The first Monday after his seventh birthday was the first day Regulus had any lessons in his entire life.

The little boy sat in his father's study—his back straight, his hands neatly folded on the desk... he was ready, so ready to learn, unlike his brother next to him. Sirius sat slouched, and Sirius tapped his fingers on the desk. Sirius was impatient.

And Sirius already knew how to do most everything!

Father finally entered, holding two scrolls of parchment and a stack of paper.

"Ready?"

Regulus nodded eagerly. Oh yes, he was ready. He'd show what he had in him.

Father put the scrolls down and handed them both some paper. "Today we shall begin with the basics," he said, turning his attention to Regulus in particular. "Regulus, we will start with the alphabet. Do you know what that is?"

"Yes, Father. It's the letters we use to form words."

"Very good," his father said, and Regulus' heart skipped a beat. He couldn't afford to make mistakes. "Now, let's go through each letter, shall we?"

Regulus leaned in, looking at the paper that lay in front of him. There were all sorts of shapes on the parchment that were familiar enough. It's not like he hadn't ever seen letters before.

"This is the A—for Astronomy, Amulet and Alchemy," Father began, "and that is...?"

"B. B is for Binoculars, for Butterbeer and Broom; C is for Cauldron-"

"Yes, yes, Sirius," Father interrupted, "I should hope you know this by now. I was talking to your brother."

Sirius scoffed but spoke no more.

"Regulus, your turn. Can you tell me what sound this makes?" Father pointed to the next letter.

"Err... 'D'... like in... um... 'D-dark Arts'?"

Both Father and Sirius laughed. "That's certainly creative, son, certainly... let's keep that one—D is for Dark Arts. Brilliant!"

"No, it's for Dragon," Sirius protested, "Dragon, and Demiguise, and-"

"And Dark Arts," said Father, and that was that.

Regulus beamed. Maybe this wasn't so bad, after all. He was better at this than his brother already! And if he studied hard...

And study hard he did. At the end of the week, he could tell all letters apart, and come up with all sorts of words to fit those letters, for Father seemed to appreciate his thoughts on the matter (even if Sirius did not). But just as he thought he had reached the peak of his knowledge, Father came in with the stuff of nightmares—quills and sharpeners, inkwells and ink blotters... more scrolls of parchment... seeing Father bring it all in nearly made him dizzy.

But he knew he had to show Father he was serious about this lesson—and he was serious about it! Oh how he longed to get good at this so he could be just like a real grown-up...

So when Father handed him his very first quill, he treated it as if it was a golden treasure. It might as well have been—it was made of a black feather and had a golden tip, and it was absolutely beautiful.

"First, we must understand the importance of proper penmanship," his father explained, taking his own quill out of one of the drawers. "Watch carefully."

He dipped the quill into the inkwell and began to write the letters of the alphabet on the parchment with elegant strokes, and it was as if he was working on a work of art—that's how careful he was with every stroke, and that's how beautiful the end result was to him.

Regulus tried to mimic him, watching his father's still wet ink on the parchment opposite him. He dipped his quill into the inkwell and pressed it down on the paper that lay in front of him—too harshly. The tip split, the paper broke, and ink splatters flew around.

Father shook his head and waved his wand, causing the stains to disappear and the tear to heal. "Gently," he said, "it's very delicate. Here."

Father took his quill and handed him a new one, a simpler one. This one had no golden tip, and it felt as if he hadn't just let his father down, but the entire world. He wasn't good enough for the golden tip. He'd never be good enough...

He looked to his side, to his brother. Of course Sirius hadn't broken his quill. Of course Sirius hadn't caused splatters of ink to fly everywhere. Of course Sirius had a quill with a golden tip. Of course Sirius was better at this... yeah, Sirius scribbling away with ease, creating those same beautiful letters Father had made. Those same beautiful letters he couldn't make.

So he threw down his quill and gave up. If he couldn't get it right, he'd rather not make a fool of himself.

"Regulus..." Father sighed, picking up his discarded quill. "It takes practice. You can't get better if you give up."

"I'll never get better!"

"You will." He handed the quill over to him once more. "Writing is an art form, and it requires practice and precision. Take your time, and remember the importance of each move. Try it again."

Fine, he thought, and he dipped the quill in the inkwell again, pressed it onto the paper again – less harshly, this time – and tried to form those letters he saw on his father's parchment, the letters he saw on his brother's parchment...

But he couldn't get the letters to form. The ink blotted together, forming one large spot that drenched the paper, creating yet another hole.

"Oh, I can't!"

"Patience, my son," Father said. He waved his wand and the ink disappeared and the paper healed again. He walked around to his side of the desk and took his hand in his own, guiding it to the inkwell and then onto the paper, very carefully, as they formed the lines together.

The lines joined together, forming letters, forming words, forming art. And he was doing this. Father let go of his hand, and he continued with what they had done together. He had to dip, move to the paper, glide over the paper and then the shapes would form themselves... and repeat.

Over time, his strokes became more controlled, and the letters began to look more like those he had seen his father write.

"Well done, Regulus."

The next few lessons were nothing but writing those letters, over and over again until he got back his quill with the golden tip. He had proved himself worthy, and that was a feeling unlike any other.

"Take hold of your quill and ink, and write your name at the top of the parchment." It was the first thing their father said as he entered the study one day. Sirius scribbled away as usual, and Regulus, too, dipped his quill into the ink, only to stop before writing anything.

Father knelt down next to his chair. "Regulus Arcturus Black," he said, "we went over all the letters already. This shouldn't be too hard. Sound out your name, slowly, and write the right letters down."

The thick black ink clung to the quill's tip as he carefully chose the letters to write. 'R', 'E', 'G', 'U', 'L', 'U', 'S'.

It wasn't fair Sirius' name was so short, and his so immensely long...

"Good job," Father said, and Regulus beamed, moving on to the 'A' of Arcturus. "You're starting to get better at this than Sirius."

He looked at his brother, writing with such ease. That was simply impossible. Sirius also seemed to think so, for he looked at Father in confusion.

"Your penmanship, Sirius," Father said. "It leaves much to be desired, and you make no effort to improve—unlike your brother, whose name will soon be written with the elegance befitting a true Black."

He scoffed. "It's just a name, Father. Doesn't matter how fancy it looks."

"Just a name? Goodness, we are Blacks, Sirius! We represent our entire lineage. That means it is essential we carry the name Black with the dignity it deserves—which includes taking proper care of the way we write it out."

Sirius smiled sweetly. "Whatever you say, Father."

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months, and before long, the end of the year was in sight. Regulus had settled into his new life quite well, enjoying his days of learning how to do all sorts of things. Like a real grownup.

The end of the year brought many exciting events for Regulus, but the most important one was Christmas; with Christmas came the annual Hogwarts Christmas break, and with that, the return of his cousins. He couldn't wait for them to come back, especially Narcissa—she had promised him they could go back to the burial chamber. Maybe they could even take Sirius! Oh, Sirius would feel so stupid to know it was real and he had been right.

But just a week before they would come back home, Kreacher approached him, a letter in his hand. "Master Regulus has post."

Wasn't that exciting? His very first letter! He eagerly took it from Kreacher, tearing open the paper envelope and unfolding the parchment inside.

Dear Regulus,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and high spirits; I also hope I am not mistaken and you are well on your way with your reading lessons. If not, I am sure you can find someone to read this letter to you.

I write to you because I have to break my promise. I will not be able to come home, because my parents believe it will be good for me if I spend some time with Lucius Malfoy and his family, and they invited me to stay with them during Christmas break, so that is what I must do.

Please know that I am thinking of you all the time and that my heart aches to be home with you and the others... but I have to make the most of this time at the Malfoys, as difficult as it may be.

How are you spending the Christmas break, dear cousin? I hope you are being taken care of and that you have a good time without me.

With all my love,

Cissy

So... she wasn't coming home? She was... abandoning him? For that Lucius Malfoy? But then they wouldn't go back to the burial chamber, then they wouldn't show Sirius how wrong he had been, then he'd have to spend Christmas all alone, without her! That wasn't fair! She had to come back, she just had to.

He angrily threw the stupid letter aside. Why did this have to happen to him? Why?! Did her parents really put her up to this? But then why hadn't they told him! They knew how much he looked forward to seeing her! And they'd been here last month for Sirius' birthday. They had NO EXCUSE!

He pressed his face into his pillow and let out a cry. His whole life was ruined. And it was all her fault—no, all their fault. He didn't care she had to spend time with that Lucius Malfoy bloke, she had to spend time with him! They were family!

His anger disappeared into sadness and he hugged his pillow tightly for comfort. When that failed to calm him down, he got to his feet, grabbed the letter, and ran across the hall to Sirius' room—empty.

So down he went. Both his parents' rooms were empty, as were the numerous guestrooms on the third and second floors, and Father's study. He eventually found both his parents in the drawing room. They seemed to be talking about something that must have been very serious and important, bending over a copy of the Daily Prophet.

He ran in through the open door without knocking.

"Woah, woah, what's wrong," Father grabbed him, forcing him to come to a standstill.

He couldn't speak. He was shaking, still crying, and panting slightly, so all he could do was lean against his father for support.

Father held him for a moment, then pulled away and took the letter.

Mother had come over, and read the letter together with Father, as Regulus tried to dry his tears. He shouldn't be crying. He wasn't a baby any more.

"I know it's hard to understand this right now," Father said as he finished the letter, "but sometimes grown-ups have to make difficult decisions. The Malfoys are a very powerful and influential family, and especially in these times it is best to be friendly with them."

But that wasn't what he wanted and that didn't make any sense! He wanted to scream it out at them, that this wasn't fair, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"Regulus..." Mother crouched down in front of him. "You can't control other people's actions. It's better not to be upset about them, either. Your aunt and uncle didn't do this to hurt you."

"Then why did they do this? And why didn't they tell me?" The tears came back in full force—he couldn't keep them in any longer. "W-why is this ha-happening?!"

Mother took him in her arms and he snuggled up against her as she carried him to the sofa. He breathed in her scent and actually calmed down a little. After a few moments of sitting there, together, he mumbled an apology. He was too old for this stuff...

And Mother agreed. "You've got to understand this kind of behaviour... it isn't right, dear. You're too old to be acting like this, especially over something as simple as your cousin changing her Christmas plans."

She pulled away from him. "Your father and I are very disappointed in you."

His heart sank. No. No, no, no, no, no. He hadn't wanted to let down his parents, he hadn't meant to! He felt the tears coming back but he focused on something else. Something not sad. Like little kittens or puppies or-

Or the fact his father was sitting there going over the newspaper instead of paying attention to him. No, that was sad. But it kept the tears at bay as determination grew in its place.

"It won't happen again. I promise."

"Good boy. Now off you go."

He stared back at his father one more time as he got away from the sofa. He still wasn't paying attention. Mother had turned her attention back to the newspaper now, too... why had he done this! Why had he cried like a baby in front of them when he was supposed to be a big boy now, nearly grown up?

As he left the drawing room, the tears came back again.

No!

He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry over feeling bad about crying, that was a stupid thing to do. It would only make everything worse. He turned and ran—back to the stairs, taking two steps at a time as he raced up, to get to his own room. He couldn't stop the pressing feeling (as if he was suffocating!) nor the pricking in his eyes, but he could prevent others from seeing it.

"Whoa watch out!" Sirius called after him as he sped past him on the stairs up to the topmost landing. He couldn't stop and say hi, he couldn't show the tears that were rolling down his face, he couldn't.

"Reg?!"

Regulus ran to his bedroom, quickly shutting the door behind him, ignoring his brother's calls to let him in, to talk to him, to tell him what was wrong. He collapsed on his bed and hugged his pillow—his little trip downstairs for comfort hadn't helped one bit. He was back where he had started...

The door creaked open. Footsteps.

"Reg... whatever happened, it's okay."

"It's n-not," he replied in-between his sobs. "N-n-n..." but he didn't get the sentence out.

"Reg..."

Sirius sat next to him on the bed and he crawled up against him, holding onto his brother as if his life depended on it.

And when he calmed down for the second time that day, he told Sirius everything that had happened. The letter, his parents' reaction, everything.

"It's okay to feel sad about it, no matter what Mother and Father say," was his brother's reaction.

"Really?"

"Really. I'm your brother, remember? Our bond can't be broken. Some tears won't change that."

He smiled up at him, crying his tears with the them of his sleeves before lying back against his brother.

He could live with that.