Being Slytherin

Being Slytherin

Horace Slughorn had always been disappointed that he'd only got one of the Black brothers, and, by the looks of it, the less interesting of the two.

Still, nothing to complain about : Regulus Black had been a good student, and appeared to be ambitious enough to do credit to his house. During his time at Hogwarts, Regulus had flown on the Quidditch team as a Beater for two years, earned nine O.W.L.s, taken third place in a Slytherin House duelling tournament, and had assisted Slughorn with some of his potions work. All in all, Horace had been pleased by how Regulus had turned out, even if he wasn't quite as handsome or as high-flying as his brother Sirius.

Horace felt a general genialness towards Regulus, which was why, when Regulus had owled to ask if he could come for tea, Horace had responded at once with an immediate invitation. A nice chat, a check-up on how Regulus was doing in his job-hunting, and perhaps an reciprocal invitation over to the Black mansion, which few had ever seen the inside of.

His Visitor Warning charm went off at exactly one minute to four on Saturday afternoon, and Horace peeked out through the curtains to see a figure ambling up the path, taking his time to look at the rosebushes in their glorious full summer bloom.

Such nice manners.

Horace threw open the door.

"Regulus!" he boomed. "Regulus, so good to see you."

Regulus gave him a polite and friendly smile, and hurried up to receive Horace's crushing hug. "Thank you so much for inviting me to tea. Your rosebushes are lovely. Do you tend them yourself?"

"Oh, yes," Horace said, ushering his young charge into the shade of the house. "I usually take an hour after tea each day to go out and prune what needs to be pruned. Of course I use fertilizer -- Gabby's Gro-Gorgeous, it's wonderful -- but I think what they need most is love and attention."

"Naturally, naturally," said Regulus courteously. "Plants can be pruned and watered, but they always grow better if someone tends them with care."

"Like most growing things," said Horace.

Regulus inclined his head graciously. "You have been most kind to me, Professor Slughorn."

Setting out the tea things, Horace said, "Oh, no need to call me that anymore! Horace will do."

"Horace, then."

Horace directed his wand at the teapot, which poured them both cups then settled itself back on the tea-tray. After a moment it nudged the sugar bowl, which rose up into the air and, as Horace had charmed it to do many years ago, measured out two even spoonfuls of sugar before hovering in front of Regulus.

"No, thank you," Regulus said.

"Milk?" Horace asked.

"No, that's fine. I take my tea black."

Horace nodded, allowed the little jug to pour in a trickle of milk into his own tea, and then finally settled back in his chair.

"So," he said genially. "So, how are you keeping these days? How's the job-hunt?"

"Quite well, thank you," Regulus said. "I've applied for a job at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and have an interview next week; that should go well, I hope. My mother's a bit ill, though, so things at home can be stressful."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that," said Horace truthfully. "Any idea what ails her? Have you taken her to St Mungo's for a diagnosis?"

"Yes, we have, but the Healers have no clue." Regulus grimaced. "I suspect it's just old age. She's well into her eighties by now, you know, and, well, she's not worked very hard at keeping healthy." Regulus then sealed his lips around his teacup, as though to prevent himself from speaking further ill of his family.

Horace decided to keep silent and see what Regulus did next; the boy was not the type to feel comfortable with prolonged silences.

Indeed, less than thirty seconds later, Regulus, who had been gazing around Horace's sitting room, looked at the piano and remarked, "I didn't know you played, Professor - I mean, Horace."

Horace looked at the small and rather abused upright piano. Its brown wood was nicked in places, and the ivory on some of the keys was coming off.

"Yes, I've been playing since I was a lad," Horace replied affably. "Don't get much of a chance to practice during the school year at Hogwarts, but when I'm back here for the summers, I usually play for a bit each day. Wouldn't ever call it practicing, oh, no, but it's quite good for the soul."

Regulus' head jerked sharply at the last word, and for a split second he stared at Horace suspiciously; but then he'd schooled his expression back to one of polite interest.

"Do you play at all?" Horace asked Regulus.

"Mother tried to give me and my brother lessons when we were quite young, but neither of us took to it much. I remember there was a poor Miss Foster who came once a week for about two years, but every time she tried to make us play scales, we'd get so angry that her hands would erupt with boils. I think once I made leeks sprout from her ears, when I didn't like the exercise she'd assigned me." Regulus idly swirled his teacup. "Sometimes I wish I'd worked harder."

"We all have regrets," Horace remarked, and once again Regulus looked uncomfortable.

Regulus put his teacup down, rather hard. "Do you mind if I...?" He gestured at the piano. "It's been years, but I don't know when I'll ever get the chance again." His face looked drawn and tense, and Horace became concerned.

"Go ahead, m'boy, go ahead," said Horace, taking a biscuit and dunking it in his tea.

Regulus went to the piano and pulled the bench out. Horace noticed now that the boy looked very thin and pale, as if something was stressing him out. Well, that's to be expected these days, Horace thought darkly.

Regulus pressed down a few keys, as if reminding himself how it worked. His hands were stiff. Regulus then slowly played a C major scale with his right hand, crossing his thumb under on the F with the merest of hesitations. Then he played the scale with his left hand, and then with both.

"I'm surprised I remember the fingering," he remarked. "I never practiced my scales."

"There's some music on top of the piano, if you'd like," said Horace, and Regulus stood up and rooted through the worn books. He pulled out a thin volume finally, and opened it to the first page. Regulus let out a little laugh. "I remember learning this. It was my first 'real' piece. I was so proud..." He trailed off, staring at the music.

"Give it a go," said Horace encouragingly. "Don't be embarrassed; I'm sure you can't be much worse than I am!"

Regulus let out another little laugh, this one nervous. "I doubt it," he said. But then he began, very slowly, to read the first movement.

It was actually quite terrible, Horace thought, trying not to grimace as Regulus mis-read notes and rhythms all over the place. You'd hardly recognize the piece if you didn't know what it was, he thought.

When Regulus had reached the repeat in the middle of the first movement -- which was really only half a page in -- he then went back to the beginning and played it again, this time a little better, a little more in rhythm.

Horace stopped listening and simply watched the young man play. He was pecking through it extremely slowly, and glancing constantly from the music to his hands to check where the notes were, but there was a small smile on his face, and some color had returned to his cheeks. On the excuse of turning the page for him, Horace got up and stood over the boy's shoulder.

Regulus played through the entire first movement -- it only took about seven minutes -- and then stretched his fingers.

"It's very tiring," he said.

"Yes, especially if you're out of practice," said Horace. "Always on my first day back I feel like my fingers are made of rubber. But then it gets better after a few days of working at it."

"That's a very Hufflepuff thing to say, Professor," said Regulus, raising one eyebrow.

"You wound me," said Horace in mock-dismay, placing one hand over his heart. "I? The Head of Slytherin House, act like a Hufflepuff? But yes," he said, more seriously, "it is true: hard work does bring results. And it shouldn't be un-Slytherin to work hard. We're ambitious; we're supposed to do anything to get what we want. Sometimes that 'anything' will include 'hard work,' and I don't think it's wrong to shy away from it."

Regulus looked now distinctly uncomfortable. "Yes," he muttered. "Slytherins will do anything to get what they want. Professor," he said abruptly, his voice businesslike, "what do you know about Horcruxes?"

Horace thought he might pass out. He leaned heavily on the side of the piano and said, "Where did you hear that term, Regulus?"

"From... from a friend," Regulus said, too casually. "I was just curious, and I thought you might know..."

Horace narrowed his eyes at Regulus, a suspicion forming in his mind, and a suspicion he didn't like. "Regulus," he said, very seriously, "I don't like to ask this question, but... Are you a Death Eater?"

Regulus closed his eyes and nodded just the tiniest bit.

"Does... does You-Know-Who... did he tell you about-- about Horcruxes?"

Regulus nodded, his eyes still closed. He was now very pale, and looked as if he'd like to lay his head down on the piano keys and weep, but restrained doing so because of the noise it would produce.

"Has he made one, then?" Horace asked urgently. "Tell me, has he?"

"I think so." Regulus' voice was very small, and sounded much younger than his nineteen years.

Horace was dumbstruck. He slowly made his way over to one of his cushy chairs and sank into it. Regulus got up from the piano a moment later and sat in another chair.

There was a very long, uncomfortable silence that weighed down on the two men. Regulus was fidgeting with the hem of his robes; Horace merely stared blankly at the wall.

"You didn't have to tell me," Horace finally said, his voice hoarse.

"No, I didn't," said Regulus.

"Why did you, then?"

Regulus now looked like he was going to cry. He said, in a strangled whisper, "I want out. I'm tired of this, of following a madman's orders. I found out about the Horcruxes--"

"Horcruxes? Plural?" asked Horace, aghast. He noticed Regulus was using his title again.

"Yes," whispered Regulus. "I found out about them two days ago. I'm -- I'm scared, Professor. I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. I just wanted to be a good boy, to make my mother happy... I had no idea..." His voice trailed off.

Horace had no idea what to say, and said so.

"I don't know if I can help you, my boy," he added gently. "This is a war, isn't it? And you chose a side. Once you choose, you can't change."

"Isn't there anything I can do?" Regulus pleaded. "Please, Professor Slughorn, I thought you'd be able to tell me... to help me..."

Horace regarded the young man with pity. So young, so innocent; to have made such a foolish, stupid decision before he was even twenty, and to know that he was stuck with it...

"I don't have a solution for you," Horace finally said, "but I do have one bit of advice."

Regulus looked as if he hardly dared hope.

"You-Know-Who will only be defeated through group effort. I myself am too cowardly to join the fight against him. But there are those who aren't, and I think that anyone who works towards his defeat will earn a place in history as a great and noble man. And, as we said before, sometimes being a Slytherin means hard work."

Regulus looked puzzled, and then nodded. "Thank you," he said. Then he stood up and went back over to the piano. "May I take this?" he asked, holding up the small volume that included the Kuhlau sonatina. "I think I'll need something good for the soul, quite soon."

"Yes, of course," said Horace. He politely saw the young man out to the door, with the usual routines of goodbye and do-you-have-everything. "And Regulus?" he said, as the young man went down the step.

Regulus turned.

"Good luck."

Regulus nodded, and Horace watched as he walked down the path and out the gate, then Disapparated.

Horace never saw him again.

~fin~