Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Spring 1966. Regulus was five years old.

Five, in the Black household, meant the beginning of formal education.

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at three in the afternoon, Walburga held Family Honor lessons in the small study.

An enormous Black family tapestry hung on the wall, stretching from ceiling to floor, a thousand years of marriage alliances rendered in gold and silver thread on dark fabric.

Monday: genealogy.

"Look here," Walburga said, pointing her slender ebony pointer at the top of the tapestry. "Linfred Black, a twelfth-century healer and the acknowledged founder of our family..."

Regulus sat in a hardwood chair, hands on his knees, eyes tracking the pointer's movement.

"Regulus, repeat what I just said." Walburga's voice pulled him back.

"From 1578 to 1623, the Black family intermarried with the Rosier family four times and the Fawley family three times, interspersed with unions with the Crouch and Travers families, forming a stable alliance network." Regulus answered fluidly.

Walburga nodded with satisfaction, then turned to Sirius. "And you?" Sirius was squirming in his chair. "Who can remember all that? They're just dead people's names!"

"They are your ancestors!"

"Dead is dead," Sirius muttered.

Walburga's expression darkened — she was on the verge of erupting — but Regulus cut in just in time. "Mother, I have a question."

"Speak."

"Why is it that after the fourteenth century, we only married within the twenty-eight pure-blood families?" Regulus pointed to an earlier section of the tapestry. "It shows here that from the twelfth to the fourteenth century, the Blacks also intermarried with the Prewetts, the MacMillans, even the Bones family — but after that, it stopped."

Walburga's expression stiffened for a moment. "Because those families fell from grace."

"How so?"

"They began accepting Muggle-borns — even marrying Muggles," Walburga's voice turned severe. "Their bloodlines were contaminated. The Black family must remain pure. That is our duty."

"But the Prewett family is still on the list of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Regulus pointed out.

"A compromise! The Ministry's idiotic list!" Walburga's pointer cracked against the tapestry, and several portraits flinched. "Truly pure-blood families grow fewer by the day. We are the last beacon in a tainted world."

'Extremely narrow-minded, but understandable,' Regulus thought. 'In a world where magic is an inheritable ability, bloodline genuinely matters. But attributing everything to bloodline — that's thinking far too simply.'

Regulus glanced at Sirius and knew he was destined never to accept this doctrine. 'Good.'

A sudden thought struck him: 'Maybe Sirius leaving the Black family would actually be better for him.'

The idea startled even Regulus himself, but after a moment's reflection, the logic held perfectly.

The Blacks would fall in with Voldemort in the future — everyone except Sirius and Andromeda.

If Sirius was destined to rebel, then let him leave early. Let him join the opposing side sooner — it might improve his chances of surviving the coming war.

And he himself, Regulus Black — this identity was fated to be drawn into the darkness.

He needed the Blacks' resources, needed the pure-blood status, needed proximity to the Death Eater inner circle to acquire knowledge.

He and Sirius were walking two paths that would inevitably put them at odds.

Wednesday: the doctrine of blood superiority.

"Muggles are defective beings," Walburga said, pacing the study — a habit of hers when emotions ran high. "They have no magic, just as a bird might lack wings or a fish might lack gills. They are evolutionary failures."

Sirius raised his hand. This was something Regulus had taught him — raise your hand during Mother's lectures, to avoid blurting out something that would provoke her.

"Speak."

"But Muggles build airplanes," Sirius said. "Airplanes can fly. They fly without wings."

Walburga scoffed. "A crude imitation. Metal and fuel, deafeningly noisy, polluting the air. A wizard's broomstick is elegant, silent, and clean."

"But airplanes can fly higher, faster, and carry more people." Regulus added calmly.

The room went quiet. Walburga stared at her younger son. "Are you defending Muggles?"

"I'm stating facts," Regulus said. "Mother, if we are truly superior to Muggles, we should surpass them in every respect.

If all we can do is console ourselves with 'magic is more elegant' while they outstrip us in speed, payload, and altitude — then who is truly superior?"

Sirius drew a sharp breath, bracing for his mother's explosion.

But Walburga did not explode. She stood frozen, lips parting and closing without producing a sound.

Regulus pressed on. "Perhaps the question isn't who's superior, but what we've chosen to develop. Muggles develop technology. We develop magic.

But if we remain complacent, clinging only to tradition while Muggle technology keeps advancing, the day will come when the gap is too large to ignore."

"The Ministry has the Statute of Secrecy..." Walburga's voice had lost some of its force.

"The Statute of Secrecy is built on the assumption that Muggles will never find out," Regulus said. "But what if, one day, Muggle technology can detect magic?

What if they invent instruments that see through the Disillusionment Charm? What if, while we're still debating the purity of bloodlines, they've already figured out how to dismantle Muggle-Repelling Charms?"

Walburga was silent for a long time. Finally, she said: "That's enough for today."

She left in a hurry.

Sirius sidled up to him and whispered: "You scared her."

"Maybe," Regulus said, hopping down from the hardwood chair. "But someone has to tell the truth."

"Why are you sticking up for Muggles?" Sirius asked, curious.

"I'm not sticking up for Muggles," Regulus met his eyes. "I just despise lies. If we're truly strong, we don't need to prove it by putting others down."

Sirius nodded, half understanding.

......

At dinner, Walburga brought up the latest news at the table. "The Nott girl — she actually wants to marry a Mudblood! Mister Nott is so furious he's locked her in the tower. Word is she'll be sent to a convent in France for the rest of her life."

Sirius was cutting his steak. At those words, his knife and fork stopped.

"Why?" he asked. "She likes him, doesn't she?"

"Likes?" Walburga looked as though she had heard the most absurd word in existence. "Can you eat 'likes' for supper? Does 'likes' keep bloodlines pure? She's been bewitched out of her senses!"

"But if two people care about each other—"

"Silence!" Walburga's voice turned shrill. "Sirius, how many times have I warned you? Stop letting that filthy Muggle thinking contaminate your mind! A Black must have duty! Must have resolve!"

"Duty means locking up your own daughter?" Sirius shot to his feet, his chair scraping back with a shrill screech. "Duty means tearing apart two people who love each other?"

"She doesn't love him! She's merely been—"

"How would you know?" Sirius shouted back. "You're not her! You don't even know the man!"

Orion set down his cutlery. "Sirius. Sit down."

"I won't!" Sirius's eyes were red. "It's not fair! Why can't we choose who we care about? Why do we have to marry someone from the Sacred Twenty-Eight? I don't even know any of the people on that list! Maybe I won't even like them!"

Walburga rose as well, her wand sliding into her hand. "Say that one more time!"

Regulus watched the scene unfold. Internally he was exasperated. Sirius's rebellious streak was on full display — even though the boy had no real understanding of love, he rejected this on instinct.

And their mother simply pressed harder, trying to force Sirius into accepting her pure-blood ideology.

"Mother." Regulus's voice was calm. "What Sirius means is that emotion is one of the important factors in choosing a partner.

But from the perspective of family continuity, stable bloodlines are indeed the higher priority. Perhaps the two can be balanced — for example, by choosing someone you genuinely like from within the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

Walburga paused, her anger subsiding slightly. "Well, of course... if the match is suitable, having feelings is even better."

But Sirius was staring at his brother, hurt in his eyes. "You're taking their side too? You think blood matters more than who you care about?"

"I'm talking about reality," Regulus held his gaze. "The reality is, the Black family will never accept a Muggle-born. Those who resist will be disowned. You have to choose — accept the rules, or leave."

Sirius understood. He looked at his brother, then at his parents, and suddenly smiled.

He turned and left the dining room. No slammed door, no outburst — he simply walked away in silence.

Orion said nothing, only watched Regulus with a complicated look in his eyes.

Dinner continued in silence.