novelnext Chapter 292: Deal With Him [bonus]
Chapter 292: Deal With Him [bonus]
Regulus continued. "I’ve maneuvered the Lestranges into the frame. At the banquet, I’ll make my move. The justification holds."
Orion fixed him with a stare. "Holds?"
Regulus nodded.
Orion didn’t press further. If Regulus said it held, it held.
The study went quiet for a moment.
Regulus let the silence sit, then picked up again, his tone unchanged. "At the banquet, I’ll be using the power of the Dark Awakening."
Orion’s breathing hitched, then steadied.
"I’ll make it look like it’s corroding me," Regulus said. "But I can pull it back."
Orion’s silence lasted longer than any that had come before.
The Dark Awakening. The thing Voldemort had sent.
He knew how Regulus had handled it. They’d discussed it before. Occlumency, mental technique, quarantine zones, controlled study.
Regulus had said there was no problem. He’d believed him.
Now Regulus was saying he intended to let it out. At the banquet, in front of everyone, letting that power leave marks on him for all to see.
"No problem?" Orion’s voice dropped, worry threading openly through it.
Regulus nodded.
Orion was quiet a while longer, then said only: "Your call."
Regulus murmured his acknowledgment.
He knew why his father had asked that one question, and why he’d asked only one.
What existed between him and Orion wasn’t simply father and son. It was an alliance.
Alliances required parity of information.
France, Dumbledore’s involvement, Flamel’s guidance. All of it had to reach his father, so the man could see the full shape of the board.
Dumbledore had already invested resources in his path. Flamel’s guidance was the signpost along it.
Orion, as Head of House Black, needed these pieces to judge the overall situation accurately.
The Dark Awakening was no different. Others could be kept in the dark, and should be.
Word would get out. It was bound to reach Voldemort’s side.
That was exactly what Regulus wanted. Let them hear that the Black heir was being influenced by the Dark Awakening, that he was walking down that road, becoming the thing Voldemort hoped to see.
Bella wouldn’t know he was using it deliberately. Voldemort might figure it out, might not. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Voldemort would see he’d used it.
But his father needed the truth.
If he didn’t tell Orion beforehand, and Orion watched him at the banquet, watched the corrosion settle into his face, his body, what would the man think?
Orion’s temperament wouldn’t let him lose composure in public. But he’d form a judgment. Has Regulus actually been compromised by the Dark Awakening?
Once that judgment took root, it would crack the trust between them.
Orion would believe him, of course. But Orion would also have seen the evidence with his own eyes.
Things seen firsthand leave imprints. Every time the memory surfaced, it would chip away a little more.
So the crack had to be sealed here, in this study, before the banquet ever began.
That said, Regulus had no intention of laying out every detail.
Orion didn’t know about Bellatrix. Didn’t know how far his mental defenses had advanced.
But Orion knew his son didn’t act recklessly.
The kind of understanding between father and son that never needed voicing.
Orion’s tone loosened, just slightly. "All of this... it’s to feed it?"
Regulus met his father’s eyes and nodded. "Yes."
Orion took a sip of tea. The cup touched the desk with a sound barely louder than a breath.
He asked nothing more.
Regulus spoke again. "One more thing."
He drew a feather from the inside pocket of his robes.
It lay in his palm, giving off faint warmth.
"A tail feather from Fawkes. Dumbledore’s phoenix."
Orion’s gaze settled on it.
"Insurance for the worst case. It can only take me."
Orion gave a single nod.
That went without saying.
If the worst case came, Regulus getting out was enough.
Father and son fell silent together, both thinking the same thing.
Phoenix fire erupting inside Lestrange Manor. That light would be seen by everyone present.
It was Dumbledore’s mark. The most conspicuous symbol he’d left on the world.
The Black heir escaping via phoenix fire meant the hidden connection between the Blacks and Dumbledore would be dragged into the open.
And for that worst case to arrive, only one thing could have gone wrong.
Regulus tucked the tail feather back into his pocket. "I won’t use it unless there’s no other way."
Orion nodded again and said nothing.
He knew it was only insurance, and he didn’t believe things would go that far.
There was no reason they should.
It was just Bella. Even if she ended up dead, what of it?
Bella dead would displease Voldemort. He’d want an explanation. But he wouldn’t turn on the Black family over her.
One Bellatrix couldn’t outweigh a whole, intact Black family standing in Voldemort’s camp. Not even close.
More than that, half the weight Bella carried with Voldemort came from the Black name itself.
Loyalty?
How many Galleons was loyalty worth?
The Blacks could be loyal too.
Besides, Voldemort hadn’t shown himself in a long time.
But insurance was insurance. Its entire purpose was the one-in-a-million chance.
Everything that needed saying had been said.
Orion rose, chair legs whispering against the floor, and walked to the window.
Outside lay Grimmauld Place at night. Winter had stripped the trees bare, their branches casting tangled shadows under the streetlamps.
He stood there for a while, back to the desk, back to both sons.
A long time passed.
"Regulus."
Regulus stood and went to his father’s side.
"Do what you need to do." Orion’s gaze stayed on the world outside the glass. "Don’t worry about the family."
The Black family’s foundation in the wizarding world couldn’t be shaken by one banquet, one confrontation, or one decision.
Even if the worst came to pass, the Blacks would still be the Blacks.
Their Wizengamot seat remained. Their holdings remained. Centuries of accumulated political capital remained. Generations of strategic marriages and the networks they’d built remained.
No matter who won, those things would be needed.
The Blacks had endured centuries of upheaval in the wizarding world. They hadn’t chosen the right side every time.
If Voldemort won, he’d need the Black pure-blood pedigree and legacy to prop up the facade of his new order.
If Dumbledore won, he’d need the Blacks’ influence among the pure-blood circles to stabilize the post-war landscape.
As long as the family didn’t collapse from within, there was a path forward on either side.
But Orion also understood that if the feather was exposed, the family’s standing with Voldemort would be shaken.
Then they’d simply cut ties.
Regulus, disowned, severed from the Black name entirely. Pure-blood families had been running that play for centuries. They had it down to an art.
It was the road Sirius was bound to walk sooner or later. Regulus would just be walking it first.
And even if it came to that, it wouldn’t be the end.
What Orion was thinking was plain enough: as long as Regulus existed, the Black family wouldn’t break.
This son’s talent, his ability, his understanding of magic, the path he walked. None of that would vanish because of a disownment.
Even if this old house crumbled someday, razed by Voldemort, abandoned by the pure-blood circles, targeted by the Ministry of Magic, the Black name itself stripped away.
The Black family’s strength wouldn’t diminish.
Wait for the storm to pass. Wait for the board to shift. Wait for Regulus to grow into what he was meant to become. When that day came, the Blacks would be stronger than they were now.
This wasn’t some desperate gamble. Just a father’s assessment of his son.
He believed it absolutely.
Regulus stood beside his father, the two of them shoulder to shoulder at the window, looking out at the night.
"Don’t worry, Father." Regulus said.
Orion turned to face him.
He studied Regulus’s face for a moment, then reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.
The palm rested there, feeling the width and the firmness beneath it. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, just slightly.
"You’ve grown taller."
Regulus smiled too.
Orion withdrew his hand, walked back to the desk, and sat down.
He glanced at Sirius, still frozen in his chair, then looked at Regulus, tilting his chin toward the petrified figure.