Parents, Rules, Nonsense

After walking through the first-floor Corridor, Regulus arrived at the door of Orion's Study. The door was open, and Regulus pushed it open and went inside.

There was a new pile of letters on the desk, at least two more stacks than before he left. The envelopes were of various colors, and most of them had sealing wax with the family seal. He didn't look at them closely and walked straight to the end of the Study.

The portrait of the Black family on the wall was still dozing. He waved his hand, and the portrait slid silently open, revealing the Stone Gate behind it.

The Stone Gate was heavy. He pushed it open and went inside. The door closed behind him with a dull thud.

The Training Room was small and rectangular, with rough gray stone walls and floor. The ceiling was high, with a few iron-framed lamps hanging from it, making the light dim but sufficient.

They're fighting inside.

A red light flew from the center of the Training Room, Disarming Charm, flying quite accurately and at a decent speed, heading straight for Sirius's chest.

Sirius dodged to the side, ducked to the left, and rolled on the ground.

The posture wasn't exactly graceful; the shoulder landed first, the leg swung in mid-air, and it took half a step to regain its balance before it could stand up. In actual combat, rolling like that is just asking to get hit.

But Hawk was clearly holding back, and Sirius did indeed dodge the attack.

Sirius was wearing a training uniform, a close-fitting, dark-colored outfit made of durable, easy-to-move-in fabric.

The cuffs were pulled up above the elbows, and there were a few shallow abrasions on the forearms; I don't know if they were from today or yesterday.

He sprang to his feet, raised his wand to retaliate, but stopped when he heard the door open.

He turned his head and saw Regulus standing by the door frame.

Sirius's expression changed several times in an instant.

At first, they were surprised, not expecting Regulus to come at this time.

Then, faster than his mind, his body moved, his right hand still gripping the wand, his mouth opened, his eyebrows raised, the corners of his mouth turned up, and a cheerful greeting was already on his tongue.

"Regus"

Then his mind caught up. He shouldn't have been so enthusiastic. He withdrew his hand, his expression changed, his lips turned down, his brows furrowed, and he turned to look at the wall as if nothing had happened.

There was nothing on that wall, but he stared at it intently.

Regulus stood in the doorway, watching his retreating figure, feeling embarrassed for him.

Sirius's condition Taiyi from before he left.

This guy probably figured something out on his own. He'd been holding it in for days after the Christmas Banquet, going from anger to silence to his current awkwardness. He must have gone through something in between.

But given Sirius's mind, he's more likely to get stuck on a single point; it's unlikely he'll figure it all out on his own.

It's more likely that Orion told him something.

Thinking about this, Regulus suddenly realized something quite interesting.

Previously, he was always figuring out how to talk to Sirius, how to arrange things for Sirius, what he should know, and what he shouldn't. But ultimately, Orion was the father, not him.

Talking to Sirius, arranging the eldest son's path, and keeping some things hidden—these were originally Orion's tasks.

He was just a Young Black, but he acted like the Patriarch, and he did it quite naturally, never feeling that anything was wrong.

His lips twitched slightly, and he realized there was probably something wrong with him.

The other person had stopped long ago as well.

Gerald Hawk stood at the other end of the Training Room, his wand hanging at his side, but not put away.

He was in his early forties, lean and wiry, with short gray hair almost touching his scalp. There was an old scar on the outer side of his left eyebrow that extended to his cheekbone. Wizards of Auror descent had a peculiar stance, with their weight always on the balls of their feet. They were always ready to move, yet appeared relaxed, as if they could change positions at any moment.

Regulus entered the Training Room and nodded slightly. "Mr. Hawk, excuse me."

Hawk's expression wasn't particularly serious, but he didn't try to relax either; his face maintained a businesslike demeanor.

To be honest, he wasn't quite sure how to approach this thirteen-year-old boy.

After news of the Christmas Banquet incident spread, Orion communicated the message to the family's core employees.

Pureblood families have a well-established system for managing their core employees.

You will know what you need to know. Knowing this will help you do things better, make correct judgments about the family, and avoid misinterpreting rumors circulating outside.

Orion has consistently done a very good job in this regard.

It didn't go into a long explanation; it simply outlined the basic sequence of events.

Regulus clashed with Bellatrix at the dinner party, displaying strength far beyond expectations. Bellatrix was crippled, and the manor was damaged.

The wording was restrained, and the details were few, but it was enough for everyone to understand one thing: the Black family had produced an extraordinary heir. The benefits of this approach were also clear.

Firstly, it unites people's hearts. In the increasingly tense situation in the Wizarding World, the emergence of such a figure in the family makes everyone who is attached to the Black family feel that they have made the right choice, which will make them feel safer and work harder.

Secondly, it's about reaching a consensus. The rumors outside are all over the place. Some say Regulus killed Bellatrix, some say he used the Unforgivable Curses, some say he was that Dark Lord's student, and so on.

If core employees only listen to external versions of events, their judgments may be biased, which will affect the direction of their work.

Letting them know the truth, or at least a filtered truth, is far better than letting them guess.

When Hawk heard this, he realized something that made him a little uncomfortable.

He first met this little wizard during the last holiday when he was teaching Sirius the basics.

He remarked to Mr. Black that Sirius was very talented, possessed abundant Magic Power, and had unlimited potential.

Sirius is indeed talented, but compared to his brother, one is practicing basic combat in the Training Room, while the other burned down Lestrange's manor. Moreover, those words were said in front of Mr. Black. Mr. Black, who was sitting opposite him with the Training Room door open, so Sirius could hear them.

They probably found it quite funny, and as for Sirius, now that he thinks about it, all that's left is probably embarrassment.

Hawk was a little uncomfortable, but he didn't show it on his face. He greeted him naturally and replied, "No problem, Mr. Black."

He glanced in Sirius's direction, where the boy was still looking at the wall, then turned back. "We've been practicing for a while, just getting ready to rest." It's not even nine o'clock yet; it's more like it's just the beginning, resting is a bit early.

Regulus said nothing, remaining polite, and nodded. "Sirius, thank you for your trouble."

Sirius had his back to them, and when he heard those words, his shoulder twitched.

He smacked his teeth.

Regulus is using this tactic again.

The tone, the wording—"Thank you for your trouble"—was exactly the same as in Professor McGonagall's office, as if she were apologizing on his behalf. He was furious then. "Who told you to apologize for me? Are you my brother or my father?"

Most importantly, he didn't cause any trouble that time; he was seriously learning Transfiguration, and he's practicing diligently today as well.

On what grounds?

Here we go again?

Hawk opened his mouth and looked at Regulus.

The child spoke in a manner completely befitting an adult, yet his demeanor seemed natural, as if he were taking responsibility for Sirius.

Hawk had a slight doubt in his mind. He was only thirteen years old, Sirius was his older brother. Had things gotten mixed up?

Then he realized that Sirius was still facing away from him, looking at the wall, and the atmosphere was a little strange, so he continued the conversation.

He shook his head. "It's nothing, Sirius."

He paused, then coughed lightly. "Quite talented."

After saying that, he glanced at Sirius, then turned his gaze back.

Regulus continued, his tone as unhurried as before. "What level are you at now?"

Sirius couldn't hold back any longer.

He whirled around, baring his teeth at Regulus with a rather unfriendly expression. His lips were downturned, and his eyes were glaring. He wasn't exactly fierce, but he was definitely not friendly.

He didn't say anything, just stared at me.

Regulus didn't look at him; his gaze remained fixed on Hawk.

Hawk glanced at Sirius's face, then at Regulus's completely unmoved expression, and decided to leave immediately. "Clear progress," he replied curtly, and before Regulus could ask any further questions, he took a step back towards the door. "I have some things to take care of, so I'll be going now."

Regulus stepped aside and politely said goodbye, "Take care, Mr. Hawk."

"Hmm," Hawk walked to the door, giving Sirius one last look. "School starts soon. See you next holiday."

Sirius's expression suddenly changed, and for a moment, his expression became inscrutable.

Next holiday.

He didn't come back this time to stay.

He came back to see what was really going on in this family, what the so-called Pure-bloods were all about, and what Regulus was all about. He didn't know if he would still be at 12 Grimmauld Place during his next vacation.

He glanced at Regulus, said nothing, and turned back to Hawk: "Goodbye, Mr. Hawk."

Hawk nodded, left the Training Room, and the Stone Gate closed behind him.

The Training Room quieted down, leaving only the two of them.

Regulus looked at Sirius.

My training clothes were dusty, there was a scuff on my knee, I had a little sweat on my forehead, and my hair was messy, but overall I was in good condition.

Sirius felt uncomfortable being stared at and asked irritably, "What are you looking at?"

Regulus ignored him, his expression unchanged. "Want to talk?"

Sirius paused for a moment, then nodded.

Regulus turned and left the Training Room, walked behind Orion's desk, and sat down in the armchair.

Sirius followed them out, saw this scene, and raised an eyebrow.

That's Orion's chair.

In a family of Black's stature, the Study is where the Patriarch exercises power; documents are signed, affairs are handled, and decisions are made. Ultimately, it is an extension of the Patriarch's power.

In some Pureblood families, especially those old-fashioned ones among the Sacred Twenty-Eight who are almost dead, only the Patriarch can sit on that chair; even the heir dares not touch it, and even close relatives like the eldest son have to stand in front of the table to speak.

The rules are as cold as stone; blood ties here are only about hierarchy, not warmth.

But some families don't care.

Some families are small, with few children, and therefore have fewer rules. Study is Study, and a chair is a chair; whoever wants to sit can sit there. Some families don't even have Study, like the Weasley family, whose living room serves as their entire living room.

The Black family falls somewhere in between.

The house wasn't cold; the relationship between Orion and Regulus was far closer than it appeared.

But the Black family was anything but warm; if you had to find a word to describe it, it would be oppressive.

Etiquette, rules, hierarchy—these things, along with the sour smell of Ancestral Portraits, formed the underlying tone of 12 Grimmauld Place. These were the things Sirius hated, the things he wanted to smash and escape.

But now Regulus sat down without the slightest hesitation, leaning back and resting his arm on the armrest, his posture relaxed and natural.

Sirius felt a complex pleasure; he smirked, then quickly closed his mouth again.

His rebellious side was awakened; seeing his younger brother do something against the rules, he instinctively felt comfortable, as if someone had done something for him that he had always wanted to do but had never done.

But then came a strange, inexplicable unease, because he knew that Regulus was not rebelling against the rules.

Sirius thought to himself, if he sat in that chair, it would be on purpose, a provocation, a declaration, an attitude of "I'm going to trample on your broken rules."

Regulus didn't; he simply sat down.

He wasn't challenging anyone's authority or testing anyone's limits; he probably just found the chair comfortable and sat down. This difference made Sirius feel uneasy, but he couldn't pinpoint why.

Perhaps it's because he defies the rules, because he hates the rules; Regulus doesn't follow the rules because the rules don't matter to him.

Sirius shook his head, banishing these random thoughts, and sat down casually across from him.

He leaned back in the chair, slumped in, and stretched his legs out so long that his feet almost touched the table.

But he was still aware of the risks and didn't actually put it on.

Regulus suggested they talk, but he didn't speak first; he just looked at Sirius.

Sirius didn't say anything either. The two sat facing each other, separated by a desk piled high with letters.

Regulus sized him up.

It's a bit like when I first came home; my posture is casual and lazy, as if I've detached myself from everything, looking at everything from an outsider's perspective, not caring about anything.

Regulus confirmed it; Orion had spoken with him, the details of which were unknown, but the outcome was positive.

Sirius, feeling unbearably stared at, was about to speak when his gaze suddenly shifted, fixing on Regulus's left shoulder, where something seemed to flash and disappear.

He blinked, looked again, but saw nothing.

Then a small, dark red creature emerged from his right shoulder, its eight legs clinging to the collar of his robe, half its body sticking out, and its eight amber eyes staring intently at Sirius.

Sirius's attention was completely diverted.

He raised his chin slightly. "What's that?"

Regulus's lips curled into a smile, "Spider."

Sirius sneered, annoyed by Regulus.

Regulus rambled on about the same things, whether talking by the lake or bumping into each other in the Corridor.

When asked anything, he would give the shortest, most accurate truth, which was perfectly correct on the surface, but utterly useless in its meaning.

It's infuriating, but it also makes you feel relaxed.