flstandardbreds Chapter 293: Orion: Who Does He Take After [bonus]
Chapter 293: Orion: Who Does He Take After [bonus]
Regulus walked over to Sirius.
Sirius’s eyeballs couldn’t move, but even frozen, they managed to glare with extraordinary force.
Those eyes told a complete story. The left one said you wait. The right one said you’re dead.
A tap of Regulus’s finger lifted the petrification. Another tap broke the silencing charm.
Movement returned. Sound flooded back.
The crackle of the hearth, wind beyond the window, the soft rustle of Orion turning pages at the desk.
Sirius’s body unlocked all at once, arms dropping onto the armrests with a thud. He shook out both wrists.
His expression switched from petrified rigidity to fury with almost no transition.
Brows crushed together, mouth wrenched down, chin jutting forward, his whole face radiating heat.
He sucked in a breath so deep it rolled through his chest and lifted his shoulders.
His mouth opened wider, the first syllable of ’you son of a’ already pressing against his teeth...
"Sirius." Regulus’s voice cut in first, the tone nothing like before.
Even his eyes carried sincerity. "I need your help."
Sirius’s mouth hung open, the rest of the sentence jammed in his throat.
Need your help?
Those words coming from Regulus were more startling than being disarmed.
The Regulus he knew, at Grimmauld Place, at Hogwarts, perched on corridor windowsills, when had he ever said he needed help?
His brother had always given the impression of someone who needed nothing from anyone. Handled everything himself. Never asked.
The anger didn’t vanish. It got buried under something else.
Curiosity.
"The night of the banquet," Regulus said, direct. "I’m making a move."
"Bella’s looking for trouble," Regulus said, voice weighted. "But when the conversation happens, how it happens, where it happens, she doesn’t get to decide. I do."
He held Sirius’s gaze. "She thinks she can push me. I’m going to let her try."
The corner of Sirius’s mouth started climbing. Regulus’s face wore the expression of someone entrusting a matter of grave importance.
Sirius tried to look composed, pressing his lips down, but they wouldn’t stay. The grin broke through.
Regulus shifted tone. "But Bella’s dangerous. You know that."
Sirius didn’t argue. Bella was dangerous. Admitting it out loud, though, felt wrong, like conceding her madness in the same breath.
He didn’t nod. Didn’t shake his head. Bared his teeth.
Regulus ignored it and kept going. "I need to focus on her entirely, so Rabastan is yours."
Sirius blinked. "Rabastan?"
"Lestrange. Third year." Regulus kept it short. "He went after my people. Those two half-bloods. That needs answering."
Sirius’s mouth twisted. A third-year Lestrange. This was worth a special briefing?
He studied Regulus’s face, something nagging at him.
A third year. Regulus could handle that with one hand behind his back. Why did he need help?
He opened his mouth to ask, but Regulus’s expression looked... genuine?
He swallowed the suspicion, lifted his chin, posture turning magnanimous. You’re asking me for help, so I’ll graciously consider it.
"How?"
"At the banquet, I’ll be locked in with Bella. Rabastan can’t walk away clean either," Regulus said. "But my hands will be full, so he’s yours."
Sirius’s enthusiasm was middling. Rabastan. A side dish, handed down to him. But Regulus needed to focus on Bella, so he was delegating the other one.
The logic tracked.
"Done." He slapped the armrest and started to rise. "Leave it to..."
"But." Regulus pressed him back down.
The rest of the sentence got swallowed again.
"You wait for the signal." Regulus locked eyes with him. "Until then, you do nothing. Show nothing. Attend the banquet like normal."
He repeated it, with weight. "Normal."
Sirius’s mouth twisted.
"When I say normal," Regulus read the objection forming, "I mean actually normal. Not your version of normal. No glaring at him beforehand. No rolling your eyes at him. No bumping him with your shoulder when you walk past."
Sirius’s mouth opened and closed twice. He’d been planning all three.
He drew a long breath, let it out, voice flat. "Fine. I wait for the signal."
"When the signal comes, you move." The corner of Regulus’s mouth twitched. "Perfect timing. Everyone watching. One clean hit."
He gave Sirius a thumbs up. "Impressive."
Sirius’s eyes lit again.
He pushed himself off the chair back, shoulders pulling straight, chin rising, the facade of composure crumbling as a grin split his face.
His expression shifted from fine, I’ll do what you say to this is the kind of thing I was born for.
"Should’ve said so from the start."
Behind the desk, Orion sat watching Regulus steer Sirius from seething fury to eager anticipation in a handful of sentences.
Teacup in hand, face impassive, but something in his eyes had loosened.
This younger son’s gift for handling people ran on the same engine as the routine he used on Walburga, only the target had changed, and the method with it.
Walburga wanted to hear what she wanted to hear. Give her that and she was satisfied.
Sirius wanted to feel important and to act. Give him that and he was satisfied.
Different technique. Same core principle. Know what the other person wants, then hand them a version of it calibrated to perfection.
Only... Sirius being this easy to manage. Who did he take after?
Orion shook his head inwardly.
Regulus stood and turned to his father. "I’ll head back, Father."
Orion nodded. "Get some rest."
Sirius hauled himself out of the chair, rolled his shoulders, muttering, "I’m leaving too."
Orion looked at him. "Go on."
The brothers filed out one after the other, the door closing behind them.
Sirius trailed Regulus, mind split between picturing how he’d deal with Rabastan at the banquet and replaying everything Regulus had said.
The more he thought about it, the more fired up he got.
He stopped at his bedroom door.
Regulus didn’t break stride. "Goodnight, Sirius."
Sirius froze. No response came. His mouth opened, but his throat produced nothing.
Regulus kept walking, footsteps receding down the corridor.
Sirius stood in the doorway, watching his brother disappear into his own room. Then he shut his mouth and pulled a strange face, brows scrunching upward, mouth stretching sideways, chin jutting forward.
Whatever.
He pushed through the door.
The robe came off and hit the floor. Old robe. Once the enchantments faded it’d be unwearable. He didn’t believe Walburga would let him show up to the banquet in a worn-out robe.
He’d dare to wear it. Would she dare to let him?
He dropped onto the edge of the bed.
---
Regulus returned to his room and shut the door.
Baruk was still perched on the desk corner. When he entered, it raised a foreleg, the whole limb opening and closing once. Click.
"Kreacher."
Kreacher squeezed out of thin air holding a small dish. On it sat a palm-sized slab of raw steak, blood not yet fully drained, pooling in a thin layer across the porcelain.
He floated the dish onto the desk, bowed to Regulus, and vanished.
All eight of Baruk’s eyes locked onto the meat.
It crawled over from the corner, front half lowering, pinching the steak’s edge and spinning it half a turn to find the right angle. Then it clamped down.
Regulus watched it eat, expression blank.
Baruk finished the steak in under a minute. All that remained on the dish was a slick of blood and a few scraps of sinew too tough to chew.
It lifted a foreleg and wiped its chelicerae. Like someone dabbing a napkin.
Regulus cast Scourgify to clear the blood from the desk and pushed the dish aside.
He sat at the table for a while, then went to wash up.
After a while Regulus came back in a sleeping robe, collar loose, and returned to the desk.
Baruk had retreated to the corner again, all eight legs tucked beneath its body, compacted into a ball.
Regulus pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk. Baruk stirred.
It unfolded from its ball, eight legs bracing against the surface, the front two reaching toward the drawer, chelicerae half-open.
It was edging closer.
Regulus freed one hand, palm down, and pressed it flat on the desk in front of Baruk, blocking it.
Baruk’s forelegs tapped lightly against his fingers, chelicerae clicking twice. Click-click.
"Don’t touch."
Another click. The forelegs stayed planted, no longer advancing, but its body craned forward, trying to get its eyes on what was inside.
Regulus let it be and lifted the rune-inscribed box onto the desk.
He opened it.
The bone box lay within, dark gold runes traced along its surface, pulsing with a slow, breathing glow.
He closed his eyes, let his mind sink inward, and his vision shifted.
The star tracks were turning.