Narcissa paused at the question. She didn't believe for a second that Regulus genuinely cared about Abraxas's health — she didn't even think Regulus hoped Abraxas was well.
Any other young wizard might have asked out of real concern or simple social courtesy. But Regulus?
She had co to understand, viscerally, that Regulus was nothing like an ordinary child. The intricacy and complexity of his thinking surpassed many a veteran player's.
And the angles from which he viewed problems were unconventional — even razor-sharp.
Abraxas Malfoy. Lucius's father. The man currently at the helm of the Malfoy family. A fox cunning to the marrow.
His state of health directly determined the Malfoys' future trajectory.
"A few minor complaints, but he's in good spirits." Narcissa answered cautiously.
Her heart leaned toward the Blacks, and she cared for Regulus. But the Malfoys — those would be her in-laws.
Regulus smiled. "Then I should prepare a proper gift for our eting."
He had already received an invitation to the Malfoy family's Christmas banquet — a separate invitation, distinct from the Blacks'. The significance was clear: high regard, or ulterior motives.
They exchanged a few more lines of inconsequential small talk before Narcissa rose, gently straightened the collar of Regulus's robes, and said good night.
At the door to the girls' dormitory, she looked back once. Her expression was complicated — but it resolved into a slight nod.
Regulus sat alone on the sofa until the fire burned low.
ntally debriefing: the conversation with Narcissa had t its objectives. Deeper trust established. An information-sharing channel defined. His own stance conveyed, obliquely.
Not a single sentence that could be used against him — and yet everything that needed saying had been said.
Narcissa was sharp, pragmatic, family-oriented, and she knew where her lines were.
In canon, she had betrayed Voldemort for Draco's sake.
Regulus resolved to trust her a little more.
Narcissa would soon marry Lucius Malfoy, and the Malfoy family was still under Abraxas's rule.
Old Malfoy was no pushover. In the early days, when the Malfoys collaborated with Voldemort, it was the Malfoy family that held the dominant position.
But then Abraxas died suddenly from Dragon Pox. Lucius took over, and the Malfoys devolved into nothing more than Voldemort's moneybag.
Dragon Pox — a terminal illness in the wizarding world, the kind only a wizard of real caliber contracted.
Abraxas's death was too sudden. The timing, too convenient.
Regulus didn't believe in coincidences. If there wasn't sothing behind it, the world owed him an explanation.
He decided to raise the topic with Orion after returning ho for Christmas. If the Malfoy upheaval had an inside story, the Blacks had better know in advance.
He thought of canon's tragedies. Sirius severing ties with the family. Walburga dying without ever understanding what her eldest son thought — or how her youngest had died.
Narcissa and Bella walking divergent paths, sisterly bonds surviving in na only.
In the end, aside from Narcissa and the disowned Androda, not a single Black survived.
Too many misunderstandings. Too much asymtric information. Everyone lost.
He could not repeat those mistakes. Fortunately, he was no pushover himself.
......
When he pushed open the dormitory door, Avery sat on his bed polishing his wand. Hers was at the desk, writing. Alex had burrowed under the covers, only half his head visible.
"Regulus," Avery looked up, unable to contain himself any longer. "That scene today — weren't you afraid it'd turn into a fight?"
He'd been sitting on the question all day. No matter how he turned it over, he couldn't work out why Regulus had put himself forward in that situation.
It didn't match the Regulus in his head, nor what he'd been taught at ho.
With that many people, one misstep and you'd be sward. No matter how skilled Regulus was, he couldn't handle that many wizards coming at once — could he?
Regulus hung his outer robe but had no intention of answering directly. Of course he hadn't been afraid. Both houses' leads had been there — and he'd neutralized them in an instant.
He had been watching the hotspots the entire ti: Sirius, Jas Potter, and a handful of Slytherin wild cards. He was confident he could suppress them.
And he wasn't worried about being mobbed by schoolchildren.
Regulus turned to Avery and answered with a question: "How would a fight have benefited ?"
Avery blinked. 'Is that even what I asked?'
"House points docked. Detention. Possible injuries." Regulus sat on the edge of his bed. "Preventing the clash ant demonstrating capability, solidifying standing, and impressing the professors. Which sounds like the better deal?"
Avery thought a mont, then followed Regulus's logic: "But wouldn't it look... not tough enough? So upper-years were saying in the common room that you were too... restrained."
Regulus raised an eyebrow slightly. He was quite certain the actual phrasing hadn't been nearly so polite.
"Let them talk." Regulus was unmoved. "What I need is influence, not hollow shows of toughness.
After today, Lucretius Borgin owes a favor. Frank Longbottom has to wonder whether he'd have faced punishnt without .
McGonagall and Slughorn both witnessed how I handled things. That's worth far more than a corridor brawl with Gryffindor."
Influence was an abstract thing. But at certain monts, influence could be converted into power — and that required constant, incrental cultivation.
Avery considered this, then nodded slowly. "I see. You're positioning yourself as 'the one who solves problems.'"
Heirs ticulously raised by pure-blood families — there were certainly dead weight among them, but more were genuine elites. One nudge, and Avery had found the key.
"Smart." Regulus offered rare praise. "So, Avery — keep an ear out for . Who has the strongest objections to what I did, and who's running their mouth the loudest."
Avery's eyes lit up. "Are you going after them?"
"No." Regulus shook his head. "I need to know who the fools are. A real opponent wouldn't show himself over sothing this trivial. Only fools build hostility over a single Quidditch incident.
Note them down. They might co in handy later."
He turned to Hers. "What about you? Notice anything today?"
Hers set down his quill and half-turned. "Rabastan Lestrange. During the match, he sat a few rows behind us. He was watching you the whole ti.
After it ended, he was one of the first to leave the stands — but he didn't go back to the common room. I had Rosier follow him for a stretch."
Alex poked his head from the blankets and added quietly: "He went to that disused Potions classroom on the fourth floor. Alone. Stayed about ten minutes, then ca out."
Regulus's eyes narrowed. He imdiately concluded the boy was planning to move against him.
A toad crawling on your foot — doesn't bite, but does make your skin crawl. Still, a petty figure like that wasn't worth his ti. Handing the problem to his roommates was far more appropriate.
Regulus turned to face them. "Can you have it sorted before Christmas?"
Hers's mouth curved into a dark sliver of a grin. "I have an idea..."
Regulus took no further part in the discussion. This had always been delegated to them — a small exercise in building team cohesion.
He walked to his bed and began organizing tomorrow's textbooks.
Avery watched him a mont, then asked: "Oh, Regulus — what you did today, was it really just about showing influence? Nothing else?"
Regulus didn't stop sorting. "What do you an?"
"I an..." Avery's voice turned halting, unsure — as though he'd mulled it over for a long ti before deciding to ask. "...you seem to care a lot about controlling the situation.
Today in the corridor — you went to the very front right away, stepped in right away... it didn't feel spur-of-the-mont."
Regulus turned around and looked at Avery.
This Cuthbert heir had real observational instinct. His analysis didn't go deep enough, but the impulse to dig deeper was there.
A good quality — especially in a pure-blood house.
"Avery," Regulus began, tone asured, "in Slytherin, there are two kinds of people.
One kind waits for things to happen and reacts. The other anticipates and prepares."
He went on: "Slytherin won by fouling. Gryffindor was always going to kick up a fuss afterward. That was inevitable.
Since it was inevitable, I thought through my response in advance — instead of scrambling for a plan after the situation exploded."
Avery looked thoughtful, recognizing that Regulus was identifying himself as the second type.
"As for why I had to be at the very front," Regulus's lips curved faintly, "position determines perspective.
Stand at the back, and all you see is chaos. Stand at the front, and you can read every face — who's impulsive, who's calm, who's quietly observing, who's stoking the flas."
He recalled the faces from the corridor. Lucretius Borgin's shock when his wrist was seized. Narcissa's worried, caring gaze.
Frank Longbottom's astonishnt when his spell was disrupted. Jas Potter and Sirius hopping in the crowd, ignored by everyone.
All of it — visible only from the front of the line.
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