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Sunday, August 5, 1973.
Ever since that fateful, highly illegal magical demonstration at the Tonks cottage, Regulus's absolute most anticipated event of the entire summer was his Uncle Alphard's imminent return from Sweden to formally show him the hidden Alchemy lab.
Judging purely from Sirius's glowing descriptions and the sheer, casual brilliance of the two-way mirrors, Alphard was undeniably a grandmaster of crafting magical items. However, to Regulus's deep capitalist frustration, Alphard seemed to craft these miraculous gadgets purely out of eccentric personal interest and academic passion; he had absolutely zero interest in mass commercial promotion or practical market application.
In short, Alphard wasn't motivated by money, primarily because almost no one in Britain was as inherently, disgustingly rich as he already was.
Shrug. Regulus supposed he would just have to handle the monetization aspect of the Black family's magical patents himself.
Lost in his plotting, Regulus genuinely didn't even realize it was his own twelfth birthday until Kreacher popped into his bedroom at dawn, bowing low as he placed a heavy, silver-embossed birthday card and a brand-new set of highly expensive, tailored dress robes on his bedside table.
As fate—or perhaps Walburga's meticulous social planning—would have it, his birthday also happened to coincide perfectly with the exact date of Narcissa Black and Lucius Malfoy's highly anticipated society wedding.
"Thank goodness I spent my actual eleventh birthday at school last year. Being forced to wear this is practically a visual assault," Sirius complained, adjusting his collar with a touch of deep, personal sympathy as he watched Regulus walk into the drawing-room. Regulus was wearing a stiflingly formal, immaculate black silk robe heavily trimmed with thick silver and emerald-green stripes. He looked exactly like a miniature, extremely wealthy Slytherin prince.
Sirius was also dressed in a brand-new set of black, formal pureblood robes. With his dark hair flowing freely around his shoulders and his striking, aristocratic features, despite his young age, he was already undeniably, incredibly handsome. He had made it abundantly clear all week that he absolutely did not want to attend the 'Death Eater convention' disguised as a wedding, but Regulus had continuously, aggressively urged him to go for the sake of political intelligence gathering.
"Thank you for the sympathy," Regulus yawned, walking deeper into the drawing-room, which Walburga had ruthlessly bombarded with even more aggressive Slytherin-style green and silver floral decorations for the occasion.
The ancient elf, Kreacher, had already painstakingly laid out all the owl-post gifts Regulus had received on the low mahogany coffee table.
"Kreacher humbly wishes Young Master Regulus a birthday filled with absolute sunshine, immense power, and endless happiness! Happy birthday, Master!" Kreacher gave an exaggerated, deeply emotional bow, his snout practically scraping the carpet.
"Thank you, Kreacher. That is very kind," Regulus said softly, offering a respectful nod. He had quickly learned that he always had to show his gratitude to the elf through polite actions and gentle tones, rather than simply casually saying "thanks"; Kreacher's fragile, abused psyche simply wouldn't be able to handle casual dismissal.
Regulus settled into the comfortable velvet sofa and began methodically unpacking the small mountain of brown-paper packages piled up in front of him.
He was genuinely surprised by the haul. Many people, including distant pureblood relatives he had never formally met, and dozens of classmates at school, had sent him polite cards or small, expensive gifts. In particular, nearly his entire Slytherin cohort, and even two second-year Ravenclaw witches with whom he had hardly spoken two words, had gone out of their way to send him elaborate, singing birthday cards.
He had to pause and think for a few seconds before he could accurately match the girls' faces with their signed names. Ah. The perks of being the heir to the Black family fortune, he thought dryly.
Moving on to his actual friends, he opened a battered, heavily taped package from Remus. Inside was a meticulously bound, hand-copied version of Remus's own second-year exam study notes. It not only exhaustively covered all the key academic points for the upcoming term, but it also brilliantly included the original, verbatim exam questions from each subject that Remus had memorized.
Moony is so incredibly thoughtful, Regulus smiled, placing the invaluable cheat sheet aside.
James Potter, in typical Gryffindor fashion, had gifted Regulus a wildly expensive, magically moving popup book titled The Amazing History of the Quidditch Bludger. Seeing the moving brooms, Regulus suddenly remembered that, according to canon, he was supposed to eventually become the star Seeker for the Slytherin team. He made a mental note to actually start practicing flying.
Severus's gift was highly practical and incredibly promising: a small, crystal bottle of a prototype beautifying potion, heavily spiked with a localized cellular enhancer. It was the very first physical product from their grand cosmetic business experiment. In his attached, cramped handwriting, Severus noted that he had carefully tested the prototype on his mother, Eileen, and it had yielded remarkably positive results on her sallow skin.
If it has already been human-tested with positive results... Snape's alchemical pitch is definitely reliable, Regulus thought, his capitalist heart soaring.
His father, Orion, had predictably thrown money at the occasion, casually gifting him a brand-new, top-of-the-line racing broom: the Nimbus 1001.
Finally, he opened a messy, haphazardly wrapped package from Sirius. Inside was a small, seemingly standard, portable Muggle radio. There didn't appear to be anything particularly magical or special about it.
"Not bad, Sirius. Thank you," Regulus muttered, turning the plastic dials. "But considering last year you literally only gave me a single, poorly charmed quill pen... this is a massive financial improvement. It seems you're finally starting to take your little brother's existence to heart."
"Let's not start a war over who gave who the worst gift. The present you gave me for my birthday last year was a literal, silver Slytherin House badge," Sirius retorted, crossing his arms and shrugging. "I honestly don't know what twisted psychological game you were playing with that one..."
"Hey, alright, fair point. Let's not argue today; we're both equally terrible gift-givers," Regulus chuckled, setting the radio down and reaching for the next package.
"Wait. That isn't just your average Muggle radio," Sirius interrupted, stepping closer. "I specifically had Uncle Al make a few highly illegal, minor magical improvements to the circuitry. It has a lot of hidden features."
"Oh? Stop keeping me in suspense, then. Will you do me a favor and treat the birthday boy to a demonstration?"
"Just keep it on you today. You'll find out exactly what it does later," Sirius's lips curled into a brilliant, elegant, yet deeply sly smile.
Even Regulus, who had grown entirely used to Sirius's overwhelming aristocratic looks, had to admit his brother looked incredibly dashing when he plotted chaos.
Intrigued, Regulus firmly tucked the modified radio deep into the inner pocket of his dress robes, suddenly quite looking forward to the exhausting day ahead.
It was time for the wedding of the Noble House of Black and the wealthy House of Malfoy—the absolute pinnacle of high-society, pureblood wizarding extravagance.
Upstairs, Walburga had dressed meticulously for the highly publicized event. She wore an elegant, dark green bowler hat adorned with rare, shimmering emerald ostrich feathers. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe, tight bun dangling with heavy pearls—a strict combination that perfectly accentuated her long, aristocratic neck. Her black, perfectly fitted silk gown was heavily embellished, but the absolute centerpiece of her outfit was the brilliant, transfigured diamond star necklace her sons had crafted for her, resting proudly against her collarbone.
Although her strict, gothic style might seem a bit stiflingly old-fashioned to Regulus's modern sensibilities, it was undeniably, fiercely ahead of its time in terms of high-end, terrifying dark-witch fashion for the 1970s.
Their father, Orion, wore a severe, impeccably tailored men's suit in the exact same charcoal and silver color scheme, complete with a matching, diamond-encrusted decorative pin securing his embroidered silk cravat.
On his hands, he wore a heavy gold signet ring bearing the Black family crest, a massive, cursed jade ring on his index finger, and his silver wedding band. Wearing so many heavy, ostentatious rings wasn't an active attempt to cheaply flaunt his "aristocratic" status; for Orion Black, wearing a fortune in cursed jewelry was simply a natural, daily requirement.
"Let's go. We shall not be late to my niece's union," Walburga commanded haughtily, stepping toward the fireplace.
A coordinated, highly unpleasant family Apparition later, they arrived at the heavily warded outer boundary of Malfoy Manor, located deep in the sprawling, misty countryside of Wiltshire, England.
Behind them stood an exquisite, towering wrought-iron gate, enchanted to silently twist and writhe like iron snakes. Before them lay a magnificent, sprawling garden that closely resembled a magical, miniature version of the Palace of Versailles. Amidst the meticulously manicured topiary trees and beds of beautiful, highly poisonous exotic flowers, a massive, tiered marble fountain continuously spewed thousands of glowing, snow-white bubbles into the air instead of water.
The fountain was clearly heavily enchanted; the magical steam rolling off the bubbles created a dreamlike, almost fairytale-like atmosphere around the entrance path. Several pure-white, magical peacocks, absurdly adorned with thick golden ribbons tied around their necks, strolled leisurely across the manicured lawns.
Looming behind the fountain lay the grand mansion itself. Built in an imposing, Neoclassical Baroque style, it boasted exquisite white stone walls, massive, towering glass windows, and luxuriously high, vaulted ceilings.
It was incredibly, overwhelmingly extravagant.
Tsk tsk, Regulus thought, looking around at the sheer display of generational wealth. No wonder the French wizards all walk around with their noses pointing straight to the sky. When it comes to true, gaudy aesthetic decadence, Britain can only blindly follow their lead.
A nervous, trembling House-elf dressed in a clean, monogrammed pillowcase rushed over and deeply bowed, leading the Black family into the mansion and pointing them toward their highly prominent, reserved seats in the massive ceremonial hall where the binding ceremony would be held.
The interior of the mansion was just as aggressively luxurious as the exterior, heavily modeled after the sprawling French royal palaces. The entrance foyer alone was almost larger than the entire ground floor of Grimmauld Place. It was paved in alternating slabs of pink and white marble, lined with massive, gilded mirrors, and lit by extravagant, dripping crystal chandeliers. Priceless Turkish carpets muffled their footsteps. Today, the entire space was overflowing with towers of fresh, exotic flowers, massive silver platters of fresh fruit, and floating crystal flutes of vintage champagne, exuding a fresh, charming, and highly intoxicating fragrance.
The male wizards coming and going through the halls were all impeccably dressed in their finest tailored robes, their fingers and cravats adorned with heavy jewels of various colors. They casually exchanged polite pleasantries, quiet political jokes, and hushed, conspiratorial conversations. Even from a distance, Regulus easily recognized several high-ranking Ministry of Magic officials who were frequent contributors to The Daily Prophet. He even spotted a much younger, slightly nervous-looking Cornelius Fudge, who would later disastrously become the Minister of Magic, currently laughing loudly and desperately attempting to build a close political relationship with Lucius's father, Abraxas Malfoy.
A fully orchestrated, invisible wizarding band was playing lively, upbeat classical music from a raised balcony in the corner of the hall. Regulus paused, his ear catching the distinct, sweeping melody of Mozart's The Marriage of Figaro.
Well, well, Regulus smirked. It seems that in the name of 'high art,' absolutely no one, not even the fanatical Malfoys, can completely stop beautiful Muggle music from appearing at the ultimate pureblood wedding.
"The sheer amount of heavy floral perfume in this room is suffocating. I honestly want to hit myself with a Bubble-Head Charm just to breathe," Sirius complained to Regulus in a low, deeply irritated whisper, which earned him a highly empathetic nod of understanding from his younger brother.
Far too many older, heavily perfumed pureblood witches had already attempted to corner and enthusiastically hug the devastatingly handsome little Sirius Black. Sirius was clearly, aggressively not very interested in the suffocating attention of his wealthy aunties.
There were simply so many relatives, both near and far, entirely present in the hall that the boys couldn't possibly hope to recognize them all.
However, Regulus's sharp, calculating eyes easily picked out the names he did know. Lestrange. Nott. Rosier. Dolohov... Nearly the entire inner circle of veteran, future Death Eaters were currently gathered together near the champagne tower, laughing coldly and clinking glasses.
Tsk tsk. A literal viper's nest, Regulus thought.
Inside the massive, vaulted ceremonial hall, the family of four was seated in the front row, directly on the bride's side of the aisle.
At the front of the room, standing on a raised marble altar, Lucius Malfoy waited. He looked impeccably tailored in sweeping white and silver robes, a rare, genuinely beaming smile breaking through his usual arrogant sneer.
Suddenly, the buzzing conversation in the hall died down to a hush. The heavy oak doors at the back of the chapel swung open. Cygnus Black, their mother's youngest brother and the bride's father, appeared in the entrance, his arm proudly linked with Narcissa's.
The bride-to-be was stunningly, breathtakingly beautiful. Narcissa walked down the aisle with an ethereal, icy grace. She wore her absolute favorite color—a sweeping, masterfully tailored silver silk dress that shimmered like moonlight, and resting atop her blonde hair was a dazzling, priceless diamond tiara that had been in the Black family for centuries.
As she approached the altar, the bubbles of genuine, unadulterated happiness shining in Lucius's grey eyes were even thicker and more blinding than the magical mist radiating from the fountain at the entrance.
"Today, we gather here in the sight of magic to celebrate the eternal, binding union of two faithful, ancient souls..." announced the wedding officiant, whose deep voice carried clearly across the hall. Regulus recognized him as a highly senior, deeply corrupt official within the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, do you take Narcissa Irma Black to be your magically bound wife...?"
In the front row, Walburga surprisingly reached up and delicately wiped away a few genuine tears from the corners of her dark eyes. Across the aisle, Narcissa's parents, Cygnus and Druella, were already sobbing quietly into embroidered silk handkerchiefs.
"I hereby declare you magically bound, husband and wife!"
As the golden ribbons of magic wrapped around the couple's wrists and faded into their skin, absolute chaos erupted in celebration. Swarms of tiny, glowing, winged sprites appeared completely out of nowhere, fluttering over the crowd and enthusiastically scattering suspicious, highly glittery glowing powder over the cheering guests.
With a deafening crack of magic, the long rows of ceremonial chairs in the Great Hall entirely vanished into thin air. The marble floor seamlessly transformed into a massive, highly polished dance floor. Long, floating banquet tables heavily laden with exquisite, steaming food and overflowing crystal goblets of wine appeared along the walls, and the invisible band immediately began playing an even more energetic, sweeping waltz.
While their parents immediately moved toward the altar to formally congratulate the newlyweds and engage in pureblood networking, Regulus saw his opportunity. He grabbed Sirius by the sleeve and aggressively pulled him out of the loud, crowded hall and into the quieter, sprawling corridors of the manor. He desperately needed to try and mentally map out the exact architectural layout of Malfoy Manor.
After all, Regulus thought grimly, memorizing the location of the cellar doors, this exact building is going to be the absolute, undisputed headquarters of the Death Eaters in the future. I need to know the escape routes.
"My Lord...!"
A sudden, highly excited, breathy exclamation echoed from a partially open drawing-room door further down the corridor. It was undeniably the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her usually harsh, mocking tone sounded exactly like the desperate, fanatical whimpering of a die-hard, obsessed fan finally meeting their favorite celebrity.
Regulus froze, his blood running cold.
Riddle is actually here?! Tonight?!
Regulus quickly calculated the odds. Well, practically the entire inner circle of his Death Eaters are currently having a massive, catered meeting here under the guise of a wedding reception. I suppose it really isn't that surprising that the Boss himself would decide to make a dramatic appearance.
Beside him, Sirius scowled deeply in disgust upon hearing his deranged cousin Bellatrix's fanatical voice. The two brothers exchanged a silent, highly tense look. They quickly, mutually decided it was far too dangerous to be wandering the halls with the Dark Lord present. They turned on their heels to walk quickly back to the safety and crowds of the Great Hall.
However, as they rounded the corner, they practically collided head-on with Narcissa and Lucius, who had briefly slipped away from the reception line and were walking down the corridor.
"Oh! Regulus, darling, that's absolutely wonderful timing," Narcissa said cheerfully, her cheeks flushed with wine and happiness. She completely, entirely ignored Sirius's existence standing right next to him. "Come with us quickly. I am going to take you into the parlor to personally introduce you to a highly distinguished, incredibly important guest."
Sirius rolled his eyes aggressively. ...I'm completely used to being the invisible disappointment at this point, he thought bitterly.
Regulus's heart hammered against his ribs. He knew exactly who was waiting in that parlor. After frantically weighing his incredibly limited, highly lethal options for less than half a second, Regulus turned back. He shot Sirius a deeply intense, highly communicative look that clearly said: 'Do not follow me. Stay completely out of sight. I'll be right back.'