A/N: Again this chapter really isn't done, and it's more of an intermediate chapter, but hopefully it will tell you something about Reg.
I
wish the light could shine now
For it is closer, it is near
But
it will not present my presence
And it makes my past and future
painfully clear
-Blind
Hercules & Love Affair
Regulus knows he's not intelligent in the way that say, Lupin or Snape is. Those two wear their intelligence like a heavy winter coat in the middle of summer-it is their security blanket and their safety net. They are unwilling--no. Unable to cast it off.
It would kill Snape to botch a potion and Lupin would rather die than fudge a spell. These matters of the mind are important to them, the most important of all. Where Regulus sees confusion and blurry words they see the grids, the patterns, the messages written on the walls.
So Regulus knows he's not of superior intelligence, no genius, no prodigy--but there must be some explanation for the ten OWLs, the Outstanding in Ancient Runes and Transfiguration. There has to be a reason that when people need help they turn, not to Lupin, not to Snape—but to him.
Regulus has the explanation and he is willing to embrace it. He is perhaps, not intelligent. He is clever. His mind is an ever-whirring windmill spinning ideas, thoughts, sly remarks. What he does not know he can create, what he cannot create he can fake, and what he cannot fake he can ignore with a quick shrug and a raised eyebrow.
And it works. Oh how it works. It's dazzling—throughout his years at Hogwarts he watches as he grows closer to the inner circle of Slytherin. How, despite the handicap of a brother in Gryffindor and an Uncle famed for his eccentricity he is chosen, groomed as one of the elite.
He watches as the closer he gets drawn in, the farther out people like Snape and Lupin are pushed. All despite Snape's obvious genius in Potions and Lupin's extraordinary talents in spellwork. So, he comes to the conclusion that perhaps the world does not work as his nurse has always taught him.
It is not the genius and his pet theory that make the world turn. It is the man who can spin it. Intelligence has no place on cleverness.
Regulus understands that sometimes in life it is necessary to compromise—his morals, his character, his intelligence. He does not allow his own mind to block him from a path to success. If that means making light of a good grade on a Charms essay, or missing the target during DADA practice that is ok.
He finds he is an expert at playing status games—high and low by turns. This endears him to the self-proclaimed rulers of Slytherin and if his own talents are little bit greater and his abilities just a little bit stronger than they know. Well. He has no problems with that.
Regulus is one of the few not of the inner circle to know the truth of Voldemort's heritage. His Lord would of course have preferred complete ignorance—indeed the extent of his followers' knowledge was often concealed from him at great lengths. It was only Samson who knew, however vaguely, the nature of the twisting path that had brought them their leader.
Regulus had known the name of Tom Riddle long before he met his Lord. It was nothing much, a vague half recollection which had danced in the folds of his memory drawing misty veils about itself to hide its ugly truth.
It was in Transfiguration, a Thursday when Slytherins took classes with Ravenclaw. This was on the whole OK with Regulus—Ravenclaw girls were famed for more than their minds and were much readier to listen to a charming Slytherin with a clever tongue.
It was also a rare day when McGongall feeling the call of nature, or lust, or of a desperate need to get away from her pupils had left the classroom for five minutes. As usual the room burst into pandemonium.
As the door swung shut behind her Rosier shouted "PENIS", tossed his transfiguration homework into the air and placed a huge smacking kiss on the lips of the girl next to him. This accomplished he thrust his hand into the air and repeated the cry. His call was taken up by the other hot-blooded young males in the class.
The chant went up around the room as pencils and books were thrown into the air. The girls were split down the middle, half of them groaning at the immaturity of their compatriots and the other half trying desperately to hold back laughter.
Regulus who was currently wooing a Beauxbaton transfer student named Marte took this opportunity to lean over and whisper a few choice French phrases in her ear.
She giggled and hit his arm playfully, her delicate cheeks colouring. "You" She murmured, her eye-lids hooded. "That is not quite. What would you say? Gentlemanly?"
He raised one eyebrow in return and grinned, "If it was a gentleman you were looking for you came to the wrong person. Believe me. Preserving your chastity is the last thing on my mind."
However before he could launch into further detail McGongall had swept into the room in all her imperious iciness and was bearing down upon him.
"Unfortunately for you Mr. Black preserving the chastity of my students is my concern. You will come see me after class and we will discuss your conduct"
Equally unfortunately his big mouth would not allow this to pass without comment and he over to Nott and whispered "You know Minnie really does resort to such desperate measures to get me alone."
Whether she had heard him or not McGongall continued writing out the lesson on the blackboard but added "And I think an hour detention with Filch might be just the thing to start you off".
When he returned at the end of the day, his hands grimy with the filth of the now gleaming dungeon he found McGongall sitting at her desk sipping a cup of tea.
He could not apply the word slumped to McGongall just like he couldn't apply the word knickers or sex-life. Nevertheless it was true that his Transfiguration teacher's back was not in its usual ram-rod straight position and the face that she raised to look at him was weary.
"Sit please Mr. Black" She said gesturing at the chair in front of her. Regulus slid into it, and slouched forward slightly, locking his hands behind the chair. He was more than aware that there could be any number of reasons for McGongall to call him in—but he wasn't dumb enough to give her information she didn't have.
"What is this about Professor?" He asked finally. She seemed reluctant to answer, and looked at him instead.
It was perhaps the first time, he thought, that he had ever looked into a teacher's eyes. He had of course stared straight at them to try and convey his message with whatever amount of false honesty he could work up. But that was looking at them—not into them.
He noticed for the first time that McGongall's eyes were a curious shade of blue-grey like the moment during a storm when the sea and the sky become indistinguishable. He saw the small gold flecks that encircled her cornea and the faint lines which surrounded them
He realized with an unpleasant jolt that in her youth McGongall must have been beautiful. She seemed to be searching his face for something and on finding it empty sighed and broke the contact.
McGongall shuffled a few papers on her desk, "Mr. Black I have had in the past five years the dubious pleasure of teaching five Black children. There can be no doubt that you are all unique in your talents and your abilities"
Regulus wondered when the word unique had ever sounded less like a compliment. "I will admit" She said "That the Headmaster and I were initially worried about your Sorting."
Regulus hid his surprise by making a noncommittal noise.
"Despite what you may think we are both aware of the…difficulties associated with being Slytherin and the complications that Sirius presented to you." Her mouth twisted, "We of course are delighted at how well you appear to have done for yourself."
Regulus straightened in the chair and glanced at her, "I thank both you and the Headmaster for your kindness Professor."
She made a noise that almost sounded like a suppressed snort.
There was another pause and this time Regulus got the impression that McGongall was trying to find a way to say something.
Finally, she shook her head slightly. "You are free to go Mr. Black" She said tiredly and waved her hand at the door."
Regulus stood up, slinging his book bag over his shoulder and made his way with some confusion to the door. As the door was swinging shut behind him he saw McGongall out of the corner of his eye.
She was sitting at her desk, massaging her temples—in a faint almost whisper she said quietly, "Regulus Black is not Tom Riddle".
Even when he became aware of the weight behind that statement he failed to comprehend it. What had McGongall seen in that brief five minute conversation that had proved her wrong? And why had she made that assumption in the first place?
These had been the questions that had plagued him throughout his service. But when it was over and Lord Voldemort had ceased to be his Lord there was only one question that nagged him.
What if she was wrong?