Harry Potter: Reborn as Regulus Black

Chapter 295: I’m Looking Forward to It

The lawn’s edge, outside Lestrange Manor.

Sirius opened his eyes. His body swayed once, feet meeting solid ground, and he blinked.

No dry heaving. No buckling knees. No ringing in his ears.

He looked at Regulus, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "You... this time?"

"Last time was on purpose." Regulus let go of his arm.

Sirius glared at him.

"Sirius, come here." Orion’s voice carried from up ahead.

He and Walburga were already standing in the courtyard before the manor, looking back.

Sirius shot Regulus one more glare, then walked briskly to catch up.

Regulus didn’t hurry. He looked around first.

Guests were still Apparating onto the open ground in front of the manor, one after another.

Some arrived by Apparition, a muffled crack and then they were standing there, mostly adults with family in tow. Men in dress robes, women in gowns, all crossing the grass toward the manor.

Others came by House-elf, a sharp pop and the master appeared, the elf bowing low before retreating into the shadows.

A few groups arrived by Portkey, clutching teapot lids, old gloves, or lengths of rope. They pocketed whatever they’d held the moment they landed and brushed the dust from their robes.

One couple touched down and the woman swore in French, something about the Portkey ruining her gloves.

The man answered in English, his vowels drawn out slightly. Southern France.

The lawn was busy. People drifted toward the manor in twos and threes, some stopping mid-path when they spotted someone they knew, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries, their breath hanging white in the night air before dissolving.

Regulus’s gaze swept past them and settled on the manor itself.

Regulus pulled his gaze back and walked forward, catching up with Orion and the others.

The path grew more crowded as they neared the front entrance.

Orion led, pace unhurried. Walburga held his right arm, the hem of her gown trailing a line across the ground behind her.

Sirius walked at Orion’s left. Regulus beside Sirius.

A middle-aged wizard in dark blue dress robes approached quickly from the side, stopping two paces ahead of Orion and inclining his head. "Mr. Black, good evening."

Orion stopped and looked at him. "Christopher."

"It’s been a while. Last time was at the Wizengamot, I believe." The man smiled, respectful without being obsequious. He walked the line well enough.

"On this year’s Dark artifact regulation proposal, our family voted the same as House Black."

"I know." Orion’s tone was the same as always. Neither warm nor cold.

Christopher waited a beat, realized Orion had nothing more to say, and pivoted with good grace. "And these two..."

"My two sons," Orion said.

"A pleasure, truly," Christopher nodded to Sirius and Regulus, his voice picking up an extra degree of warmth. "The young Misters Black, at Hogwarts you must be..."

"Hello." Regulus gave a single nod, cutting the sentence short before it landed.

Christopher’s smile froze for a fraction of a second, then reattached itself. He nodded once more to Orion, stepped aside, and left.

Walburga didn’t spare him a glance. Walking past, her chin stayed slightly raised, eyes fixed ahead.

Two more approached. An older wizard with a younger one beside him, both in navy robes, family crests pinned to their chests. Regulus didn’t recognize the insignia.

"Mr. Black," the old wizard’s voice carried a faint tremor, thin and reedy. "I’m Gregory Simcoe. This is my son, Mikhail. We..."

"Mr. Simcoe." Orion’s tone still wouldn’t pass for enthusiastic, but he offered two more sentences than he had before. "That business of yours in the Celtic Sea. Handled well."

A genuine smile spread across the old wizard’s face. He nodded several times.

Mikhail Simcoe turned to Regulus and Sirius, glancing at his father for a cue before speaking. "Mr. Black. Hello."

Regulus nodded. "Hello."

Sirius nodded too, face blank.

Mikhail said nothing further and followed his father away.

Once they were out of earshot, Walburga offered her commentary. "Minor family. Well-mannered, at least."

No one responded. The Blacks kept walking.

Two or three more groups came up along the way, all following the same pattern: the other party approached first, exchanged a few words with Orion, then paid respects to his wife and sons before moving on.

Orion’s manner never shifted. Measured distance, proper courtesy, a response for everyone, lingering conversation for no one.

Walburga’s eyes never wandered. Her pride, her dignity, her station needed no acknowledgment from others to affirm them.

When someone approached, Sirius nodded. When a hand was extended, he shook it. When someone spoke, he gave them a short sound of acknowledgment. He performed well enough.

His face broadcast loud and clear that he didn’t want to be here, but every gesture landed where it should.

Regulus walked beside him, maintaining the same measured distance as Orion. Not warm, not cold, present. A nod for whoever addressed him, a modest deflection for anyone who praised his school record, but the rhythm followed his father’s lead.

When Orion gave someone an extra half-sentence, so did he. When Orion offered only a nod, he offered only a nod.

---

Stone griffins crouched on either side of the manor’s front entrance, the great doors standing open, warm light pouring out and pooling on the flagstones of the threshold.

Rodolphus Lestrange stood to the right of the foyer.

Dark dress robes, the Lestrange family crest pinned to his chest. Square jaw, high cheekbones, an expression that was courteous but nothing more.

He was the master of this manor, but not tonight’s centerpiece. He knew it, and so did every person walking through that door.

Bella stood to his left.

A black gown fell to her ankles, the neckline low enough to bare her collarbones. Her hair hung loose, thick black curls spilling over her shoulders, making her face look smaller by contrast.

Deep-set eyes. Wide pupils. Dark lipstick.

The hand she rested on Rodolphus’s arm lay there loosely, fingers barely touching, placed rather than held.

She was the face of House Lestrange tonight.

Orion climbed the steps.

"Orion." Rodolphus extended his hand.

"Rodolphus." Orion took it. Palms met and separated in one motion.

Walburga released Orion’s arm, and a smile bloomed across her face in an instant.

She went straight to Bella, warmth spilling unchecked into her voice. "Bella, the manor looks beautiful. You’ve outdone yourself."

Bella smiled, barely. The corners of her mouth moved; her eyes didn’t. "You’re too kind, Aunt."

Walburga carried on about the decorative details.

Bella listened. Didn’t interrupt. Didn’t engage. The expression just hung there.

Then she turned to Orion. The smile receded, not abruptly cold, just serious now.

She met his eyes directly. "Uncle."

Orion nodded. "Bella."

Their gazes touched for a second and withdrew.

Regulus climbed the steps.

"Cousin Bella." A thin layer of formality in his tone, nothing more. "Rodolphus."

Rodolphus extended a hand. They shook once.

No warmth, no chill, not a single ounce of excess courtesy, nothing close to the effusiveness of the Malfoy gathering. "Regulus."

Then Bella stepped forward and seized the hand he hadn’t yet pulled back. Five fingers closed around it, gripping hard, well past the pressure of a social handshake.

"Regulus, my dear little cousin." Bella ran her tongue across her lips, the corners of her mouth curving wide, laughter threading through her voice while her eyes held none at all. "You’ve picked up quite a few tricks at school."

"There are some things I’d like to discuss with you after dinner." Her eyes locked onto his, those wide black pupils contracting. "Your cousin has so much she wants to say."

Regulus didn’t move. Didn’t pull his hand free. Let her grip it. His expression never changed, start to finish.

He held her gaze. "I’m looking forward to it."

Then he drew his hand back. Her fingers slid across the back of it, and at the very last instant, a nail scraped lightly against his skin.

Regulus turned to Rodolphus. They exchanged nods.

Rodolphus had stood there through the entire exchange, watching from beginning to end.

Black family business had always been Black family business.

Bella had married into the Lestranges, and Rodolphus understood perfectly well that this woman bore the Lestrange name but carried nothing of the Lestranges in her head.

She did what she wanted, never asked his opinion, and he had none worth giving.

Whatever sparks were about to fly tonight between her and her little cousin, it had nothing to do with House Lestrange. His job was to stand at the door and greet guests.

He shifted his gaze to the next face climbing the steps and extended his hand. "Good evening."