The Nature of Things

'Ah, Mr Black. Regulus, isn't it? Sit down.' Dumbledore beams at me, but I'm already sitting down, sprawled on the hard wooden chair as if it were the most comfortable armchair in the world. I stretch my legs out in front of me. My feet touch his and he yields, moving them out of my way. Fool.

He blinks at me through those stupid half-moon glasses and smiles again. I don't smile back. 'Well then, Regulus, this meeting is to talk over any careers ideas you might have, and to help you decide which subjects you should continue with into the sixth and seventh years.'

He pauses, obviously waiting for me to speak. I consider not bothering - what's the point, after all? - but it's more fun to raise my eyebrows and say 'Yes. I know that.'

'Yes, indeed. Have you - '

'I thought these interviews were supposed to be done by our Head of House.'

He looks at me properly for the first time. Don't mess with me, you old fool. Don't ever patronise me. 'Unfortunately, the Head of Slytherin House is... indisposed at the moment and therefore unable to be with us.' There's something he's not telling me. He doesn't know that I already know it.

I lean backwards, rocking the chair onto two feet. Perfectly balanced. 'How do I know that I'm going to get impartial advice?'

He gives me a calm stare. 'I can assure you, Mr. Black, that I am as well qualified to give impartial advice to the students at Hogwarts as is your Head of House.' His eyes are twinkling as if he's enjoying a private joke. He steeples his hands on the desk. 'Now then. Have you given much thought to what you intend to do when you leave us?'

Of course I have, you old fool. I've got it all planned out. I shrug. 'Not really. I imagine my family will have some views on the matter, but I haven't talked to them about it yet.'

The slightest of frowns as I mention my family, gone in a flash. That's right, Dumbledore. Headmaster. My family. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. His brows narrow for an instant, and then he reaches for the pile of reports on the desk.

'Ah. Have you perhaps considered which subjects interest you?'

I clasp my hands in my lap and meet his eyes. It looks as if I've forgotten all about my chair, tilting precariously backwards, and I'm watching him for the faintest hint of anxiety, but it isn't there. Yet. I start listing the subjects I've chosen for my NEWTs.

'Potions. Transfiguration. The Dark Arts - ' He opens his mouth to speak. I cut him off. ' - Defence Against the Dark Arts.' The mouth flaps shut again. He looks like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen. I don't give him any. 'And Charms.'

He makes a show of leafing through the reports. Transfiguration is on top; McGonagall's crabbed, tidy writing is easy to recognise. Should be good. I've always found Transfiguration easy. Once you understand the nature of a thing, it's easy to transfigure it into something else. Buttons into beetles. Coffeepots into kittens. Even my bloody brother understood that.

But not Mudbloods into wizards. Some things just can't be done.

He's watching me, as if he wants me to try and read McGonagall's report upside down. Is that what everyone else has done, Professor? But I don't need to know what she's written to know I'm good. It runs in the family. I'm going to carry on with Transfiguration, and I'm going to take my other choices, and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me.

He looks down at the report.

Shall I tell you about the Transfigurations I've done, Professor? Not even McGonagall knows. I've taken healthy Muggles and transformed them into bleeding, broken things. I've transfigured songs into screams, and living into dead. I know more about Muggle anatomy than wizards five times my age, because I've taken them apart and I've looked.

I could write you an essay, Professor. What I did in my summer holidays, by Regulus Black. What I did...I talked to people, important people, and I made friends. I've got plans, Professor. I'm going places. I don't need your lousy careers advice to tell me what to do with my life. You've never given a damn about Slytherins anyway. It's a little late to start pretending now.

He gives a tiny cough to clear his throat. 'Professor McGonagall speaks highly - very highly - of your work in Transfiguration. Your Potions work is similarly good. Professor Flitwick says that your Charms work is excellent, if somewhat uninspired, but he expects you to achieve a good E in your OWL this year. So we have selected Potions, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Charms. Have you considered Care of Magical Creatures as a fifth subject? Professor Kettleburn is most enthusiastic about your work so far.'

I raise a scornful eyebrow. 'I don't think my family have plans for me to work as a zookeeper, Professor.'

'Perhaps not, Mr. Black. Perhaps not.'

'I was considering Herbology.'

He nods. 'That would certainly complement the Potions. An ideal combination of subjects for a career as... an Auror, perhaps? Does Magical Law Enforcement appeal to you, Mr. Black?' He digs out a pamphlet from a pile on his desk and pushes it across to me. I ignore it.

'Some laws need to be enforced, wouldn't you say, Professor?' I lean forward, and the chair legs settle back on the ground with a slight thump beneath me. 'And maybe some new laws need to be made.'

He doesn't bite. I never really thought he would. Just looks at me with those bright blue eyes, and doesn't blink. 'Justice is a harsh mistress, Mr. Black, and a demanding one. The job of an Auror is highly respected.'

I don't believe I'm hearing this. You'd think he has no idea who he's talking to. 'I already have a place in society, Professor. I don't need to gain respect from what I do for a living. Respect is due to me because of what I am.'

'What you are or who you are, Mr. Black?'

Oh, very good. Is this the line my brother fell for? 'Is there a difference?'

'Only if you want there to be.'

I've had enough. 'Well, thank you very much, Professor Dumbledore, for your advice. It's been very helpful. May I ask if the Head of Slytherin House will be returning to Hogwarts soon?'

'We hope so, Mr. Black.' We both rise and he extends a hand towards me. Form dictates that I take it. The wrist bones are thin and delicate, like a bird's, and I remember suddenly the first wrist I ever stamped on. I hear its music every autumn, when the first frosts lace the fallen leaves and they shatter under my boot.

'May I take this?' I pick up the leaflet on Magical Law Enforcement. I've no intention of becoming an Auror, of course, but it's... useful... sometimes to know how the other side works.

He nods. There's a fleeting sadness in his eyes, and for a moment I wonder why. Then it hits me. This is the man who defeated Grindelwald, and holds an Order of Merlin, First Class. The most powerful wizard of his age. And here he is, hiding in a dusty tower and talking to children. He's wasted the last fifty years, and I remind him of everything he's failed to achieve.

'If you should ever need somewhere to turn, Regulus, remember that my door will always be open.'

'May I go now?'

'Of course.'

The door scrapes hard shut behind me.