"I'll send you an owl!"
"We have to meet up during the summer!"
At King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, the young witches and wizards were saying goodbye, hugging, and promising their friends they'd see each other again.
…
Regulus found Sirius, who was reluctantly parting from his close friends, and the two of them returned to Muggle London together. Their father, Orion Black, was already waiting at the agreed-upon spot.
Perhaps because he lived in a Muggle residential area in London, Orion's Muggle attire looked quite familiar. He wore an elegant three-piece grey suit and even had a tie.
Black hair, grey eyes, sharp features, chin slightly raised, gaze lowered, and his straight back as if a steel rod ran down it—he was impressively poised.
If he were walking down the street, the only thing that might set him apart from the surrounding Muggles was his distinct air of disdain for the world, gloomier even than British weather.
Regulus could tell almost instantly: the mark their family left on Sirius ran deeper than Sirius would ever admit—his refined mannerisms, the way he sat and walked, all carried shadows of their father.
"Good day, Father," Regulus greeted without hesitation—he had inherited everything that made Regulus who he was; he was Regulus.
"..Good day, Father," Sirius said half-heartedly, stretching out his hand to Orion.
Orion naturally took Regulus's hand, wearing a large gold ring engraved with the Black family crest—"Clench your teeth, Reg, we are going to Apparate!"
Crack!
After a wave of disorienting, stomach-churning "shattered space" sensation, the three of them appeared together in the entrance hall of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
What a fascinating bit of magic!
They walked across the long hallway carpet, under the warm orange glow of a spiderweb-shaped chandelier, past the serpent-shaped candle holders on the foyer table, the troll-leg umbrella stand (Regulus smiled—wasn't his niece, Tonks, about to be born soon?), rows of portraits of wizarding ancestors, and a line of shriveled house-elf heads.
The ancestral home's aesthetic was certainly bizarre, but thanks to Kreacher's diligent efforts, there wasn't a single trace of decay. Every surface was clean and gleaming, tidy and well-maintained.
Their mother, Walburga, was already waiting in the 1st-floor sitting room.
She lounged elegantly on the sofa, a tea table in front of her holding a meticulously prepared spread of refreshments courtesy of Kreacher.
At Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Walburga reigned supreme. Her presence was even more commanding than that of their father—after all, theirs was something of a cougar relationship.
She was now forty-eight, while their father was forty-four.
Walburga had all the makings of a classic dark witch: a sharp, thin face, deep-set eyes, hair swept up high, a turquoise robe shimmering faintly, and an opal necklace glowing with a shifting sheen.
On her hand, she wore a massive sapphire ring, ringed with tiny diamonds. It reminded Regulus, inexplicably, of those diva singers who insisted on wearing diamonds even while taking a bath.
If she didn't always look perpetually displeased, she'd probably be quite striking.
And if you ignored the slightly old-fashioned clothing, his parents really didn't look a day over thirty.
Regulus had a decent relationship with his mother, but if he had to describe them from a stranger's perspective—they both gave off an aloof, distant air, the kind that kept people at arm's length.
"Good day, Mother!"
"Good day, Mother."
Two greetings rang out, noticeably different in tone.
"Reg, welcome home," Walburga said, her thin lips curving into the semblance of a smile, which quickly faded. "You too, Sirius."
"Mum!" Regulus, smiling brightly, walked over naturally and handed her a small box. "This is a gift Sirius and I prepared at Hogwarts—"
Sirius pressed his lips together, looking slightly away. He was someone who stayed true to himself, and what Regulus had done here wasn't something he could fully endorse.
Walburga was surprised at the change in Regulus's demeanor. He seemed to have matured a great deal over the year at Hogwarts. She opened the velvet box in front of her—
Inside was a silver necklace.
The chain itself wasn't anything special, but what was unique was the pendant: two irregularly shaped diamonds set together—the upper one had a bluish hue, and the lower one was nearly colorless and clear. The diamonds sparkled with a magical shimmer.
This had been something Regulus specifically worked on before the holidays—he had approached Sirius and said, "I've got an experiment, want to hear it?"
One of the Transfiguration projects Regulus had been researching was turning graphite into diamond.
Perhaps it was because both were forms of the same element—or maybe it was some "idealism bonus" brought about by Regulus's knowledge and conviction from his previous life—but this particular transformation wasn't as difficult as he'd imagined.
Regulus: The author's openly giving us a Transfiguration cheat code.
And the talent of Sirius and his friends—who had created the Marauder's Map—was beyond question. This summer, it was likely all their parents would be receiving diamond jewelry made by their own children.
"This...?!"
Walburga clearly hadn't expected her sons to prepare jewelry for her.
"The blue-white one represents Sirius, the Dog Star of Canis Major—Sirius's Transfiguration piece. The white one below represents Regulus, the brightest star in Leo—that one's mine," Regulus explained.
"And as for how long this Transfigured object will last, I'm not entirely sure. But we did use diamond-grade material, so it might last quite a long time."
In other words—carbon.
Walburga looked down at the necklace in her hands, her eyes misting over.
Her hands moved faster than her mind—she removed the opal necklace she was wearing and replaced it with the one made by her sons.
Her expression softened completely, a satisfied smile appearing on her lips.
"Thank you, Reg, Siri! It's beautiful—I love it."
They say handbags cure all ailments, but jewelry works three times better. And jewelry handmade by your own sons? That's another level entirely.
Their father Orion received a matching star-themed brooch.
The family headed down toward the kitchen.
Wrapped in a snow-white towel, Kreacher stood beside the wooden table set with cutlery. His large, bat-like ears were starting to look a bit fuzzy, and his bulging eyes looked at Regulus with joy and warmth.
"Kreacher, long time no see." Regulus gave him a smile. Looking at the house-elf who was so loyal to him, Regulus felt a familiar sense of affection. He had also brought Kreacher a gift.
"Kreacher is happy after seeing you, Master Regulus! Please wash your hands, Master Sirius."
Although Sirius was the eldest son of the family, for some reason, everyone seemed to put him after Regulus.
Once the four of them were seated, the house-elf hurried to the table with a large soup tureen, ladling the soup into silver bowls one by one.
The French onion soup was exquisite—absolutely first-rate. In any case, it was far better than the usual English fare Regulus had to suffer through at Hogwarts.
Not to mention he'd been living off sandwiches for far too long; his taste buds had been under siege.
"Thank you, Kreacher," said Regulus. "It's delicious."
"Kreacher has prepared syrup fruit tarts—Master Regulus's favorite—!!!"
Sirius: Who am I? Where even am I?
"Reg, we've already heard that you got top marks on your final exams," said Orion, holding a glass of sparkling apple wine, clearly in a good mood. "What kind of reward would you like?"
"Just name it, and your mother will reward you," Walburga added grandly.
"I want an eagle," said Regulus. "A real eagle, not an eagle owl."
"Owls are certainly not eagles," Walburga laughed.
"Don't you think… owls look like eagles with cat heads?" Regulus smiled and spread his hands.
"Heh." Hearing that oddly familiar line, Sirius laughed too.
Orion didn't know what everyone was laughing about, but he joined in anyway.
Yes, we behave quite distantly, and our parents don't fully express themselves. But..
We are a happy family!