The Little King
Bellatrix's wedding took place in her future home. The Lestrange Estate was a huge anti-muggle bubble in the very center of London. Regulus took advantage of the short period of freedom he had before the ceremony to take a walk around the building and look at the stylish Gothic ornaments, which were actually created under muggle influence. Then he strayed towards the blooming gardens so he could look at the whole house against the summer sky and marvel at the architecture.
He tried to imagine how his life would have been like if instead of moving into that magnificent house, Bellatrix would have married Sirius and moved into Number 12 Grimmuld place. He concluded that if Sirius would have acted like the son his parents expected him to be, Regulus would have been the disappointment in the family, for obvious reasons, and thus completely at his cousin's mercy. He was glad Sirius managed to get away from her cruelty, and at the same time pitied Bellatrix's future husband.
He politely greeted two old ladies who were sitting in the sun in the garden. They answered him with familiar mannerisms as they examined him from head to toe. He faked a smile and walked away from them quickly. For a moment he was tempted to throw away the blue rose his mother had attached to his lapel to one of the flower bushes, but at the last moment stopped himself and left the rare flower untouched.
The rose was one of the exclusive wedding practices of pure blood wizards – It was a sign that the man wearing it was a bachelor looking for a match. As nice as the flower was, it made Regulus feel like an animal in heat or a piece of meat put out for sale.
He circled the building once more and then entered the cool entrance hall. A huge arched ceiling towered above the wedding guests, who chatted among themselves as they waited for the ceremony to begin.
"Where have you been?" His mother demanded, appearing out of nowhere and beginning to arrange his appearance. She herself was as elegant as a peacock, as expected from a close relative of the bride. "The ceremony will begin any moment..."
Suddenly the crowd went quiet. Regulus turned to see what everyone were looking at and was pulled aside by his mother.
The crowd made way for the bride and groom, who made their way gracefully to the ball room where the ceremony was to take place. Rodolphus Lestrange wore a silver and indigo dress robe and on top of it a heavy, ancient looking cloak, woven completely from golden thread. On its back was an embroidery of a black tree, the Lestrange's coat of arms. He smiled at the crowd with ease, leading his young, stunning bride through her new home. Everything considered, to Regulus he seemed like a decent fellow.
Bellatrix held her future husband's arm lightly, not less pleased than he was at the glances of admiration directed at them. She was wearing a traditional blood- red dress, no doubt the same dress her mother had worn on her wedding day; But although the dress was old-fashioned, Bellatrix wore it with perfect grace. Her hair was braided around her head like a black crown, and inside the black nest rested an antique silver diadem, adorned with diamonds and rubies. A silver brooch was attached to her chest, showing the Blacks' hound and star. She sent Regulus a smile as she passed him, and he looked away. He hadn't dared to look into her eyes for so long that he had forgotten their color.
After the bride and groom marched the grooms elderly mother, walking painfully slowly on her fragile legs while leaning on her young son's arm. Rabastan Lestrange, who was a year younger then Regulus and was also on Slythrien's Quidditch team, winked at him as he passed by him.
After the groom's family marched the bride's parents, followed by the bride's younger sister, Narcissa, who was leaning on the arm of her cold-eyed fiancée. After them, Lestrange's uncles and cousins took their place, joining the column that marched into the hall in perfect ceremonial order. Only after the distant cousins took his place, Regulus' mother grabbed his father's arm firmly and motioned him to lead her into the column. Regulus came right after them.
They took their seats in the second row of benches. The ballroom of the Lestrange Manor was a magnificent, high-ceilinged structure made of white and pale oval stone with silvery veins. Huge windows made of green, yellow and pink glass depicted romantic episodes from ancient fairy tales and poured a bright and colorful light into the hall.
After they were cut off from their family, the bride and groom went to the platform in the front of the hall, under an ancient marble statue of a wizard who's name had been long forgotten. One of Lestrange's old uncles, who was led to the stage with the help of two young men, was chosen to conduct the ceremony.
Regulus felt he was being watched. He turned his head to see a golden-curled girl, probably one of Lestrange's cousins, who had been seated beside him. Regulus noticed that a blue rose was attached to the sleeve of her blue dress. He looked down and didn't look up until the ceremony began.
The blessings were said, the fathers were mentioned, the promises were exchanged and the blood was offered. Finally the two signed their alliance with a brief kiss and led the guests out, in the same order as they had entered.
"It was supposed to be Sirius..." Regulus' mother mumbled on the way out.
"Leave it, Walburga," grumbled her husband. "I don't want to hear his name anymore, is that clear?"
The wedding banquet was held in the garden. Regulus hoped to slip into the quiet bush maze without attracting anyone's attention, but Narcissa caught up with him in the terrace.
"It was a lovely ceremony, don't you think?" She said, a little faster than necessary.
"It was nice," Regulus said. "Soon we'll see you there, too."
"Yes, soon..."
"Where's your fiancé?" Surprisingly, Malfoy was nowhere near his future wife. It was unusual, considering that he had barley left her side since the engagement had been announced.
"He went to meet some old friends. They say that the Dark Lord himself is gracing us with his presence, did you know?"
Regulus didn't notice anyone unusual. He expected the Dark Lord to be a stirking figure that would immediately draw his gaze.
"Is he one of Lucius' old friends?"
Narcissa looked like a doe who heard the hunter's footsteps. "It's not funny, Regulus."
"You know I don't make jokes. It's a great honor to be in the Dark Lord's Circle. So I've heard, at least."
Narcissa touched her elegant hair style with a pale, thin hand. "They say that Rodolphus' father was one of the Lord's first supporters – even his friend, one might say. And everyone knows that Rodolphus supports the Lord publicly..." She seemed to be gathering her courage, then suddenly said, "You know, we thought that Lestrange was going to be just like all the others, that Bella would have her fun with him and then throw him away when she got bored... But you had to see the expression on her face when he told her he knows the Dark Lord personally... She was so excited, like she thought their marriage was going to be an adventure..."
"There's no harm in it if it prevents her from getting bored with her marriage, isn't it?"
"You're probably right," Narcissa lied without talent. She gave Regulus a gentle smile, obviously not wishing to talk about her sister anymore. "And what about you? Will we get another wedding invitation soon?"
Regulus smiled back. Narcissa was always his favorite cousin. It was a mystery to him, how each of the Black sisters had been born so different from the other two. Andromeda – intelligent and fierce, Bellatrix – powerful and tameless, and Narcissa – so meek and gentle, as if a gust of wind could blow her away. She and Regulus had always been natural allys.
"This flower will wilt long before a pure-blooded girl would glance at me."
"Don't be like that, Reg, we both know that's not true," said Narcissa, stroking his face with the back of her hand.
"Narcissa!" Malfoy called from afar.
Narcissa pulled her hand away as if she had been burned.
"I have to go," she said apologetically, moving away. "Enjoy the feast."
"You too," he called after her weakly, but she was already gone.
He moved toward the huge golden tent were the feast was held. Groups of guests fell silent as he passed them, and he nodded at them politely as they looked at him. Here and there people stroked up a conversation with him, questioning him about school and pretending to be interested in his answers. Regulus didn't blame them for their behavior – he knew it was unpleasant to meet him. It was his cousin's wedding, after all, and the gossip about her and her disowned sister and cousin was too juicy to resist.
Those days the Blacks were the most controversial family among the pure- bloods. Between the promiscuous Bellatrix and her lunatic sister Andromeda, who had married a mudblood, and Sirius, who had thrown away his place as the head of the family in favor of a life of debauchery with mudbloods and muggle lovers, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black wasn't so noble anymore.
And these were only the troubles that the children made. The gossipers never forgot to mention Alfred the madman who had decided to leave the world in an unforgettable way by leaving all his gold to his most ruthless nephew. There was also the darker gossip about Orion Black's growing paranoia since he had decided to take his wife and two small children out of their old castle and reside them among muggles, where he would add more and more protection spells every year, and about the gentle sanity of his wife, from whom their eldest son had learned all his perverse ways.
At the liquor stand he met Rabastan, who started talking with him about the Slug Club and Quidditch. He was a lean boy with tanned skin and black curls, who to Regulus' opinion talked a bit too much. He spoke to him politely, waiting for any excuse whatsoever to end the boring conversation.
The distraction came at some point, but not exactly in the way he had expected it. A flash of light dazzled him, and then more lights flickered. Behind the fence, a few paces from where they were standing, was a group of small muggles with narrow eyes who were wearing silly hats, pointing to the wedding guests and taking pictures of them while chatting in a foreign language. Among them stood a white English woman who was staring at the building in confusion.
"Bugger," Rabastan hissed, pulling out his wand. "Why now?..."
"You can't use your wand outside Hogwarts, I think. Especially not in front of muggles," Regulus reminded him.
Rabastan winked at him. "Everyone knows it's just for self-defense." He cursed one of the muggles, who tumbled and hit his friends. The group clustered around him anxiously, and then many of them began to back away.
"It's happens a lot lately," said Rabastan as he hung an old hysterical woman in the air from her ankle. "Since Father passed away no one is maintaining these defenses anymore. I think Rodolphus just enjoys torturing the muggles if they dare show their ugly faces here... Not that I'm complaining, of course."
The old woman's family gathered around her in panic, trying to figure out what was happening to her and how to bring her down.
"Remind me to tell him to ask your father about good muggle repelling spells."
"Yes," Regulus said, deciding that he didn't want to talk to him anymore. "Alright. See you later."
He went into the house, leaving the other guests to remove the muggles any way they wanted. Not wanting to be reprimanded for wandering around the family home, he found a nearby bathroom and slipped inside.
Round stained glass windows shone on waves of perfumed air and the silvery shapes in the oval marble that tiled the entire room. Regulus went over to the golden sink and washed his face, then reached for a stack of neatly stacked towels and dried his skin gently. When he finished he looked at himself in the mirror and startled.
"I apologize," he said, still frightened by the sudden observation. "I wasn't aware there was someone else here..."
"No need," said the stranger who Regulus had seen through the mirror, sitting in a chair by the door. He closed the book he was reading and put it in the inside pocket of his robe as he got to his feet. He looked at Regulus through the mirror. "I should have locked the door."
Regulus turned around. "I'm sorry to interrupt you. I'll leave now – "
"Stay, if you're already here," the stranger said with the ease of a man accustomed to giving orders. Regulus found himself obeying.
The stranger approached the mirror, which was large enough to accommodate both of them, and arranged the stiff collar of his robe. "Something tells me you didn't come in here just to wash your face."
Legilimency. Of course – how didn't he notice it before? The stranger was roaming his mind freely, like fingers flickering through the pages of a book. Regulus slammed the book of his mind without warning, pinching the fingers rudely. He himself was quite good at Legilimency – he had to be, in order to keep his dangerous secrets.
"You can't possibly have all your conversations like this," he said coolly. "Don't you get bored when you know the answer before you finished asking the question?"
The stranger's mouth tightened. The gesture over the handsome face was more like a grimace than a smile, but its purpose was clear.
"I do get bored of people quickly," he admitted. "That's why I'm in here."
He looked at the mirror, and Regulus did the same. The two reflections were remarkably similar; Both thin, pale, dark-haired and dressed in black, with deep dark eyes. Regulus felt that there was greater similarity between him and that man than between him and his family. It was a bit like looking at an older version of himself. Perhaps this is how he would look in thirty years, with a silver strip in his hair and a crease on his forehead, after he would rise to his full height, his eyes will see more sadness and wisdom, and he will lose the blue rose of virginity.
"I thought I was the only one seeking refuge in strangers' bathrooms," the wizard said. "Seems I was wrong. What brings you here, boy?"
"I'm also easily bored with human company. But for a different reason."
"Pride?" The man asked.
"Maybe."
"Pride..." The man looked at the mirror with satisfaction as he straightened a snake-shaped silver pin that closed the collar of his robe. He smiled his queer smile again. "My favorite sin."
Regulus couldn't find an answer to that odd statement.
"Who are your parents, boy?"
"Walburga and Orion Black."
"Ah, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black... Do you know what they say about the Blacks?"
"The Blacks are the closest descendants of Slytherin's lineage that are alive today."
"That's not what I meant," the stranger said. "And it's not accurate. The Gaunts are the most closely associated with the lineage of Salazar Slytherin."
"Maybe that was true once, but I'm talking about the closest lineage that exists today. The last of the Gaunts died without an heir a few decades ago."
The stranger laughed. It was a mocking laugh, unpleasant to hear; Its ungracfulness was jarring in compered to the rest of his appearance.
"So you did your homework in the history of pure blood families. Very impressive. But the mistake you make is very preliminary and significant."
"Let's hear it," said Regulus, loosing himself in the historical discussion with the nameless stranger.
"Have you ever heard the saying, 'history was written by the victors?'"
"Jean-Paul Sartre," Regulus said. "A French philosopher. Muggle."
"And who will know about it better than a Muggle? Writing history to suit their needs is their greatest specialty. And books – especially history books – lie."
Regulus felt his contempt as if it were aimed at him personally.
"Books teach us everything," he said. "Without books and their wisdom we wouldn't even be superior to animals."
"I think you exaggerate in the value of these fine pieces of paper. They do not separate the man from the beast. The most noble and pure man might have never seen the shape on a letter, while the most learned person could be the most terrible monster to walk this earth... Take the muggles as an example – their knowledge and culture doesn't prevent them from behaving like animals and spreading their repulsive morality among other societies like an epidemic."
"So you are in favor of wizards superiority and book burning. An intriguing combination."
The stranger laughed – that sardonic, unsettling laugh. He leaned on the counter gracefully as he finished his argument.
"Oh, the historical irony... No, I actually recommend reading books. I am certainly an eager reader myself. But I reckon a man must read in order to question reality, not just to extract knowledge. Nothing can be taken for granted. You see what I mean, boy?"
Regulus refused to agree with him, perhaps because he blatantly contradicted everything he had been thought and believed.
The stranger glanced at his watch. "I'm afraid I must leave now," he said, looking into Regulus' face with sincerity and closeness, almost softly. It was a strange and pleasant expression to find on a complete stranger's face. "I enjoyed the discussion very much, and I'm sorry we can't finish it now. I would like for us to continue it sometime... We have not yet reached the discussion's original subject."
"The original subject?"
"What is the saying about the Blacks, if you recall. What is your name?"
"Regulus."
"Ah, yes, the Little King. A handsome name, worthy of the respectable House of Black... Goodbye, Regulus. We shall see each other again."
He left without looking back, leaving Regulus with questions upon questions.