Harry Potter: Reborn as Regulus Black

Chapter 342: Chapter 342: Sirius: Surprising Regulus

"I mean," Sirius said, disbelief threading through his voice as he pointed, "this is your pet? A spider?"

Regulus didn’t answer. He held out his hand, palm up. Baruk crawled from the collar, down the shoulder, along the arm, and dropped into his palm before hopping onto the desk.

Then onward, to the edge nearest Sirius.

He stopped there, two forelegs resting on the lip, upper body rising slightly, chelicerae opening and closing. Click-click-click.

Hard to say if it was a threat or a greeting.

He paced back and forth a few times, eight amber eyes sizing Sirius up from head to toe. Then he glanced back at Regulus.

Regulus gave a slight nod.

Baruk turned to face Sirius again. The chelicerae worked twice more, and then a short, clipped syllable: "...Baruk."

Sirius sat bolt upright, the force of it sending his chair skidding backward.

He stared at the palm-sized spider, looked up at Regulus, looked back down at the spider.

It spoke?

James had mentioned talking spiders in the Forbidden Forest. Enormous ones, meters long, living in swarms deep in the trees.

But those were giant spiders. This one fit in a hand. And it could talk?

He leaned in.

It looked nothing like the ordinary spider they kept in the dormitory. Similar size, both palm-sized, but everything else was wrong.

Wrong color. Wrong eyes. Wrong patterning at the joints. Nothing about it resembled a normal spider.

Off. All of it.

Baruk, seeing Sirius still staring, took two steps forward, chelicerae spread wide, rattling off a string of clicks, then spat out an even shorter syllable: "...Food."

The chelicerae kept waving, gesturing at something, as if the creature had decided the person in front of it might be edible but wanted to check first.

Then he bolted. Eight legs drumming across the desktop, up Regulus’s arm, scrambling back to the shoulder, tucking himself against the collar. All eight eyes still locked on Sirius.

Sirius tracked him the entire way, gaze following until the spider settled on Regulus’s shoulder, then slowly drifting back.

His expression hovered somewhere between disgusted and speechless. Mouth turned down, brow furrowed.

"It really talks." He stared at Regulus, paused, then added: "Like you."

Regulus’s mouth twitched.

The lighter mood dissipated. The study went quiet for a beat.

Regulus cut straight to it. "Father talked to you?"

Sirius held his gaze. Something moved behind those grey eyes. A long time passed before he nodded.

Regulus didn’t press for details. He nodded back.

Another stretch of silence.

"What’s the plan going forward?" Regulus asked.

Sirius blinked. "What do you mean?"

Regulus didn’t elaborate. He watched, expression calm.

Sirius frowned. "Practice magic."

A slight shake of Regulus’s head. "That’s not what I’m asking. I mean, what are you going to do."

Sirius went quiet.

He knew what Regulus meant. Whether he’d ever come back to this house.

His head dropped. He stared at his hands resting on his knees. A few shallow cuts from training across the knuckles, a thin callus forming on the side of his index finger.

Silence again.

Then he looked up, voice deliberately casual, tossing the question out like it didn’t matter. "Regulus, what if I don’t come back?"

No change in Regulus’s expression. Tone even. "That’s your choice."

Sirius looked at him. Said nothing.

His face was uncharacteristically serious. None of the usual careless disdain, none of the stubborn defiance, no anger in those grey eyes.

He was watching. Waiting.

For what, he probably couldn’t have said himself. But he was waiting for Regulus to say something more.

Regulus held his gaze. After a moment: "Good for you."

Sirius frowned. "Good for me?"

A nod. "Good for you."

Sirius stared. "You’re serious?"

Another nod. "Serious."

Sirius stopped talking.

He sank into the chair, eyes landing somewhere on the stack of letters, seeing none of them.

His mind churned. Everything Orion had said to him surfaced again.

The study, the fire, a few sentences that had dismantled two years of what he’d believed was resistance and conviction, laying every piece out fresh.

Now Regulus was saying good for you, saying that’s your choice, and both pointed in the same direction as what his father had told him.

A dim shape formed in his understanding. They weren’t stopping him. They’d never stopped him.

When he chose Gryffindor, no one blocked him. When he waged his silent war at home, no one blocked him. Now he wanted to leave, and no one was blocking him.

Maybe they didn’t care. Maybe they supported him going. But the path he wanted to walk had never had anyone standing in the middle of it, refusing to let him pass.

Regulus saying good for you carried the same weight as when he’d said wanting to come home. Both meant.

Sirius shrugged, his voice lighter. "Alright then."

More silence.

Then his mouth opened, a question forming, then stopping.

He looked at Regulus. Not quite serious, but not offhand either. "So we..."

Regulus glanced at him, same tone as before, and nodded. "You’re still a Black, aren’t you?"

Sirius’s mouth opened. Closed.

A long, slow breath left him. He sank deeper into the chair, his whole body loosening, gaze floating up to the ceiling.

All he said was: "Fine."

The tension broke for good. Sirius slouched against the chair back, legs stretched long, ankles crossed beside the desk leg.

An idle question. "Where’d you go these past few days?"

"Practicing magic."

Sirius rolled his eyes.

Every holiday, the same thing. Regulus vanished for days, went God-knows-where, came back, and said nothing. Ask and you got practicing magic, a non-answer meant to shut the conversation down.

Already that powerful, and it still wasn’t enough?

He knew the gap between himself and Regulus was staggering.

But he refused to concede.

In a straight fight, he’d never catch up. His brain could be stubborn, but even he knew a head-on contest was finished.

Magic wasn’t only fighting, though. He had something else in mind.

Transfiguration.

He had talent there. The advanced branches of Transfiguration were broad, and Animagus was one of them.

He’d already started preparing.

When it was done, he’d surprise Regulus. Losing a duel was losing a duel, but in Transfiguration, he’d hold his own against anyone.

The thought sent the corners of his mouth curling upward before he could stop them.

Regulus had no idea what he was grinning about and didn’t bother asking.

Sirius stood, the tension fully gone from his body.

The questions he hadn’t asked today... the grey magic at the Christmas dinner, the green light at the wand tip, whether Regulus had been faking everything... none of them.

Maybe one day he’d ask. Not today.

"Going to train." His eyes flicked to Regulus, a wordless invitation.

Regulus ignored him.

Sirius called out something, turned, and disappeared into the training room. The stone door sealed behind him.

Regulus sat in Orion’s chair a moment longer, then stood and headed upstairs.

Back in the bedroom, Baruk leaped from his shoulder to the desk, looked up at him, chelicerae opening and closing gently. "...Big spider..."

The corner of Regulus’s mouth curved. "Mm. Big spider."

A click. Baruk circled the desk once, then crawled along the edge back to the pillow and curled himself into a fuzzy dark red ball.

---

Evening. Walburga and Orion returned.

Dinner began on time.

The dining room looked the same as always.

Regulus picked up his knife and fork, cut a piece of lamb, took a bite, and let his gaze drift from his plate to Walburga.

She was quiet tonight, but it was a different silence from after the Christmas dinner.

Then, she’d seemed stunned. Hollowed, as if something had been pulled out of her. Now the daze had passed, leaving only a kind of stillness.

His mother’s calm was probably because his father had said what needed saying, smoothed what needed smoothing.

He’d handed the problem off to Orion at the dinner table earlier, and the handling looked competent.

Regulus considered this and decided it tracked.

His father had experience. Twenty-odd years of marriage. Managing something like this was well within his grasp.

He looked away and went back to eating. No further thought.

Walburga set down her knife and fork, lifted her teacup, took a sip, placed it back, and looked at Regulus.

The way she looked at him had changed.

That gleam had dimmed.

Her gaze still found him, but something else lived in it now. She was still looking, though she no longer seemed certain what she was seeing.

Perhaps she was trying to find a new way to look at her son. She hadn’t found it yet.

Walburga set down the cup. Her voice carried none of its old eagerness, the tone flat. "How was Cornwall?"

"Good." Regulus cut his lamb, glanced up at her. "Ms. Agnes took excellent care of things."

"Cold?"

A slow shake of his head. "The sea wind off Cornwall is strong, but not cold."

Walburga nodded. "And the food? Is she a decent cook?"

Regulus answered patiently. "Good. Hearty."

His responses were the same as they’d always been. She asked, he answered, voice mild, unhurried, giving her what she wanted to hear.

Walburga listened, nodded, and lifted the teacup for another sip.

Regulus noticed the shift but didn’t dwell on it.

Same conclusion as before. His father had handled it. How, with what words, through what approach, wasn’t his concern.

The result was solid. His mother had settled. No more eruptions. That was enough.

She asked a few more things. He answered each one, tone warm throughout, calibration precise.

Mother and son exchanged pleasantries for several minutes. Everyday topics. Nothing of substance.

Only this time, Walburga didn’t weave in a single mention of Pure-blood society, family honor, or the latest political currents.

She was talking to her son. Nothing more.

The table fell quiet. Only the sound of cutlery on porcelain and the faint crackle of candle wicks.

Orion hadn’t spoken the entire meal. Neither had Sirius.

Sirius had been watching, eyes moving back and forth between Regulus and Walburga.

Orion finished his last bite, set down his knife and fork, took a sip of tea, dabbed the corner of his mouth with his napkin, and glanced at Regulus. "When you’re done, come to the study."

He stood and left.

Regulus set down his cutlery. "Yes, Father."

He rose and turned to Walburga. "Mother, I’ll be in the study."

Walburga looked up. Softly: "Go on."

A nod, and he was gone.

Sirius watched his back disappear down the corridor. His mouth opened, then closed.

Left behind again.

A curl of his lip, a mask of disdain, and he stood and walked out too.

Walburga sat alone in the dining room.