Snapshots: Appraisal

[toujours_nigel]

"Black, Regulus!"

 

Under the watchful eyes of half-a-dozen relatives, the small, dark-haired boy walks forward, neither stumbling nor shuffling, and taking his seat, back straight and chin up, allows Minerva McGonagall to place the over-sized Sorting Hat on his head.

 

Before it falls over his eyes, obscuring the Hall, he catches sight of three pairs of grey eyes watching him from the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables and even when all he can see is black cloth they seem to be looking at him, expecting great, but very different, things from him, all sure to be disappointed if he fails, two at least sure to show their displeasure in tortures drawn from the ends of the spectrum of cruelty.

 

“Well, another Black, is it?” a disembodied voice speaks from inside the hat... the collection of Godric’s bravery, Salazar’s cunning, Rowena’s intelligence and Helga’s kindness... he knows from history lessons under the tutelage of his cousins.

 

“Where should I put you, little boy... let’s see...”

 

“Not much courage in you, is there, Reg?” Sirius asked, not quite unkindly. They were standing on the very edge of a precipice, with a strong wind blowing. Everyone else was sitting at home, complaining of the horrid weather, Sirius had dragged him out to climb the chalk cliffs by the Longbottom’s estate. Regulus had stumbled thrice, scratched an arm very badly and then clung to Sirius, trembling while the eleven year old recklessly stepped out farther on the crumbling rock-face. “A Gryffindor you’re not... not that you want to be... but little brother, Slytherins have to be brave as well. You’re a coward. A stinking, lowly coward.  Red and gold are not for you.” He turned to Regulus, smiling. “Let’s go, Reg, maybe Father can get you admitted to Beauxbatons. At least you won’t embarrass us there.”

 

“...courage,” says the Hat, slowly. “Let’s see, what else?”

 

“When was the Werewolf Control Act passed by the Ministry of Romania?” Narcissa lilted, “When, Regulus? When was it, boy?” she screeched, voice losing its sweetness. “Come on, Reggie, when was it? You know this, surely, I told you an hour ago, you must remember. God, you’re hopeless, truly. All the Blacks are brilliant; did you pawn your brains?” She threw the heavy book at him and he ducks, rubbing the arm it nevertheless hits. “They never passed any such act; all the most important wizards in Romania are werewolves. Regulus, are you dumb?” She sighed, looked away, “God, you won’t even get into Ravenclaw... will you, Reggie?”

 

“... bad brains. Interesting.”

 

“We told you to go down the back-stairs, gag the elf and steal some food from the kitchens,” said Lucius. “You tramped down the front steps, requested the elves for help and...”

 

Regulus muttered rebelliously.

 

Bellatrix laughed, pulling Sirius into her lap. “No Reg, it does not matter that you got enough food to feed an army. What matters is you weren’t sneaky enough about it. How ever are you going to get into Slytherin if you can’t even deceive a house-elf? Sirius and James got into Gryffindor,”—“worse luck,” Lucius supplied quietly.—“and they’ve been raiding the kitchen for three months now. Reg, can’t you do anything?”

 

“...devious. Perfect little Black. So, where do we put you, Master Regulus? Where indeed? Are you going to emulate your brother and force  me to let you choose?”

 

“Just...just don’t put me in Hufflepuff, please,” Regulus thinks and it seems to him that the Hat smirks.

 

“Hufflepuff?!? Haven’t you been listening to me, boy? No, no, not in Hufflepuff, I think I’d better put you in SLYTHERIN!!!”

 

The Great Hall erupts, the entire Slytherin table cheering for this newest addition. Regulus pulls off the Hat, a little disoriented, and staggers to his house table. Some older boys squeeze together to let him slip into the seat beside the Head-Boy.

 

“Aunt and Uncle will be pleased,” Narcissa says. “Won’t they, Lucius?”

 

Malfoy turns to her, smirking slightly. “Yes, Regulus has done rather well for himself,” he drawls. “We hardly hoped he would shape up so well.”

 

A pale, greasy-haired boy looks at him. “You are Sirius Black’s brother?” He nods, trying to remember who the boy is; not a Lestrange, not a Bones, not a Crouch...

 

“Severus, don’t try to get even with Sirius through his brother. I expect you to take good care of Regulus once Cissa and I are gone. Not that he will need much mentoring after this year.”

 

“SLYTHERIN!!!” the Hat roars and Bartemious Crouch, Jr. hops off the stool, scowling, and makes his way to the Slytherin table, pointedly not sitting near them.

 

He is about to call to Barty when Lucius grips his wrist to dissuade him. “Not one of ours, Reg. Not just yet.”

 

“But...why?”

 

“His father disapproves,” Narcissa whispers across the table. “You know the rules.”

 

“Of what?” Barty is the closest he has to a friend. Narcissa shrugs, likely won’t tell him even if she does know.

 

Lucius, who is usually more forthcoming about political conspiracies, seems slightly preoccupied, he looks over at the Gryffindor table; Regulus follows his glance, wanting to catch Sirius’ eye. No use, his brother is laughing at the antics of a fat house-mate. He gives up, turning back to his meal, unheeding of Dumbledore’s speech.

 

During pudding a small parchment bird flies over to the Slytherin table. Regulus looks up curiously, but it has already disappeared into the Head-Boy’s pocket.

 

Much later, after the first-years have gone off to bed, it lies in the Slytherin fire, purpose served.

 

Mr. Malfoy,

       Congratulations! Your plan worked. Now, we’ll have to rile him enough that he wants to join the Quidditch team.

                                                                        Black and Potter.