I do not own Harry Potter.

Narcissa was Sorted uneventfully into Slytherin the following year. My turn came with much impatience. I was nervous the whole train ride, barely attentive as a skinny, freckle-faced boy sat down across from me within the compartment, told me his name was Barty, and began chatting about Chocolate Frogs and Quidditch.

When I approached the stool, the first of my year to be Sorted, I picked out Bellatrix at the Slytherin table, smiling knowingly at me from within her crowd of companions including both Lestrange brothers, Lucius Malfoy, Evan Rosier, and a few I knew by sight and surname only, like the Avery boy, the Wilkes boy, and a pale, greasy-haired boy that immediately drove to mind the night Sirius had tried to smother me. Narcissa was at the other end of the table, chatting with a clique that was entirely girls, the sisters and future wives of Bella's cohort. I did not bother to look for Sirius or Andromeda, but I knew from the aura of the room that was entering a world already inhabited by everyone I knew from home, plus hundreds more.

I took my seat, and the Hat was slid over my eyes.

"Ahh, the youngest Black. I knew I would be seeing you soon."

The voice was soothing but oddly rough.

"Well, aren't you the most interesting combination of your cousins? They thought your brother was unusual . . . I see much Hufflepuff in you, but very deeply suppressed. You want to be approved of, and you want love, and you're willing to do anything to achieve it. That, however, is where you become Slytherin. You have already shown underhanded ways and dishonest tactics to fulfill your ambition. You have, Regulus, turned yourself into a Slytherin, but you didn't start out that way."

Turning myself into Slytherin does still make me a Slytherin, doesn't it? I thought wildly. My heart was thumping with the suggestion that I might be a Hufflepuff.

"Your parents have raised you into what they want. You are, blank slate, a Hufflepuff with extended obedience. It's only the fact you've landed in a Slytherinian family that has made you a Slytherin. Yet . . . and I know how non-Slytherin Housemen are treated in your family, and it would not be good for you . . . if it is your choice to be a Slytherin, so shall you be. SLYTHERIN!!!"

The last word was screamed to the entire hall. I felt the blood rush back into my extremities. The hat was removed from my head and I went straight to the Slytherin table. Bellatrix shoved Evan aside to make room for me, and I slid in next to her, beaming as Lucius Malfoy handed me a goblet of pumpkin juice. I was filled with gratitude for Bella; why else would a crowd of upperclassmen pamper an entering first year?

The next child to be Sorted was Barty, or, named on the list, Bartemius Crouch, Jr. Bella scoffed at the sight of him with his straw-colored hair, uneven teeth, and numerous freckles. However, he was made a Slytherin, and he promptly came to sit next to me. I obliged, as there was room enough for two skinny boys where Evan had once sat. Bella did not outwardly show it, but I knew she was wary; Crouch, she had told me once before, was a bloodtraitor family, the type like the Weasleys, Bones, or Macmillans, or Sirius's friends the Potters, Lupins, and Pettigrews-- the kind often Sorted into the other Houses, with no real true pro-pureblood feeling. Still, if Barty was made a Slytherin, there had to be at least some feeling in him.

After dinner, I found myself in a dark dungeon common room decorated with green hangings and dark wooden furniture. Barty and I went into our dorms, which contained five four-poster beds, all with green velvet curtains and green bedclothes. They were a little starker than I was used to, but Barty seemed absolutely thrilled. I pitied him for a moment, the true Slytherin son of an inferior family.

"Was that your cousin?" he asked me, undoing his hangings so that he could get into bed.

"Who?"

"The dark-haired one, the girl . . . the one next to you."

"Oh, yes. That's Bella. Er . . . " I recalled Bella's rule: only those she deemed worthy could call her by her nickname. "BellaTRIX."

He grinned. "She's . . . marvelous."

I blinked. Bellatrix hadn't done anything to make him attracted to her. Of course, he might have been watching the way she leaned forward when she poured pumpkin juice, so that her shirt, unbuttoned further down than necessary with a loosened tie, revealed to the boys across from her-- or the way she always made sure to press very gently on the boys nearest her, so lightly they could barely detect it. Bellatrix had learned something that she had never needed to display at home: sexuality.

She was, after all, 16. I realized from my time in the common room that she was probably the most coveted girl in Slytherin. All of the Slytherin girls flocked together, away from the boys-- Narcissa included-- but Bellatrix associated solely with the opposite sex. She was cold, cruel, unforgiving, and clever as a fox. She was above many of the boys in everything, from wit to intelligence. Earlier that summer, everyone had glowed over her OWL scores, which contained an O in Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions-- the core classes. She had scored nothing lower than an E, and was slotted for Head Girl next year. Still, though she was intimidating, at the same time she was irresistable.

At first I was vaguely jealous that I was not treated as the other boys were. She flirted but in such a fashion that her advances could not be acted on. She was an untouchable. I, however, as her cousin, was victim to no such defenses. After spending four years shunning Sirius, her former confidante, she seemed more than willing to have me. I was finally welcome.

Of course, my first year knowledge was limited. Bellatrix's friends resented her-- but would never tell-- when she insisted I accompany her places. I did not refuse, of course, for I enjoyed my status with the upperclassmen. Barty used me as a link to Bellatrix, and I had not the heart to turn him down. So it was all the older Slytherins, and Barty and I.

There were politics brewing in the Slytherin common room. Father had warned me of such, but I found I enjoyed it. Here was a place where my knowledge of the old stories came in handy. I provided my advice, and my strong and deep-seated opinions. There was a movement in the works, a reaction to liberal society headed by, ironically, Hogwarts's very own Albus Dumbledore. The Minister was only his puppet, and everyone knew it.

We knew through our families the importance of our pure blood. The Averies knew how important the Avery line was; the Wilkes knew the value of Wilkes blood. Even Severus Snape, whose father had abandoned his mother at a young age-- an unspeakable shame-- had ties to a grand bloodline of the past. In fact, he blamed his family's fall from grace on the new Muggle-born-dominated society.

I was very good at finding statistics to corroborate our opinions. After all, having formed them previously I paid attention only to those that backed my side up. I wrote essays and sometimes submitted them to the Daily Prophet, though they rarely showed up, the paper being dominated by Dumbledore's puppet ministry.

However, it was not solely within the common room that opinions were being formed. Our fathers were planning a long-awaited reaction to what might rise to destroy our way of life if we did not stop it.

Unfortunately, the Slytherin common room was not the only seat of political ferment. In all the other houses, there was reaction and support of Albus Dumbledore and the Ministry's pro-diversity movements, supported on the outside by the parents.

"Hierarchy is only natural," Bellatrix had told me once. "We are all on different levels depending on birth and blood. You learn who to obey and who to hold power over in that way. If everyone were equal . . . well, then, it would be just chaos. The Muggle-borns aren't used to wizard society; they should not be in power and should wait out until they are more used to the ways of our world."

"Those with histories should be more in charge," I agreed. "Those like us."

Gryffindor, of course, was the seat of the opposition. It was the summer between first and second year in which I learned just how senseless Gryffindor had made Sirius.

At dinner, Father was known to make comments on his daily readings of the Daily Prophet. Whatever he concluded from this and stated before us was to be taken as an absolute truth. I found he shared my same opinions on pureblood superiority, though he figured the Ministry was bungling and would never fix itself properly to his standards. My idealism of youth, however, often gave me more optimism in the idea of truly creating our envisioned perfect society.

In July, Father was particularly incensed by a proposal that the Dark Arts be banned not only from Hogwarts School, as it had since the late '50s (replaced by the Defense course), but banned from all of Wizarding England as well.

"That is absolute rubbish," Father had thundered after calming retelling it. "They have no business to purge my books and potions ingredients, and fine me for having what's been in my family for years. Merlin, there's things in my house they classify as dark that I don't even know about! They'd see it; I wouldn't!"

"Well, if you asked them to do a search right away, before the law goes into effect, they'd probably be happy to oblige," Andromeda said quietly. "It would gain you favor with the Ministry . . . you know, go along."

Father frowned at her and she turned her attention to her mashed potatoes. "I'll not have these men in purple robes telling me how I ought to be running my house, especially since half the men in power are Muggle-borns with no proper sense of the way wizard society is running under their noses. What do they see? Diverse, permissive Hogwarts, and they figure all of the wizarding world is like that. They're dead wrong."

"They're only putting this law into effect to try to stifle violence," said Sirius in a rather irritated voice. "What use are the Dark Arts, anyway? They only have negative results; that's the whole point of the exercise."

Father blinked, affronted. "There are plenty of uses for the Dark Arts! They classify all sorts of various useful subjects as Dark . . . traditionally, there has been a light and a dark method of doing everything, from potions to healing to transfiguration. And, traditionally, our family has always chosen the dark. It is a tradition. I don't want it stamped out because a few neophytes in the Ministry think all the Dark Arts are are Necromancy, grotesque transfigurations, and the Unforgivable Curses."

Sirius shook his head. "But it's not as if you're going to be incapacitated by these laws. You can do the light way, just relearn it . . . I mean, that's the type of way they taught you in school." He looked up at Father, "You're just being stubborn. This isn't really that life-altering."

Father stared at Sirius in silence for a moment. Sirius stared back, but then, suddenly, unpredictably, he snapped his head back down and turned back to his meal.

"Well, I can tell you one particular use for Necromency," Father snapped at his lowered head. "You'll need it to raise me up after I die, since apparently I can't leave my house to my eldest son, who hasn't got any sense of the traditions he's to be preserving in this family!"

Sirius snapped his head up, eyes rather cold. Father raised his eyebrows. "You're going into 4th year. It's high time you started learning what's to be expected of you when you become head of this household. I won't have our line destroyed because of your foolish whims."

"Make Regulus do it, then. Or Bellatrix. No doubt she'd be overjoyed." His eyes flitted to his cousin, who smiled deviously at him. Sirius only raised his eyebrows. He sighed and flipped his head back, shaking out of his eyes some of the dark hair he had allowed to grow quite shaggy.

"Regulus and Bellatrix are not, by birth, entitled to that position," Father pointed out delicately. I knew, however, he was wishing deep down one of us were. "Perhaps I should start paying more attention to your obvious ignorance-- and remedies for it."

After dinner, Father disappeared with Sirius, though whether to punish him or tutor him was hard to tell.

I couldn't resist dropping a hint to him that night, however. As Sirius came out of the bathroom, I tossed the book of ancestral stories to him, made a mock bow, and said cheekily, "How will you be remembered? The great Sirius Black, the only Gryffindor the Black family has ever seen, singlehandedly responsible for bringing the magnificent Black family, the House of Toujours Pur, one of the longest and purest bloodlines in England, to the degenerate ruin of a bloodtraitor line!"

Sirius flung the book aside, his lip curled. "Shut up, Regulus," he commanded, brushing past me. "Just shut up about what you don't understand."

"Oh I understand. I understand perfectly. Everyone else seems to be in agreement except you."

"Who? Everyone in this bloody house? This house is an asylum for looneys! What Father thinks has no bearing on the outside world!"

"You're going to be the ruin of us! You're the bloody heir and you haven't got a single proper idea about how this house is supposed to be run! It's just like Father said!"

"This house could do with some serious change," he said, running his hands through his hair. He was definitely going through the same changes Bellatrix had; I had seen girls flocking him in the halls, captivated by the mischeivous smile and carefree posture he seemed to have perfected solely for that purpose.

At the moment, his casualness infuriated me. I felt completely helpless, standing by as Sirius destroyed our line-- and we were bound to let him; he was born the heir.

"I can't let you ruin us," I said firmly. "I'm not going to let you . . . I don't know how, but I'm going to make sure you don't destroy the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

Sirius's half-smile mocked me.

"You know what Father just told me?" he spoke with obvious ulterior motive. "He said that I have a big responsibility, but also . . . great power. The power over you, in fact. I can order you around as easily as you could Kreacher."

I froze, staring at him.

What he was up to was obvious. He smirked. "You see what tradition can lead to? I have the power over your life and death, what you can and cannot do . . . Can you imagine what it would be like if the entire Ministry were like that? Don't you like that you can elect your officials, decide if they're looneys or not . . . not have to trust that whoever's born into it isn't absolutely insane?" He was leaning in to me, grinning psychotically-- which made him look horribly like Bellatrix.

I shoved him away. "But the children that are born leaders of our family are forced to take into account the best interest of the family, not their own personal whims," I snapped, forcing my angry eyes into his dark, passive ones. "You are a corrupt, selfish leader, trying to erase centuries of tradition!" I shoved him once again.

Sirius grabbed my wrists with his strong hands. "You're awfully worked up about this, Regulus. Does blood REALLY mean that much to you? Are you really that brainwashed?"

"I'm not brainwashed!"
"You're only believing all this rubbish because it's what our parents say."

"YOU stop trying to brainwash me!" I pulled one of my arms from his grasp. "I can't believe YOU have to be in charge, you, you abomination! You shame, degeneration, sacrilege!" I shouted.

Sirius didn't deny any of it; he simply stood staring at me in a sort of amused shock.

I wanted a reaction; I dove for him. "Corruption! Subversion! Rogue! Renegade! Ruin of our great tradition and family line!" My pummeling got only a physical defense reaction from Sirius; he pushed me back. I was no resistance against him, so I only screamed louder. "MUDBLOOD-LOVER! BLOOD TRAITOR!"

Suddenly I found myself forced backwards, slammed against the wall. I opened my eyes, which blurred from the wound to my head, and saw Mummy and Father standing with their wands raised. Sirius was flattened against the opposite wall.

Father was looking furiously between us. "Regulus, go to my office."

I looked at Sirius. He looked as shocked as I. Father must have meant Sirius; he had simply messed up our names.

Yet Father looked clearly at me. "Regulus," he repeated, a little more slowly, "Now."

I felt the blood rush away from my upper regions in a giant deluge. My heart stopped for a moment and then sped up, making up for lost beats.

Mummy turned to him, her face slightly stricken. "He was merely defending the family name," she argued for me. I stood trembling behind her, hoping her opinion carried weight. Yet Father looked over her shoulder and met my eyes with a cold fury that sent me on my way immediately.

Sirius smirked as I walked past him.

I went into the office, shaking. Father did not come in for a few minutes, so I looked around at the stone walls and vast books. There were a few odd shapes floating in jars on various shelves, rather like the Potions office-- though one looked suspiciously like a severed hand.

The door did not open-- instead, Father appeared just behind his desk with a snapping nose that caught my attention. He slammed his hands down on it and glared right through me.

"You insulted your brother!" he cried. "What do you mean by that? Blood traitor? Abomination? Sirius is the future patriarch of this family, and no such names should disgrace him!" His eyes narrowed, "And from his own dependant, too. You forget yourself, Regulus. He has rank over you in this household. You owe him your respect, just as you owe it to me. Surely you would never call me such names?"

I could feel myself bending towards him in a forced bow-- I looked to the desk and saw that Father's wand was raised, he was forcing me.

"You don't say the things that Sirius does!" I pleaded. "He was saying he didn't care if he destroyed the family!" I hoped that Father appreciated my defense of the name. I had done it all for the family; surely I deserved no blame?

The charm on my back was released slightly, but I remained in my submissive position. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes and I didn't want Father to see them.

"I am taking care of that, Regulus. Sirius has much to learn, and I plan to teach him. In your position, what you say to Sirius has little bearing. He knows this. I suggest you do not shame yourself by trying to command someone above you. Also," he took in a deep breath, and I felt the charm on my back relinquish its hold, "in order for Sirius to truly understand his position, he must be treated as he will be when the time comes. You will submit to him, do you hear me? I will not have the traditions in this family destroyed!"

"It's his fault the traditions are being destroyed. If he respected them, I wouldn't have to step out like this," I muttered.

The charm broke, but another curse flung me backwards onto my rear. Suddenly, I felt a wash of pain rush over me-- it was not strong, but it stung badly all along my skin. I whimpered, but I heard as Father slammed his hands on the table, snarling, "You leave this to me, Regulus! I want unswavering obedience from you to Sirius-- and . . . and if you disobey him, you disobey this order, thereby disobeying me! I WILL NOT HAVE EITHER OF MY SONS BREAKING THE TRADITIONS OF THIS FAMILY!!!"

The curse broke. I burst into tears; I couldn't help it. A mixture of diluted snot and tears running down my face, I nodded fervently in agreement.

Father sighed in impatient exasperation. "Learn some bloody control, Regulus. Your mother always coddled you with this crying business, and it's positively pathetic. It's weakness."

He got up and left me crying on the floor, trying desperately at his command to wipe away the tears, my skin still seered with the lingering pain of the hex.

Sirius was going to ruin everything, and I was forced to stand and watch it fall around me, helpless, bound by the very traditions he broke. Sirius had won again. He was still the favorite.