Black Family Dinner

In the restaurant at Grimmauld Place, a dark green tablecloth covered the long table, and candles on silver candlesticks burned neatly with steady flames.

The dishes tonight are as plentiful as usual.

The Wellington Steak is cut into thick slices and arranged on Porcelain Plates, its pink cross-section covered with a golden puff pastry.

Roast Lamb Chops with Rosemary, sauce spread on a silver plate, and served alongside charred potatoes and carrots.

The black truffle mashed potatoes were served in a small silver bowl, with three lines drawn on the surface, and roasted asparagus wrapped in Parma Ham stood upright on the edge of the plate.

Each person has their own bowl of cream soup. When the silver lid is lifted, steam rises up. There's also a basket of bread rolls, a dish of Butter, and a pot of hot tea.

Kreacher's skills are consistently excellent.

Four people sat at the table.

Orion was in the main seat, with Walburga to his left, Regulus opposite him, Sirius next to Regulus.

Orion sat upright, shoulders relaxed, as he did every other evening, with a copy of the Daily Prophet's evening edition on his right. He cut a piece of Steak, put it in his mouth, chewed it a few times, swallowed it, and took a sip of tea, his rhythm no different from usual.

Regulus's posture was the same as before, back straight, knife and fork in hand, cutting whatever he needed to cut.

The father and son ate in similar ways, not saying much and not showing much emotion, which was the norm in this family.

They gave the impression that nothing had happened, as if everything from last night had nothing to do with tonight's dinner.

But the other two people at the table were in a different state.

Sirius has been staring at Regulus ever since he sat down, his gray eyes fixed on his face as if trying to see something out of it.

Regulus knew what he was looking at: the Dark Enlightenment and the green light emanating from the tip of his staff.

He ignored it; saying anything now is useless, he's still in power. We can say something once he calms down.

Of course, not all of them.

Sirius's personality is what it is; if you knew everything, you'd never know what he was capable of.

It's not that I'm afraid he'll go around making a fuss; anyone with a brain wouldn't do that. Although Sirius often does mindless things, he actually has a brain.

The problem is that while he may have a brain, whether he uses it or not is another matter.

Therefore, you can say some things, within reasonable limits, to let him know what's going on at home, so that he's not blind and maintains the basic right to know that a member of the Black should have.

This will also benefit him in the future. No matter which side he goes to, maintaining a certain level of understanding with his family is better than rushing out without knowing anything. But those are things for later. For now, let him see.

There are plenty of people who see him, so one more won't make a difference.

Regulus cut another piece of Steak, dipped it in black truffle mashed potatoes, and put it in his mouth.

After a day of hunger, the meat tasted especially good.

His gaze shifted from the plate to Walburga.

Her attire tonight was as impeccable as ever: a dark gray house robe with subtle embroidery on the collar and cuffs, her hair neatly styled, and her earrings were old pieces from the Black family.

Even at home, Walburga is never casual; he maintains a presentable appearance from morning till night, always dressed neatly and behaving elegantly.

But she was quiet tonight, appearing rather silent.

In the past, Walburga always had something to say at the dinner table.

She has a fixed set of dishes for the dinner table, picking out the dishes for tonight: the roast meat is a little overcooked, the soup should be half a spoonful less salt. She will comment on the recent activities of each Pureblood families: who got promoted, whose proposal was rejected in Wizengamot, whose lady said something rather inappropriate at the tea party.

There was nothing tonight, she was just eating.

Regulus glanced at her, then looked away and continued eating.

He didn't know what his mother was thinking; she was probably still angry.

Last night she told him to have a proper talk with Bellatrix, but he didn't listen. Not only did he not listen, he also hit Bellatrix.

The mother's silence was probably a way of expressing her dissatisfaction, a way of telling him through her silence.

Same old routine.

He glanced at Orion; since he wouldn't be home for long anyway, he'd leave his mother's affairs to his father.

Orion sensed the gaze, looked up, and met Regulus's eyes.

Regulus's face was expressionless, but Orion had known that face for twelve years and could read something in it.

Like someone who finishes their work and then casually dumps the finishing touches on someone else with a sense of entitlement—"These are your tasks, it's none of my business." Orion picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth and asked, "How are you feeling?"

Regulus nodded. "That's about enough. I'm a little tired, I just need some rest."

Orion took a sip of tea. "After dinner, come to the Study."

Regulus nodded again and hummed in agreement.

Sirius, upon hearing this, turned to look at his father, Orion had already picked up the newspaper and was completely ignoring him.

Sirius refocused his gaze on Regulus, who seemed to be arguing with someone.

Orion got up from the table first, placed his napkin next to his plate, and went to his Study.

Regulus didn't follow. He was still hungry; after a day of starvation, his stomach had just recovered. He ate more slowly than usual, but more than usual. He left the last two bites of his Wellington Steak, cutting off the pastry and meat together and putting them in his mouth. He then dipped a bread roll in the remaining sauce on the plate and ate it all. After wiping his mouth, he put down his napkin and stood up.

Walburga was still sitting there, holding his teacup, but hadn't drunk from it.

Regulus said, "Mother, I'm going to the Study."

Walburga looked up, a beat slow, as if he had just come to his senses.

She looked at Regulus, her gaze lingered for a moment, her lips moved, and after a while, she whispered, "Go."

Regulus nodded, then turned and left.

He didn't notice anything different about the way his mother looked at him compared to usual, or perhaps he did see it but didn't think about it.

My mind is still sluggish from accomplishing something big; I'm too lazy to look closely or analyze.

He wasn't Sirius either.

Sirius opened his mouth behind him, then closed it again.

He wanted to go with them.

Of course, he couldn't care less about listening to those things—the whispering between his father and brother in the Study. He could guess what they were talking about: how to handle last night's events and how the Lestrange family would react.

Which families will seize the opportunity to curry favor, which families should keep their distance, and then it's necessary to calculate how much benefit the Black family gained from this affair.

To defeat someone, and then sit down and calculate how much benefit you can gain from it.

His brother beat Bellatrix, the plantation burned down, and now they're settling scores behind closed doors.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes fixed on the direction Regulus had left, his mouth agape, half a word stuck in his throat.

He wanted to go, but his reasons had nothing to do with what was about to happen in the Study.

He wanted to look at Regulus's face and ask him a couple of questions.

Last night's green light—were you really planning to kill her?

Did those gray things from last night really have no effect on you?

He might not have the chance this time, but there will be another time; he was determined to find out the truth.

He didn't even know what answer he wanted; he just wanted to ask.

He glanced at Walburga, who seemed to be in a daze—he'd never seen him look like that before—but he didn't care. He stood up and left.

Walburga withdrew his gaze from Regulus and landed on the black tea he was holding. It had gone cold, and the tea in the cup was dark and unremarkable.

She didn't drink it and put it down.

The Study door was open, Orion sat behind his desk, doing nothing but waiting.

Regulus walked in, and the first thing he saw was the letter on the table.

Stacks upon stacks, several piles in total, the tallest one almost completely obscuring Orion's face, leaving only his forehead and the top of his head visible. Regulus's lips curled into a slight smile.

Just now at the dinner table, I was thinking of asking my father to handle my mother's matter, but now it seems that my father still has a lot of follow-up work to do.

But we already have so many, one more won't make a difference.

Orion observed his expression from behind the stack of letters; it was the same self-satisfied look he had given him at the dinner table. He said nothing, simply gesturing to the chair opposite him.

Regulus sat down; he knew what was going to happen next.

The letters were just the beginning; there were many more to come—probing, overtures, attempts to build relationships, requests to visit. Each family had its own set of excuses. The process was pretty much the same for everyone. Whenever there was some change in the Pure-blood Circle, the fireplace in Grimmauld Place would be bustling with activity, owls would line up on the roof, Kreacher would open the door eighteen times a day.

This has caused quite a stir, and things are only going to get more exciting. The next few days will be very busy.

Those who had been observing would begin to move, those who were already standing nearby would take another step forward, and those who wanted to ride the coattails of the Black family would line up to deliver messages to Grimmauld Place.

Several more stacks would pile up on my father's desk.

These things are predictable without much thought; that's how politics is—a stone thrown into the ground creates ripples that last a long time.

But he doesn't plan to participate.

He did everything he was supposed to do, demonstrated his strength, and spread his influence.

The effects of these things will ferment on their own; fame will spread outside, and rumors will circulate within the circle, regardless of his presence. The purpose of what he did before was very clear: to nourish souls, to exert influence outward, and to let those who need to know know.

Now that he has achieved his goal, continuing to appear in social settings will only give more people the opportunity to observe him closely, test him, and speculate about him. All those who approach him can offer are connections, information, and political support.

The Black family has all of these things. Orion's network, built up over decades, is there any need for a twelve-year-old to reinforce it? His job is to demonstrate power, and once that's done, he's gone. The work is his; the socializing is his father's job.

He already has enough fame; any more would just be noise. Besides, it's much more useful to let people guess what he'll do next than to let them see what he's doing.

Besides, he had important business to attend to.

He'd been waiting for the Whomping Willow" ever since Professor Sprout said it could shatter Conduction, and it'd been almost a semester.

Baruk's transformation plan was something he and Baruch had been looking forward to for a long time; he had promised to make it stronger the day he brought it out of the Forbidden Forest. These were the things he wanted to spend his time on.

Compared to chatting and drinking tea with a group of Pure-bloods Patriarch in the living room, he knew much better where his power came from.

It comes from research, from practice, and from the process of turning ideas into reality time and time again.

He held on when facing Voldemort last time, but that was all; he couldn't do the same next time they met.

Regulus looked away from the pile of letters. "Father, I'm going to practice Magic."