Chapter 7: Deep Rifts
In late autumn of 1968, the beech tree in the courtyard of Number 12, Grimmauld Place shed its last leaf.
Regulus was seven.
A year of disciplined magic guidance exercises had produced results that were no longer subtle. He was stronger. His body was noticeably tougher. His perception of magic had sharpened into something almost clinical, and his control had become precise enough to feel unnatural for a child.
Sirius was eight.
And his rebellion had entered a new phase.
He was no longer satisfied with arguing. He resisted methodically, as if he had turned defiance into a craft.
When Walburga demanded he recite the family tree, he deliberately mispronounced names.
When she made him practise etiquette, he turned teacups into frogs.
When she insisted on formal robes, he tore at the collars until the stitches complained.
At dinner, he had begun questioning blood purity outright. Walburga would flare, Regulus would smooth the edges before the table shattered, and Sirius would take that as proof that Regulus was siding with their parents.
Their conversations thinned until they were almost nothing.
Sometimes Regulus would meet Sirius in a corridor, and the look in his brother's eyes made the air feel colder. Anger. Confusion. Betrayal. Disappointment, sharp enough to sting.
He thinks that by choosing the family, I have betrayed him.
In a way, he was right.
On the first weekend of December, Malfoy arrived as scheduled.
No one in the house pretended the visit was social. Abraxas Malfoy came with a purpose, and that purpose had a name that was usually swallowed rather than spoken.
He was fifty five, his face preserved by careful living and better potion work than most people would admit to using. Long silver grey hair was tied neatly at the back of his head. His dark green robes were immaculate, the cuffs embroidered with a subtle snake pattern worked in silver thread.
He carried an ebony cane topped with a green black opal that caught the light like a cold eye.
"Walburga, you look well," Abraxas said, smooth as warmed oil. "Orion, it has been too long. Is the Wizengamot keeping you busy?"
Orion sat in the head seat, posture unyielding, voice calm.
"As always. And what has Mr Malfoy been busy with lately?"
Abraxas lifted his teacup and blew gently across the surface.
"Thinking about the future. The future of the wizarding world, and our future."
Lucius had not come. Regulus noted it with quiet interest. If Lucius Malfoy was absent, it was because he was being introduced somewhere he considered more important. Joining, perhaps. Or being assigned a role in that Lord's inner circle.
Abraxas set his cup down with care.
"That Lord greatly admires the House of Black," he said, as if delivering a compliment from a monarch. "Among the Sacred Twenty Eight, he considers the Black bloodline the oldest, the purest, the most steadfast."
"Steadfast," Orion repeated, expression unchanged.
"In maintaining tradition." Abraxas's smile deepened. "Many families waver now. The Potter family openly associates with Muggle borns. The Weasleys have practically made themselves a synonym for blood traitors. The Longbottoms may be pure blood, but they are weak."
He let the words hang, then placed the final piece like a chess move.
"Only the House of Black remains consistent. That Lord believes such a family should take its rightful place in the new order."
Walburga leaned forward a fraction.
"Does That Lord have specific plans?"
Abraxas's voice rose with controlled enthusiasm.
"Revival. Purging weak elements from the Ministry of Magic. Restoring the authority of the Wizengamot. Regulating magical education."
He tapped the cane lightly against the floor, once, a soft punctuation.
"And most importantly, establishing the dominance of pure blood wizards. Returning the wizarding world to its proper order."
"Ambitious," Orion said.
"Vision," Abraxas corrected, almost gently. "That Lord has more than ambition. He has power, knowledge, and the will to change reality. He has already gathered like minded people. The Lestranges. The Notts. The Carrows. They have all expressed support."
"Support what, exactly?"
Sirius's voice cut through the room before Walburga could stop him.
Walburga's eyes flashed.
"Sirius. When adults are speaking"
"I am asking the truth." Sirius stared straight at Abraxas. "Support him doing what? Killing people? Hunting Muggle borns? Turning everyone into his slaves?"
"Sirius!" Walburga's voice sharpened into something almost shrill.
Abraxas raised a hand, stopping her without even looking away from Sirius. His expression did not change. There was no anger in his eyes, only the emptiness of a man who did not feel challenged by a child.
"It is good for the young to ask questions," Abraxas said, tone pleasant. "What That Lord seeks is not tyranny, but order. Under that order, everyone will find their place. Pure blood wizards will lead. Half bloods and Muggle borns will serve. And Muggles will be managed."
"On what basis?" Sirius pushed himself up from his chair. His voice rose with the heat of conviction. "On what basis do you decide who leads and who serves?"
Abraxas replied as if stating the colour of the sky.
"On the basis of power. On a thousand years of heritage. On the choice of magic itself. Pure blood magic is stronger and more stable. That is fact."
"I do not think"
"What you think does not matter," Abraxas interrupted, still gentle, which somehow made it worse. "The rules by which the world operates do not change because an eight year old dislikes them."
His smile returned, polite and untroubled.
"When you are older, and you have seen the chaos of our world, seen Muggle fear of magic become persecution, seen pure blood families pushed aside, perhaps you will understand."
"And what if I never understand?" Sirius's eyes blazed with stubborn defiance.
"Then you will have two choices," Abraxas said, smiling as if offering mercy. "Accept that you do not understand and follow the rules, or be excluded by the rules."
It was not a threat dressed as kindness. It was a threat stated plainly.
Sirius's face went pale, but he did not step back.
And then Regulus spoke.
"Mr Malfoy is right," Regulus said, voice calm enough to sound detached. "Order requires power to maintain. If pure blood wizards truly have stronger magical talent, then their leadership would produce a more stable and stronger society."
Every eye turned to him.
Walburga's gaze lit as if someone had placed a torch behind her eyes. Orion remained still, unreadable.
Sirius stared at Regulus as if he had been struck. Shock, then disbelief, then something that looked painfully like disappointment settling into place.
"You think so too?" Sirius asked. His voice trembled, as if he were trying to confirm something he did not want to be true.
Regulus met his gaze.
"I am stating facts. If pure blood magical talent is stronger, then the conclusion is logical."
Sirius's anger surged. He opened his mouth, ready to argue again, but Walburga stood.
"Sirius. Go to your room. Now."
Sirius looked from his mother to his father, then to his younger brother, and finally to Abraxas Malfoy.
Then he turned and left.
After the door closed, the atmosphere in the drawing room eased, as if the house itself had exhaled.
Abraxas lifted his teacup again.
"The future is not only Britain," he said smoothly. "Europe. America. Asia. That Lord's influence expands. Families who support him will have the opportunity to participate in the reconstruction of magical order on a global scale."
He let the promise glitter.
"Resources. Knowledge. Power beyond anything the current Ministry can provide."
Regulus kept his expression neutral. Internally, he could not help the dry observation.
Voldemort's ambition reached for the world, yet he would not even manage to hold Britain.
Orion spoke after a pause.
"We will need time to consider."
"Of course." Abraxas rose, setting his cup down. "That Lord never coerces."
His eyes flicked, briefly, toward Walburga. The suggestion was clear even without words.
"There is a small gathering in Wiltshire next month," Abraxas continued. "Several like minded families will exchange ideas. If the House of Black is interested, I can arrange an invitation."
Walburga looked at Orion with open expectation.
Orion nodded once.
"We will consider it."
After Malfoy left, Walburga rounded on Orion immediately, words spilling as if she had been holding them back with her teeth.
"We must attend. Abraxas is right, Orion. This is an opportunity. The House of Black should lead the new era"
Orion cut her off, and for once his voice sounded tired.
"Walburga, we must be cautious. It sounds wonderful, but what is the cost? Among the weak elements he speaks of purging, there may be friends. There may be family."
"Andromeda is no longer family," Walburga said, cold as iron.
Orion's eyes tightened.
"And Sirius. If his rebellion continues"
"Then let him go." Walburga's voice rose, sharp with decision. "The House of Black is not short of a rebellious son. We have Regulus."
Her gaze snapped to Regulus, burning with intensity.
"You spoke well today. Rational. Logical. Seeing the larger picture. This is how an heir of the House of Black should speak."
Regulus lowered his head and did not answer.
Later, in the attic laboratory, he did not light a lamp. He sat in the dark and replayed the afternoon as if reviewing a lesson.
Abraxas had revealed several important truths.
Voldemort's reach was already pushing beyond Britain.
He tempted pure blood families with the promise of a future order, offering power and resources.
His methods included purging. A mild word for violence.
No one in that drawing room understood what Regulus understood.
Voldemort would fail.
The world would not end.
But the path to that outcome was not clean. It would be driven by coincidences, by narrow escapes, by sacrifices that no one planned for.
Regulus's fingers curled slightly against his knee.
He needed power.