Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any associated characters, places and events.
Their Worst Fate
"How dare you?!" Father hissed as he advanced on Sirius. "You're not worthy of this family – you never were. We've always hated you." His slipped his wand from his sleeve and brandished it at his eldest son.
Regs raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
Sirius turned to glare at him and Regs looked away when he saw the clammy sheen of his brother's face.
"This was your idea!" Sirius snapped. "You do it – go on!"
Regs slid from the table he was sitting on and stood between Sirius and their glowering father. Sirius backed away and Regs pretended not to notice when his brother wiped a sleeve over his face. Father stared deep at Regs with narrowed eyes and then vanished, swirling into the image of Regs himself. At first Regs could see no difference to what the mirror might show him except for plain clothing – worn and ripped, and muggle by the look of them – but then he noticed more subtle changes: a bland expression, no wand, no fire in his eyes, no sign of magic at all. Regs' heart hammered but he refused to step backwards. He'd made Sirius do this after all.
"Really?" Sirius echoed mockingly. "No fancy robes? Muggle clothes? Afraid of being a squib, Regs?"
"I don't know; a life without the Bloody Baron might be alright," Regs replied, to cover the tremble in his hands. It was more than that, he knew. He was staring into the face of failure – no magic, no purpose, no triumph, no changing the world and rewriting the future of wizarding society – no standing beside Lord Voldemort to see in a new age of magic. This was the loss of magic – the death of their culture, and the power that drove them and made them more than muggles. Their worst fate.
Regs turned away from the boggart and heard it change shape behind him, the whisper of shifting cloth and flesh. Sirius had his wand clenched in his fist, but Regs knew he wouldn't use it – couldn't. Nevertheless, Sirius forced the creature back until it returned to the old wardrobe it had been hiding in and clicked the latch shut. They both breathed out a sigh of relief.
"What was the point of this, again?" Sirius asked wearily.
Regs shrugged. "I think it's good to know what you fear most. If you remove the unknown, all that remains is the fear."
"Sure," Sirius said flatly. "Well, I can escape mine for most of the year. What is it you fear, Regs? What was that?"
Regs was silent for a moment, feeling the weight of Sirius' gaze on his face. "A future," he said at last. "One that I will prevent with every bone in my body."
"Right." Sirius did not understand, that was clear, but he could see that Regs wasn't going to say any more. "Are we done then?"
Regs nodded and they left the spare room together. He was tempted to say something to Sirius about his boggart's form, but he knew his comment would not be wanted and instead coaxed Sirius into a game of chess in his room. The last time they'd played had been the day that the news about Andromeda had come and Nott's letter, so he was keen to overwrite the memory. He'd replied to Nott's letter the same day, assuring the boy that his company was wanted and his letter welcomed. Regs had not entrusted much detail to the letter, simply agreeing that he hoped they would talk once they were reunited at Hogwarts.
It was only a few weeks until they were due to return to school, when Mother approached Regs to go to Diagon Alley to pick up his and Sirius' school things. True to her word, Sirius had not been allowed to leave the house to visit or receive visitors and was not to be allowed to shop with them either. Their school lists had come the week before and Mother had taken Sirius' list promptly, and kept it for when she and Regs were to go fetch everything – and get Regs' new broom, he hoped.
He dressed smartly, as usual, and waited by the fireplace until Mother came striding to meet him, all in black and lips pursed. Regs straightened.
"Into the Floo," Mother commanded and Regs threw his powder in, admiring the emerald flames for a moment before he stepped into them.
"Diagon Alley," he said imperiously and felt the fire whisk him away into the world of magic.
He came out at the grate, and stood aside for Mother to come through, as she did a moment later. A flick of her wand and the ash had vanished from their robes and Regs tried not to shiver in delight as the magic whooshed over him. Mother made another complex flick of her wand and there were their school lists, plucked from mid-air. Regs caught it nimbly, and looked down the list, reading. Books, potions ingredients, he'd have to have new robes of course, and then the broom.
"Books first?" he asked, and Mother nodded sternly, though he thought she approved of his suggestion. If he'd asked for the broom first, she might have been cross – in fact, he was certain she would have been.
It took them no more than a quarter of an hour to find what they needed, even though the bookstore was teeming with students and their parents; Mother had demanded assistance the moment they entered and had been promptly served by a young man almost falling over himself to make sure they had what they needed. Regs even had a moment to pick up something recreational, which Mother glanced at for the barest moment and then nodded sharply. Pleased, Regs added it to their pile.
The robe fitting would take longer, but Mother insisted on it next; she would gather the potions ingredients and other odds and ends they would need while he stood on the stool with his arms getting tired. There were plenty of students at Twilfitt and Tattings for their new robes, first-years and seniors alike. Regs turned away from those he didn't know and kept to himself. He'd hadn't recognised anyone he knew yet.
"The silver trim," he told the assistant serving him, stiffly avoiding her fluttering hands. "And four sets, thank you, in your best quality wool."
The woman fluttered even more and Regs repressed the desire to rip off the hanging cloth and leave. Where on earth was the sleek service he was accustomed to? She was a great big snitch, flapping about uselessly. Regs smiled to himself at the thought, and it managed to hold him through the rest of the fitting.
When at last he was free, he heaved a great sigh of relief. Mother was waiting outside with several shrunken packages, and Regs looked up at her, pretending that his heart was not beating faster than usual.
"Where next?"
Mother pressed her lips together and sniffed. "Your broomstick."
Regs nodded sedately, but his heart was leaping, and he was already imagining the swooping feeling as he kicked off on something new – something fast.
His old Nimbus 1001 was still one of the faster models about, but he knew there were a couple of Comets that had been released more recently – and a new Nimbus prototype. He hoped the store in Diagon Alley had all of them.
Regs held his mind tightly in its Occlumency pattern – keeping all of its surfaces where he wanted them. He would not embarrass himself or his family by getting carried away by the excitement of a new broomstick, however much he wanted to rush about gleefully. There was a display in the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies as they drew near and Regs could see it was one of the new Comets. Mother drew herself upright and swung open the door with the small tinkle of a bell. There were a handful of students hanging about the display cabinet inside, but Mother ignored them and went straight to the counter, Regs at her side. She cleared her throat.
A man straightened and smiled at them. "Good afternoon, ma'am. How can I help you?"
"Your latest broomstick models for quidditch," Mother said imperiously. "For my son." She gestured to Regs at her side and Regs stared at the man impassively.
The shop assistant lit up. "Ah! Excellent. We have the latest Comets and the Nimbus 1001 from a few years ago; that one is still considered one of the fastest models around. What position do you play, young man?"
"Seeker," Regs said. "And, actually, sir, I already have the Nimbus 1001. I was hoping their next model might be available by now."
The assistant frowned. "Well, the latest Comet is around the speed of the Nimbus 1001 but corners a bit better if you ask me. Nimbus haven't released their latest model for mass-production yet, and they've only sent us a handful of prototypes, but we generally don't sell those to the public."
Mother's eyes narrowed. "Tell me about these prototypes."
The man took a deep breath. "Well, they've got a little bit more speed than the 1001, arguably the fastest thing around at the moment, just by a whisker. They don't corner incredibly well, not like the Comets or the Cleansweeps, but their acceleration is like nothing I've seen. But there's a reason it's still a prototype; their stability is terrible. An experienced rider could manage it, but it bucks like an angry centaur if you make any sudden turns."
"What's it called?" Regs asked and he could feel the excitement brimming in his chest like cold fire.
The man looked down at him and pursed his lips. "It will eventually be the Nimbus 1020. When it's ready."
Mother looked at Regs and he looked back at her, his grey eyes glittering. She'd seen him fly, knew he wasn't reckless like Sirius. He'd contained his excitement, come with her and done as she asked and waited for her permission to get what he wanted. If she trusted him, if she thought he deserved it, she would get him what he wanted. He looked at her and she knew that he wanted the prototype, not the Comet, wanted the risk for the reward, not the safe option. He saw the moment she nodded sharply and pressed her mouth into a razor-thin line.
"We'll take the prototype," she said, her voice hard like silver. "You will sell it to me, or I will find a way to get one regardless, and this way, you get the sale."
The man hesitated, his face going dark, but he looked at Regs' sharp, eager gaze, and Mother's unyielding stance and his shoulders crumpled. "You'll need to sign a waiver form, covering any injuries on an unregistered broomstick that hasn't been assessed by the Broom Regulatory Control. It's not illegal for me to sell it to you, nor for you to own it, but should the Ministry ask to examine the broom, you must permit them to, with the paperwork I'm about to give you, and should they find the broomstick to be dangerous, it will be confiscated. Deal?"
Mother lifted her chin. "Acceptable. How much?"
Regs left them to it as they started to haggle and went to the broomstick servicing section of the store. He fiddled with a tin of polish for a moment and then brought it to the desk. Mother looked down at it, nodded once and slid it towards the man. He sighed, took the tin and went into the store room behind the desk.
Mother turned to Regs. "I have extremely high expectations of you, now that you have this broomstick, Regulus. I want your grades at Exceeds Expectations or higher, and you are to train with this broom until you are absolutely certain that you can handle it. I will not have you careening about and losing your head because you wanted something faster than everybody else. You train with this broom until you know it like your own wand, or I will take it back, hear me?"
Regs snapped straight. "Yes, ma'am."
Mother sniffed. "Very well. Take the package, Regulus, and we will go home."
Regs turned back to the desk and took the long paper-wrapped package that the shop assistant held out to him with a tight smile.
"Good luck, young sir," the man said quietly. "And please be careful."
Regs inclined his head. "I will."
Later, when they got home, and Regs delivered Sirius all of his school supplies – books, potion ingredients, quills and robes – he closed himself in his room and tore off the paper, looking at the curved broom handle and the clipped twigs with satisfaction. Sirius had looked at the long package wistfully, but he knew that he had not earnt a new broom. Alone at last, Regs held the broom and laid it on his bed. For a moment it quivered beneath his fingertips and he closed his fingers tightly about the wood until it settled. He drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn't wait to fly.
The rest of summer passed in a blur. Regs wrote to Elias, and once more to Patrick Nott. Sirius spent some time with him, giving him searching looks as they read together, or played chess or simply spoke about Hogwarts and their plans for the year. Regs hadn't forgotten Sirius' words about not giving up on him, but they were strange, foreign – Regs was in no need of saving.
There was no time to visit Uncle Alphard's to test out the new broom – Regs would have to train at Hogwarts before the start of the Quidditch season. He wrote to tell Elias about his new broom but tempered his excitement, remembering Elias' embarrassment at not owning the best brooms as Regs had. He wrote longer instead about their new Potions textbook, pleased at the idea of brewing a few potions that he had not gotten around to before he'd started school.
Elias had had a good summer from his letters – he'd spent time with an aunt and uncle in the country and finished his assignments quickly. He was eager to see how he'd scored on them, he wrote in his last letter. After that, Regs let his parents' owl rest at home and began to pack his school things. It was two days before they would leave, but it never hurt to be prepared. Sirius' owl, Hyperion, had been out all summer delivering letters to his friends and Regs knew that Sirius would never let his beloved owl be sent to the Slytherin houses that Regs wrote to. Regs did not have his own owl yet – Sirius' had been a gift for his first year of Hogwarts, and it was expected that both of them would write home with the same owl, or a school one. Regs knew that his parents would give him an owl at some point, but he had his new broom as symbol of status, and it was tradition for the heir to have an owl to start Hogwarts. Giving Regs one too soon afterwards would send the impression that Sirius was not to be trusted with his, and that Regs' word meant more – not an impression the Blacks wanted to put out, even if it might be what they thought privately.
Sirius was scrambling to pack his clothes the night before they were to leave and Regs went to bed early, once again astounded at his brother's lack of organisation skills. He was lucky that the halfblood Lupin, who always looked so unwell, seemed the prepared sort, else presumably Sirius would have received even more detentions for late work.
Regs was up with the sun the next morning, and hesitated over his sheafs of parchment regarding notes on the pureblood movement, and Lord Voldemort. No, he would leave it here. Too dangerous to have at school, though he would continue to collect newspaper cuttings that supported his theory. He tucked the papers away and went down to the kitchen to say goodbye to Kreacher, for he would not get the chance after breakfast. The elf quivered with delight to see him and plied him with small cakes that he'd made especially for Regs before he left. His deep croaking voice soothed Regs' excitement and his nerves and he went to get dressed and have breakfast with his family, feeling entirely certain of himself. His last first day of the new school year had been an interesting one. He intended for this one to be the right kind of interesting.
Apparating into King's Cross Station with their luggage felt as familiar as going home. Regs did not listen to Father's usual warnings to Sirius about his conduct; he had been released to board the train and he dragged his trunk eagerly along the platform, maintaining, of course, his outward appearance of elegant nonchalance. But – there! Elias waved at him vigorously and Regs grinned. He pulled the heavy luggage onto the train and, finding an empty compartment, stowed it.
"You'll never guess!" Elias puffed, heaving his own trunk behind him, with an extra basket attached to it. "My mother gave me a cat to bring this year!"
Regs blinked. "A cat?"
"Yeah!" Elias was bright-eyed. "She's the prettiest thing. I'll let her out once we get moving, but I don't want her to spook while everyone's still running about."
Regs had nothing against cats, but he didn't see the use of having one at Hogwarts. Owls were much more useful. Cats were just – a bit domestic. Muggles had them as pets, too.
There was a sharp rap at their compartment window and Nott was standing outside with colour high on his cheeks and mouth pinched. He was looking right at Regs and Regs got up at once to let him in.
"Well met, Patrick," Regs said jovially. Nott scowled, but he didn't snap. He shoved his trunk above their heads and sat down by the window.
"Any news?" Regs asked.
Nott grunted. "Nothing you'd be interested in."
Elias glanced sideways at Regs. "Try us."
Nott scrunched up his face. "I'd rather not do the exchanging of holiday joys, alright?"
"No worries," Regs said easily. "Elias was just telling me about his new pet." He gestured at the basket on the seat beside Elias. Nott looked at the basket apprehensively.
"What is it?"
"A cat!" Elias beamed. "She's very sweet. You'll love her."
Nott raised his eyebrows at that, but didn't protest.
"I've a new broom," Regs said, unable to contain himself. "Mother managed to get the salesman in Diagon Alley to hand over the new Nimbus prototype. I can't wait to try it out. I'm determined to make the team this year."
Nott snorted. "No doubt with the latest broom on the market, you can't not make the team."
Regs paused. "I'd have come with my old broom and made the team just fine, I think. But I'd rather have the best."
Elias frowned "Nott, you saw him in Elmsworth's class last year. He'll fly the pants off anyone else who wants to be Seeker."
Nott flapped his hand. "Sure. Whatever. He's a flying prodigy. I don't care." His face began to close and he looked out the window again. Elias gave Regs a questioning glance, looking rather indignant on Regs' behalf. Regs just shook his head slightly. Nott was much improved from last year, but not even their tentative friendship was enough to soften Nott on the first day away from his apparently unhappy time at home. Regs took no offense. He had thicker skin that that.
People came past their compartment, but Regs didn't see Wilkins or Parkinson, for which he was grateful. He'd never manage to get a handle on Nott's temperament if he was constantly in the company of those two, who had no patience for Nott's temper. The train began to move shortly and Regs felt a swell of gladness well up in him. New lessons, new spells – quidditch!
Once they were out of the station, Elias gently undid the straps on the basket and Regs peered curiously inside. Even Nott couldn't help a glance at Elias' new pet. There was a sleepy noise and a rustle and then a small cat – barely out of kittenhood – perched on the open lid of the basket.
The cat was a dusky white-grey colour, long-haired with ears that seemed too big for it.
"Isn't she gorgeous?" Elias beamed and reached in for the cat. She made a noise of protest but settled in his arms willingly, and began to purr. Regs had to admit that the creature was certainly not ugly and seemed to have a sweet disposition.
Nott sniffed. "As long as it doesn't leave hair all over my robes."
Elias' expression was slightly hurt so Regs hurried to let the cat sniff his fingers, which it did with interest. "What's her name?"
"Morgana, after Morgan le Fay," Elias replied and laughed as the cat licked Regs' fingers.
"Good name for a cat," Regs said, approving. "Have you got the Chocolate Frog card of her?"
"Yes, that's where I got the idea," Elias said. "Figured our Slytherin dorm cat had to have a good dark witch's name!" He said this a little anxiously, looking at Regs as though for approval as the creature wandered onto the seat next to him. Regs wouldn't have been surprised if Elias had named the cat Delilah, but he knew for certain that Morgana would get a much better reception, and it certainly suited the little feline. He nodded encouragingly.
"Cooper – Cooper, what's it doing?"
Elias looked over and stifled a laugh. "Nott, she's just looking for a lap. She likes it where it's warm."
Nott had his hands hovering in midair above the cat – Morgana – as she clambered her way onto his knees and sniffed at his robes. His expression was frozen somewhere between shock and uncertainty. After a few moments, under all of their gazes, the not-quite kitten settled onto all fours, hunched over Nott's knees and curled her tail about her body.
"She likes you!" Elias crowed and grinned like a madman. "Go on, give her a pat. She likes it on top of her head and under her chin."
Nott shot Elias a scowl but did as he was bid, tentatively touching the cat with a fingertip. His expression changed fractionally – for Regs was watching him closely – and something in the hard lines about his mouth and eyes went soft. Nott dropped his hands to his sides, and leant back against the seat, grumbling. But even Elias could see now that Nott posed no threat to the small cat.
"Morgan le Fay, no longer a stray," Regs mused and Elias' startled laugh carried them through the rest of the morning, giddy as fools on their way back to school.
