Chapter 324: Orion: Am I Holding My Son Back? [bonus] |
Orion watched Regulus, and felt no surprise.
The boy had stirred up this much commotion in the pure-blood circle, and his name had never rung louder.
How many people dreamed of attention like this, would have poured every ounce of energy into working it, showing their face everywhere, making ties everywhere, certain that a name alone could be eaten like bread.
Regulus's first instinct was to go practice magic.
"The Avery family comes the day after tomorrow," Orion said. "The Malfoys the day after that."
Regulus shook his head. "Father can handle it."
"The Rosiers and the Selwyns have sent cards too." Orion turned over one of the letters and glanced at it. "All wanting to see you."
Regulus shook his head again. "I'll pass."
Orion picked up a few more. "The Fawleys, the Greengrasses, the Burkes. All from these last two days." He drew one out and waved it, a faint dry tease in his tone. "The Fawley wording is downright eager. Near enough a marriage proposal."
He knew what was behind the Fawleys. Lily's roommate. Marcia Fawley.
Orion set the letters back on the desk, then took up one kept apart at the corner, the envelope larger, the parchment thicker, the wax stamped with the Ministry of Magic's seal in deep blue.
"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, British Ministry of Magic." He read it out like a man reading off a menu. "Regarding the structural damage and magical altercation that occurred at Lestrange Manor during the Christmas dinner, they wish to hold an informal meeting with the party concerned, Mr. Black, to understand the course of events."
He held the letter up for Regulus to see.
Regulus's mouth pulled to the side, then settled.
Orion shook his head and tossed the letter back onto the desk, careless, not into any stack, just on the edge of the corner where it nearly slid to the floor.
A Ministry hearing invitation didn't rate even formal filing on a Black family desk.
An heir of the Sacred Twenty-Eight disciplining his own family member on another house's estate, whether by beating or by burning, was a pure-blood family's internal affair. Since when did outsiders get to hold hearings.
A family that had moved in pure-blood circles for centuries didn't take the Ministry seriously.
"What's next on the schedule?" Orion asked.
"The Whomping Willow," Regulus said.
Orion nodded. "It's arrived. Agnes set it on the north side of the plantation, the ground cleared. You can go whenever you like."
"Thank you, Father."
Orion lifted his teacup and drank.
"Father, I'll need some Salamanders too," Regulus said.
Orion set the cup down. "For what?"
"I've been keeping a... pet." Regulus paused. "I want to use a Salamander's Fire Resistance for some modifications."
Orion looked at him, one brow lifting slightly. "That Acromantula?"
Regulus nodded. Nothing to be surprised at. An XXXXX-rated magical creature had moved into the house. The Head of House could hardly not know.
Orion did know. He'd simply let it be.
The thing hadn't left Regulus's bedroom since it came to Grimmauld Place, quiet, no harm done, no fuss raised.
In the Ministry's standards an XXXXX rating meant the highest danger class, but Orion had never thought much of the Ministry's classification system.
A few of the things locked in his study, brought out, would force the whole system rewritten.
His son kept a spider as a pet, a small hobby. No need to inquire. An Acromantula might be a dangerous creature in someone else's house. In the Black house it was nothing remarkable. Keep it for amusement, then keep it.
"A Salamander's Fire Resistance," Orion repeated, a thoughtful note in it. "You mean to do a cross-species magical trait transplant?"
Regulus nodded. "Mm."
"Beyond Form?" Orion asked.
Regulus's brow rose a touch in surprise, then he nodded again. His father was a man who liked to study. No wonder.
Orion went quiet a moment. The Restricted Section at Hogwarts. He'd turned its pages in his own youth.
On the form modification and trait grafting of magical creatures, the theoretical framework was complete, but almost no one had tried it in practice.
That was already Human Transfiguration deep enough to make most wizards balk, demanding precise replication of magical structure and extreme control of magic.
There were some cases done on people. But cramming one magical creature's ability into the body of another, the books didn't say it couldn't be done, and no one had heard of anyone doing it. An Acromantula and a Salamander, no less, two things with nothing in common. Only Regulus would think to push them together.
"You've an idea, I'll grant you that." Whether the tone held praise or wonder was hard to say. "Salamanders aren't hard to come by. Tell Agnes. She'll arrange it."
Regulus nodded on. "Mm."
The study went still a while.
Regulus sat in the chair, his gaze resting on some point of the desk, fixed on nothing.
He was thinking about Voldemort. He'd said a little last night, in brief. Was there anything else his father ought to be told?
The Horcrux couldn't be spoken of. If it could, he'd have spoken of it long ago. With a thing like that, let one word slip and reach Voldemort's ears, and it was finished, all of it.
The Horcrux was Voldemort's deepest secret, the one thing he truly could not allow anyone to know.
Orion would meet Voldemort someday.
In Voldemort's style, the first thing at any meeting would be a thrown Legilimency.
If his father carried the concept of a Horcrux in his head and Voldemort turned it up, the Black family wouldn't merely face a reckoning. They could be wiped out entirely.
As for how Voldemort looked now, that face, that body, the remade, unhuman feel of it, he thought it over and decided to leave that unsaid as well.
Voldemort hadn't appeared in public for a long time. Most of the wizarding world had never seen his true face as it was now.
Whatever the reason, Voldemort had chosen to hide his appearance, and so the look of him shouldn't go out from a Black's mouth.
Set beside the Horcrux, appearance was a triviality anyway.
The thought lifted Regulus's eyes. He realized he didn't know Orion all that well.
His father was past doubt a fine wizard. Fighting skill went without saying, political hand sharp enough, a master of all kinds of magic.
He'd surely know Occlumency, and at no low level. A man who'd moved in pure-blood circles for decades without it would have been turned inside out long ago.
But knowing it and withstanding Voldemort were two different matters. That suggestion that made a person want to cooperate, he didn't know whether his father had ever weathered it.
"Father."
Orion looked over.
Regulus asked it straight. "Your Occlumency. Can it hold against Voldemort?"
Orion went quiet again, then shook his head slowly. "I don't know."
He'd caught Regulus's meaning.
The boy had things he wanted to tell him, but until it was certain he could withstand Voldemort's Legilimency, they couldn't be said.
In this study, father and son had said a great deal.
The choice of road, the family's positioning, the read on the pure-blood camp's situation, even the talk that Abraxas Malfoy might be done away with by Voldemort. That was real strategic conversation, taking Voldemort himself as the subject of analysis, dissecting the logic of his moves.
If Voldemort saw such things, all of it would be trouble. But only trouble. By the weight the Black family carried, private analysis and judgment wouldn't make Voldemort turn on them. He knew every family kept its own little calculations.
But Regulus asking this question now made the meaning plain.
Against all that, what he'd found, or what he knew, sat on another level entirely.
That was the truly fatal kind.
Orion looked at Regulus across from him, something stirring in his chest.
The boy's mind ran careful and close. However he'd come to know it, seen it, guessed it, or been told it, if he judged it unsafe, he wouldn't speak, wouldn't risk a hair.
Orion gave a small nod, then asked, "What degree of thing?"
Regulus only shook his head slowly. No answer.
Orion didn't press again.
If even the degree couldn't be hinted at, then the degree was the highest there was.
The study fell quiet once more.
A tangle of feeling rose in Orion's chest.
Twelve years old, weathered a Legilimency once in front of Voldemort, held what had to be held, and what he weighed now was whether he could safely tell his own father.
The conclusion was no. Because it wasn't certain his father could withstand the same examination.
So he held his tongue.
Am I holding my son back?
The silence stretched a while longer.
Regulus stood. "I'll go, then, Father."
He turned for the door, and his hand had just touched the handle when Orion's voice came from behind.
"Regulus."
He looked back.
Orion sat behind the desk, a hand on the armrest. His mouth opened and closed, as though weighing how to put it, and then he gave up the weighing. "Your mother..."
He thought of last night, his grip on Walburga's wrist and the struggle in it slowly weakening, of how she'd sat in the parlor the whole day saying nothing. He felt she'd become somehow different from before.
But he couldn't get it out. Twenty-odd years, and they'd never talked of such things.
He didn't go on.
Whatever lay between mother and son, let them handle it themselves. He didn't need to carry his wife's words to his son, or explain his son to his wife.
Passing the buck, after all, ran both ways.
Orion drew his gaze back. "Go on."
Regulus looked at his father, nodded, and pushed the door open.
Back in his bedroom, Regulus crossed to the desk.
Baruk sprang from the corner, eight legs landing solid on his shoulder, limbs opening and closing once. Click.
"Tomorrow we're going somewhere," Regulus said.
Baruk's front legs pushed lightly against his shoulder. "...strong."
"Mm. Strong."
That pleased him. His eight legs churned fast and sprang at once, leaping from the shoulder to the top of Regulus's head, claws hooking into his hair.
Regulus gave his head a shake. The hair was too slick, and Baruk didn't dare grip hard, so he slid, rump tipping up, shot a thread of silk to catch the shoulder, and swung himself back. He landed on the shoulder, limbs still working, click click click, then drew his legs in and settled flat.
"My head isn't your territory."
---
The next morning Regulus rose early, most of his strength back.
The Star Guided Meditation kept turning, and the fine cracks in the core region had smoothed over.
Downstairs for breakfast, Orion was already at the head of the table, a teacup before him and the Daily Prophet spread open.
Walburga wasn't there, still abed most likely. Sirius's seat sat empty too.
Regulus took his place at the table and picked up a slice of bread to butter.
Orion turned a page of the paper. "Cornwall's ready."
Regulus nodded.
He ate the last bite, set the napkin beside his plate, fetched Baruk from his room, went out, and Apparated.
Winter in Cornwall.