs.

"We will discuss your exam results after you have had some time to reflect on your behaviour and your blatant disrespect," Mother continued. "Go to your room, and do not come out. You will eat alone there tonight."

That was probably more of a blessing than a punishment to Sirius right now, and he seemed to agree, for he turned about at once and left the room.

Regs felt the tension dissipating as soon as his brother had closed the door behind him. Regs did not change his posture at all, but simply stood exactly as he had been, staring straight ahead, his face perfectly controlled.

"Regulus," Mother said, "come and sit by me. Tell me about your classes and your exams."

Regulus gladly did so, grateful to relax from his stiff posture. Father took another seat nearby, and listened as Regs spoke about his classes and the teachers and the exams.

"Good," Mother said. "I'm pleased with your marks for your first year. You have learnt well from us, and taken those lessons into your school education."

"Thank you, Mother," Regs murmured. "It's a pity that Professor Summerfield was not a good teacher, for she was well-qualified and I liked the duelling perspective."

Mother sniffed. "She was halfblood, though, and that should have been the warning sign that she was not fit to teach. I inquired about Filius Flitwick again; your uncle tried to have him removed when Bellatrix recognised him for a half-Goblin in her time but to no avail. Unfortunately, it appears he still cannot be replaced; he was vouched for by long-standing members of the Board of Governors and by Dumbledore himself, the vile man. You will have to do the best you can under the half-breed."

Regs nodded. "Yes, Mother. Thank you for trying."

"There was a note from your flying instructor also," Mother said, her mouth pinching with reluctance. "He seems to think that you will be a good candidate for your house team next year."

Regs bowed his head. "I have been training once a week for most of the year to attain a higher level of skill in the hopes that I might try out for the position of Seeker next year. It is currently held by Rabastan Lestrange, who is a capable player, but better suited to other positions."

"The Lestrange boy I do not care about, though your cousins might do well to turn their interests in that direction," Mother said disdainfully. "If you are as accomplished as you say, and as this Professor Elmsworth seems to think, then we shall ensure you have the best chances of succeeding. You must have the best broom once you return to school. However, if you do not take a position on the Slytherin team, I don't want you wasting your time pining after the sport. And if you do make the team, regardless, I expect you to keep up with your studies and not spend all of your time careening about like a hooligan, understand me?"

"Yes, ma'am," Regs said firmly, his heart racing. This was exactly what he had hoped for.

"There's one more thing," Mother said. Regs heard the disappointment in her voice and steeled himself, trying to think what he might have done to earn it. "You did not speak much in your letters of the acquaintances I was expecting you to make. This Cooper boy – he's a pureblood, but he's not the company I would have chosen for you. There are others in your year, in your House, that I would prefer you to associate with. Parkinson, and Nott, for example. And there is no reason why you cannot spend time with those in years higher than yours. There are many in Slytherin who would make worthy companions of you. You know who they are. Not this poorly-trained boy, of a weaker ilk than yourself. It is acceptable to allow them to associate with you, but to prefer their company to that of others – it is unseemly, Regulus."

"Yes, Mother," Regs said softly. "If I may, I get along well with Parkinson and Wilkins, and I have been making strides with Nott, though he is a reluctant participant in any gathering. But I have spent some time with Peregrine Bole, in fifth year, and Ciara Graves, and am on good speaking terms with a handful of other older students. The gatherings at which I have made their acquaintance were comprised only of those of good breeding."

Mother's mouth pinched together and Regs hoped that he had not angered her by contradicting some of the things that she had said.

"Very well," she said. "See to it that you further these relationships. I won't have my second son squandering his heritage too."

Regs ducked his head and waited.

"Acceptable," Mother said. "Let us go down to dinner."