Chapter 7: A Deepening Rift
Late autumn, 1968. The last leaf had fallen from the beech trees in the courtyard of 12 Grimmauld Place.
Regulus was seven.
The past year of magic-channeling exercises had yielded remarkable results. His strength had grown, his constitution had noticeably improved, his magical perception had sharpened, and his control had become ever more refined.
Sirius was eight — and his rebellion had entered a new phase.
He was no longer satisfied with mere backtalk; he had begun to resist systematically.
When Walburga told him to recite the family tree, he deliberately mangled the names. When told to practice etiquette, he transfigured his teacup into a frog. When dressed in formal robes, he tore the collar.
During one dinner, Sirius openly challenged pure-blood theory. Walburga erupted, and Regulus smoothed things over — but Sirius saw it as pandering to their parents. The brothers' conversations grew fewer and fewer.
Sometimes Regulus would encounter Sirius in the corridor, and the look in his brother's eyes was complicated — anger at perceived betrayal, bewilderment, and a trace of disappointment.
'He thinks I chose the family, and that means I betrayed him.' But in a sense, he was right.
On the first weekend of December, the Malfoys came to visit as arranged. Everyone knew the true purpose — Malfoy represented Voldemort, here to sound out the Black family's position. Abraxas Malfoy was fifty-five, his face impeccably maintained, silvery-grey hair swept neatly behind his head.
He wore dark green robes with intricate serpentine patterns embroidered in silver thread at the cuffs, and carried a black ebony cane topped by a green-black opal.
"Walburga, you look well," he said, his voice polished and smooth. "Orion, it's been too long. How are things at the Wizengamot?"
Orion sat in the master's chair, his tone level. "Same as always. What has Mister Malfoy been keeping busy with lately?"
Abraxas raised his teacup and blew on it gently. "Contemplating the future. The future of the wizarding world — and our future."
Lucius had not come. Regulus surmised he was being prepared for more important occasions — formally joining the Death Eaters, perhaps, or representing the family in Voldemort's inner affairs.
"The great gentleman holds the Black family in high esteem," Abraxas said, getting to the point. "He says that among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Black bloodline is the most ancient, the purest, and the most steadfast."
"Steadfast?" Orion asked.
"In upholding tradition." Abraxas set down his cup. "So many families have wavered these days. The Potters openly fraternize with Muggle-borns. The Weasleys have practically become synonymous with blood-traitors. The Longbottoms, though pure-blood, are far too soft.
Only the Blacks have remained unwavering. The great gentleman believes such a family deserves its rightful place in the new order."
Walburga leaned forward slightly. "This great gentleman... does he have any specific plans?"
Abraxas's voice rose with fervor. "Revival! Purging the weak elements from the Ministry of Magic. Restoring the authority of the Wizengamot. Reforming magical education.
Above all — establishing the dominance of pure-blood wizards and returning the wizarding world to its proper order."
"It sounds ambitious," Orion said.
"It is vision!" Abraxas corrected. "What the great gentleman possesses is not merely ambition. It is power, knowledge, and the resolve to reshape reality.
He has already gathered a group of like-minded individuals. The Lestranges, the Notts, the Carrows — they have all pledged their support."
"Pledged support for what?" Sirius cut in suddenly.
Walburga frowned. "Sirius, when adults are speaking—"
"I'm asking an honest question," Sirius said, his gaze fixed on Abraxas. "Support him in doing what? Killing people? Persecuting Muggle-borns? Turning everyone into his slaves?"
"Sirius!" Walburga's voice turned shrill.
But Abraxas raised a hand to stop her. He looked at Sirius with not the slightest hint of anger.
He said: "It's healthy for a young person to have questions. What the great gentleman seeks to build is not tyranny — it is order.
Under the new order, everyone will find their proper place. Pure-blood wizards are born to lead the magical world. Half-bloods and Muggle-borns may serve. Muggles will need to be managed."
"By what right?" Sirius shot to his feet, voice rising. "By what right do you get to decide who leads and who serves?"
Abraxas answered as though stating the obvious: "By power. By a thousand years of heritage. By the choice magic itself has made. Pure-blood wizards possess stronger, more stable magic. That is fact."
"I don't think—" Sirius began.
Abraxas cut him off, his tone still mild: "What you think is not important. The rules by which the world turns will not change because of an eight-year-old boy.
When you've grown up — when you've witnessed the chaos of the wizarding world firsthand, seen how Muggles fear and persecute magic, seen how pure-blood families are being marginalized — perhaps then you'll understand."
"And if I never understand?" Sirius's eyes blazed with stubborn defiance.
"Then you'll have two choices," Abraxas said with a smile. "Accept what you don't understand and follow the rules — or be excluded by them."
It was a naked threat. Sirius went pale, but he clenched his jaw and refused to back down.
At that moment, Regulus spoke.
"Mister Malfoy is right," he said, his voice perfectly calm. "Order requires strength to maintain. If pure-blood wizards truly possess greater magical talent, then it's reasonable for us to lead the wizarding world — it would produce a more stable and powerful society."
Everyone turned to look at him.
Walburga's eyes lit up. Orion's expression did not change.
And Sirius — he stared at Regulus, his expression shifting from shock to disbelief, and finally settling into disappointment.
"You think that too?" Sirius's voice wavered, as though seeking one final confirmation.
Regulus met his gaze. "I'm stating facts. If pure-blood wizards have greater magical talent, then this is reasonable."
Sirius moved to retort, his anger intensifying — but Walburga stood and snapped: "Sirius, go to your room. Now!"
Sirius looked at his mother, then at his father, then at his brother, and finally at Abraxas. He turned and left.
After Sirius's departure, the atmosphere in the drawing room eased somewhat.
Abraxas picked up his teacup once more. "The future of the wizarding world extends beyond Britain — Europe, the Americas, Asia... The great gentleman's influence is expanding.
Families who support him will have the opportunity to participate in a global reconstruction of magical order. That means resources, knowledge, power — far beyond anything the current Ministry can offer."
Regulus could not help but think: 'Voldemort's ambitions are grand enough — he's aiming globally — yet he can't even sort out Britain.'
After a pause, Orion said: "We will need time to consider."
Abraxas rose to his feet. "Of course. The great gentleman never coerces. Next month there will be a small gathering in Wiltshire. Several like-minded families will be exchanging ideas. If the Blacks are interested, I can extend an invitation."
Walburga looked at her husband, anticipation plain in her eyes.
Orion nodded. "We will consider it."
After Malfoy left, Walburga turned to Orion at once. "We must attend. Abraxas is right — this is an opportunity. The Blacks should hold a leadership position in the new era—"
Orion cut her off, his voice weary. "Walburga, this requires caution. Everything sounds appealing, but at what cost?
The 'weak elements' he intends to purge may include our friends — perhaps even our family."
"Andromeda is no longer family," Walburga said coldly.
"And what about Sirius? If his rebellion continues..."
"Then let him go!" Walburga's voice spiked. "The Black family will not miss one rebellious son. We have Regulus."
She looked at her younger son, eyes ablaze. "You spoke well today — rational, logical, mindful of the bigger picture. That is exactly what a Black family heir should be."
Regulus lowered his head and did not respond.
......
In the attic laboratory, Regulus had not lit the lamp. He sat in the dark, replaying the afternoon's events.
Abraxas's words had revealed several key pieces of information. Voldemort's influence had already spread beyond Britain, expanding globally.
Voldemort was luring pure-blood families with promises of future order — pledges of power and resources.
His methods included "purging" — a word that sounded mild enough, but Regulus knew it would mean sheer violence.
No one but himself knew that Voldemort would ultimately fail — and that inevitable outcome was driven by a chain of accidents.
He needed power.