Chapter 323: Dinner at the Black House |
In the dining room at Grimmauld Place, a dark green cloth covered the long table, candles burned evenly in their silver holders, the flames steady.
Tonight's spread was as lavish as ever.
Kreacher's cooking never slipped.
Four of them sat at the table.
Orion at the head, Walburga to his left, Regulus across from him, Sirius beside Regulus.
Orion sat as he sat on any other evening, upper body straight, shoulders loose, an evening edition of the Daily Prophet laid out at his right hand.
He cut a piece of steak, chewed it a few times, swallowed, took a sip of tea, the rhythm no different from any night.
Regulus held himself the same as always, back straight, knife and fork in hand, cutting what needed cutting.
Father and son ate much alike, little talk, little feeling shown, which was simply how the house ran.
The other two at the table were a different story.
Sirius had fixed his eyes on Regulus from the moment his brother sat down and hadn't looked away since.
Regulus knew what he was staring at. The Dark Awakening, and the green light at the tip of his wand.
He let it be. Nothing said now would land anyway. Sirius was still worked up. Once he'd settled, a few things could be told.
Not all of them, naturally.
Sirius's temperament being what it was, if he knew everything, there was no telling what he might do.
It wasn't that Regulus feared he'd go shouting it about. Anyone with sense wouldn't, and though Sirius often did senseless things, he had sense underneath. The trouble was that having sense and using it were two separate matters.
So some of it could be told, within reason, enough that he knew what the family was doing, enough that he wouldn't go blundering blind, enough to keep the basic right to know that any Black ought to have.
It would do him good later too. Wherever he ended up, on whichever side, keeping a little quiet understanding with the family beat charging off knowing nothing at all.
But all that was for later. For now, let him look.
Plenty of people were looking at him. One more made no difference.
Regulus cut another piece of steak, dragged it through the truffle mash, and put it in his mouth.
A full day hungry, and the meat tasted better than ever.
He lifted his eyes from the plate and glanced at Walburga.
She was dressed with her usual care tonight, a dark grey house robe, collar and cuffs worked with faint embroidery, hair pinned without a strand out of place, her earrings an old Black piece. Even at home, Walburga never let herself go. Morning to night she stayed presentable, neat in her dress, graceful in her bearing.
But tonight she was quiet. Subdued.
At dinners past, Walburga always had something to say.
She kept to a fixed table repertoire, picking over the evening's dishes, the roast cooked a touch too long, the soup that wanted half a spoon less salt.
She would weigh in on every recent move among the pure-blood families, whose house had risen, whose proposal had been thrown out in the Wizengamot, whose lady had let slip something less than proper at a tea.
Tonight, none of it. She only ate.
Regulus looked at her, drew his gaze back, and went on eating.
He didn't know what was on his mother's mind. Still angry, most likely.
Last night she'd told him to sit down properly with Bella and talk. He hadn't listened. Worse than not listening, he'd beaten her.
His mother's silence was probably a statement. By not speaking, she meant to tell him she was displeased.
The same pattern as before.
He glanced at Orion. He'd not be home long anyway. His mother could be left to his father.
Feeling the look, Orion raised his eyes and met Regulus's for a moment.
There was nothing on Regulus's face, but Orion had known that face twelve years and read a little out of it all the same.
The settled ease of a man who'd finished his work and casually set the cleanup on someone else's shoulders. These are yours to handle. No longer my concern.
Orion took up his napkin and touched it to the corner of his mouth. "How's the body?"
Regulus nodded. "About right. A bit tired. Rest will fix it."
Orion drank his tea. "When you've eaten, come to the study."
Regulus nodded again.
Hearing it, Sirius turned to look at their father. Orion had already picked up the paper and gave nothing back to the look.
Sirius pinned his eyes on Regulus once more, locked in some contest with no one in particular.
Orion rose from the table first, napkin set beside his plate, and went off toward the study.
Regulus didn't follow. He was still hungry. A full day with nothing, and his stomach had only just come back to life. He ate slower than usual tonight, and more.
Two bites of Beef Wellington left. He cut the pastry and meat together and ate them, then used a bread roll to mop up the last of the sauce on the plate, clean.
He wiped his mouth, set down the napkin, stood.
Walburga still sat there, teacup in hand, undrunk.
"Mother, I'm going to the study," Regulus said.
She lifted her head, half a beat late, as though coming back from somewhere. She looked at him, her gaze holding a moment, her lips moving, and only after a while did she say softly, "Go."
Regulus nodded and turned away.
He didn't notice that the way his mother looked at him was unlike other nights, or perhaps his eyes caught it and his mind never turned it over. His head was still in the dullness that came after a great thing was done, too sluggish to look closely, too sluggish to analyze.
He didn't call Sirius either.
Behind him, Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it.
He wanted to follow.
Not that he cared in the least about any of that, the murmured business his father and brother shut themselves in the study to discuss. He could guess what they'd say well enough. How to clean up last night, most likely. How the Lestranges would react. Which families would come fawning to seize the moment, which would keep their distance, and then a tally of just how much the Black family stood to gain from the whole affair.
Gain.
Knock a person down, then sit and reckon how much the thing could be traded for.
His brother had beaten Bella, burned the manor, and now they shut the door and did the accounts.
He wanted to look at Regulus's face and ask him a thing or two.
That green light last night. Were you going to kill her?
Those grey things last night. Do they truly have no hold on you?
No chance this time. But there'd be a chance sooner or later, and he meant to ask it clear.
He didn't even know what answer he wanted. He just wanted to ask.
He glanced at Walburga, who seemed lost somewhere. That look on her he hadn't seen before, but he couldn't be bothered with it, and he stood and left too.
Walburga drew her gaze back from where Regulus had gone and let it fall on the tea in her hand. It had gone cold, the liquid in the cup dark and dull, reflecting nothing.
She didn't drink. She set it down again.
---
The study door stood open. Orion sat behind the desk, doing nothing else, only waiting again.
Regulus walked in and the first thing he saw was the letters on the desk.
Stack upon stack, piled several deep, the tallest nearly hiding most of Orion's face, leaving only the forehead and crown showing.
The corner of Regulus's mouth tipped up.
At the table just now he'd been thinking of asking his father to handle the business with his mother. Looking at this, his father had a fair bit of cleanup of his own.
Still, with that much already, one more thing hardly mattered.
From behind the heap of letters Orion watched his expression, that settled ease again, the same flavor as the glance from the dinner table.
He said nothing, only pointed a hand at the chair across from him.
Regulus sat. He knew how this would go.
The letters were only the start. There'd be no end of what came after, the probing, the overtures, the cultivating of ties, the requests to call. Every house had its own script.
The process of such things ran much alike. Each time something shifted in the pure-blood circle, the fireplace at Grimmauld Place stayed busy without pause, owls queuing on the roof, Kreacher opening the door eighteen times a day.
This time the stir was no small one, and what followed would only grow livelier. The next few days would be busy.
Those who'd been hanging back would start to move. Those already standing close would edge a step nearer. Those hoping to ride the Black family's wind upward would line up to send their letters to Grimmauld Place.
A few more stacks would rise on his father's desk.
None of it took much thought to guess. Politics ran like this. Drop a stone, and the ripples ran a long time.
But he didn't intend to take part.
He'd done what there was to do. The power shown, the influence spread.
The effect of these things would ferment on its own. His name running out there, the rumors turning through the circle, his presence or absence made no difference.
What he'd done had a clear purpose. Feed the soul, press his influence outward, let those who ought to know, know.
The purpose was met now. Keeping on at social gatherings would only give more people the chance to study him up close, to feel him out, to guess at him.
What those who crowded in could offer came down to connections, news, political backing.
The Black family had all of it already. Orion's network, built up over decades, sat right there. What use was a twelve-year-old to shore it up?
He had real work waiting, too.
The Whomping Willow. From the day Professor Sprout said it could shatter conduction, he'd been waiting, near a whole term of waiting.
Baruk's modification, the thing he and the spider had both looked forward to a long while. From the day he carried it out of the Forbidden Forest, he'd promised to make it strong.
These were what he wanted to spend his time on.
Regulus drew his eyes back from the heap of letters. "Father, I'm going to go practice magic."