Chapter 60: Reflections, and Apparition
After dinner, Regulus returned to his room. He stood at the window, gazing at the London streets draped in thin snow. Car tires grooved the slushy pavement in uneven tracks.
In the distance, Muggle lights blurred into hazy orbs behind the curtain of snow, forming a subtle borderline with the invisible magical barriers around Grimmauld Place.
He thought of Walburga's expression at the dinner table. Maternal love was not absent — it simply ranked forever behind glory.
Mother's eyes always burned with a particular light — something scorching and unyielding.
She had praised his performance at the Malfoy banquet, said he'd brought honor to the House of Black, said every family now knew the Blacks had an heir of limitless promise.
Regulus's finger traced a smiley face on the cold glass.
He actually understood Walburga — or, rather, he understood people like her.
What she wanted was never a son who lived happily and at ease. What she wanted was a son who served as her most impressive medal in social circles.
Family glory was the faith she lived by, and her children were the offerings she laid before that faith. The more dazzling the offering, the higher her standing in the faith's eyes.