Regulus stood in the center of the wreckage and looked around.

Two centuries of accumulated family magic had seen this manor through its share of upheaval.

Now two Blacks had reduced it to this....

His magic reserves had dipped more than expected. By age alone he was still growing, his total capacity naturally smaller.

But Star Guided Meditation’s Magic Circulation system never stopped running.

Six stars traced their individual orbits, magic flowing through the circulatory loops in a continuous cycle. His recovery rate outstripped any wizard his age, and most adults besides.

Fight a round, rest a round, and his magic replenished faster than it drained.

And so far, his approach had been economical.

That opening exchange of curses had relied on precision and timing. The magic cost had barely registered compared to the physical exertion. Dismantling Bella’s Transfiguration afterward had followed the same principle: minimum magic applied to the single critical point. His expenditure was a fraction of hers.

But when it came to holding back, Bella had been holding back too.

Every curse she’d thrown would have crippled or killed an ordinary wizard on a clean hit. Her Transfiguration work had escalated toward demolition, and the proof lay all around them. A hall this size, turned to rubble.

Out in the open, without magical protections, she’d have leveled an entire street.

Her emotional control had been better than he’d expected. He’d assumed the first time he sent her flying she’d lose her temper entirely and start hurling Dark curses with lethal intent.

She hadn’t. She’d chosen Transfiguration paired with spell offense. Tactically sound.

Against anyone else, even a witch or wizard several years out of Hogwarts, large-scale Transfiguration in an enclosed space would have been lethal within a few exchanges.

Her approach wasn’t flawed. She’d simply run into the one person built to counter it.

He pulled his gaze back and looked across the hall.

The dust had mostly settled, opening up the sightlines.

Bella stood on a mound of rubble seven or eight meters away. She’d reset her stance. Her breathing was still faster than it should have been, but the wild, expansive intensity had receded from her face. Something quieter had replaced it.

She was studying him. Her gaze swept from his head to his feet, then back up again, as though seeing him for the first time.

This little cousin. Twelve years old. Pushed her this far. Talent like that earned the Dark Lord’s attention.

Having the nerve to look past her... she supposed that tracked.

But if he thought that was enough to call the shots, enough to let strength do the talking, he was still naive.

Talent was one thing. Vision was another.

He wielded his own power. She wielded her master’s trust. The two weren’t even in the same dimension.

Power could be crushed by greater power. But her master’s trust had been bought with her soul.

Thinking of her master, her eyes drifted from Regulus to some point in the empty air that only she could see.

The more impressive Regulus proved himself, the more it confirmed his value.

This kind of talent. This kind of Black family heir. If he could be brought to heel, broken in, presented before the Dark Lord...

He would be pleased.

He would see what she’d done, acknowledge her judgment, reward her.

Her fingers slid back and forth along her wand. The corner of her mouth twitched upward. Her pupils dilated, her breathing turned ragged, almost fractured.

A tremor rose from somewhere deep in her bones, climbing her spine, and when it reached the back of her neck her shoulders hitched.

A shudder.

Regulus watched Bella stare at him for a moment, then watched her gaze drift elsewhere, a strange expression surfacing on her face.

Half obsession, half hunger. Her lips trembled, her eyes glowed, and her entire presence shifted in the span of seconds from combat readiness to something he’d rather not examine closely.

He shook his head inwardly.

Emotional control adequate. Mental state... harder to read.

No idea what she was savoring over there.

"Cousin Bella."

"We’re family. Why can’t we just talk?"

He glanced around the hall, eyes sweeping the collapsed walls, the shattered columns, the floor that had been ripped up and caved back in.

"After all," his gaze returned to her face, "this is your home." 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

Bella’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

She knew perfectly well that Regulus had come here intending to fight from the start. Fight big, fight hard, with no intention of talking things out.

And now he stood in the wreckage of her own banquet hall, asking in a concerned voice why they couldn’t just talk.

Her mouth twitched, but she didn’t erupt.

Her eyes rolled briefly, and then she answered with a perfectly straight face. "You’re right. We are family."

She tossed the question back, tilting her head at him. "Why can’t we just talk?"

Regulus shook his head gently, something reminiscent crossing his face. "Cousin, we’ve always been close. Ever since we were little."

One of Bella’s eyebrows rose.

"I remember the first time you came to our house." His voice softened, as if recalling something precious. "I was three. Almost ten years ago now."

He looked at her, and there was a rare gentleness in his eyes. "I still remember. You wore a dark green velvet dress."

Bella’s grip loosened slightly on her wand. Her expression went blank for a beat.

That had been Walburga’s spring tea party. She’d thought it would be tedious before she went. Tea, children, socializing. None of it appealed.

Then Sirius turned the silverware into earthworms.

The sitting room descended into chaos. Worms crawling across the tablecloth. Walburga’s shriek outpacing her wand.

And then the three-year-old boy sitting in the corner reversed the Transfiguration in front of everyone. Every piece of silver restored.

She’d been stunned.

Bella pulled herself out of the memory and frowned.

She’d already accepted that nothing Regulus said would be straightforward. Every line that sounded warm had a blade buried underneath.

So what was the point of all this?

She watched him. Said nothing.

Regulus didn’t wait for a response. He raised his wand and traced a line across the ground at his feet.

Rubble and broken slabs began to shift, sliding together in front of him, joining, rising, reshaping into a waist-high table and two chairs.

He extended his left hand, palm up, gesturing toward the chairs. "Cousin Bella. We’re family. Why does it have to come to this?"

Bella’s jaw muscle jumped.

This kid was addicted to this routine.

"And there’s something I’ve been meaning to say in person," Regulus continued, his tone taking on a note of sincerity. "The gift you delivered on behalf of your master... I learned a great deal from it."

"It showed me things I’d never seen before." He looked at her, and something close to gratitude touched his eyes. "I’ve been wanting to thank you face to face."

Bella cocked her head, frowning at him, wariness and confusion warring in her gaze.

Nostalgia, gratitude, an invitation to sit and talk. What angle was he playing?

She couldn’t quite pin it down.

"But, Cousin Bella."

Her expression shifted instantly.

There it was. But.

Same as before. I care, but I don’t.

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing.

"You’re Madam Lestrange now," Regulus said, tone still mild. "We’re siblings in all but name, and that won’t change. You’re the person your master trusts most, and I respect you."

A pause. Then: "But the affairs of House Black... you should step back from those."

The curve of Bella’s mouth flattened.

"Doesn’t the Lestrange household keep you busy enough?" A touch of concern crept into his voice.

Bella’s chest rose and fell.

Regulus watched her. Like a good younger brother thinking of his married sister’s wellbeing.

"You serve your master, and I respect that," he said. "But once you’re home, you still have a life to live."

His tone softened further. "Have a child for the Lestrange family, Cousin."

Bella’s face began to twitch.

Rodolphus, leaning against the wall, froze mid-grip on his wand.

The suggestion that Bella should have a child had floated out of Regulus’s mouth like idle chatter over tea.

The crack between Bella and Rodolphus, the thing that was never spoken of, had just been pried open by a twelve-year-old, in this setting, in this tone, in front of everyone.

Rabastan getting beaten up? He didn’t care. Take a beating if it settled things with the Blacks. Convenient, even.

His house getting demolished? He didn’t care. Money could fix it. He was tired of the decor anyway. Time for a new look.

Bella getting knocked around? He cared even less. Black family business. Free entertainment.

But this was different. This was a matter of face.

Regulus’s gaze shifted from Bella, past the wreckage, to Rodolphus standing by the doorframe.

"Rodolphus." He said it the same way he said "Cousin Bella," perfectly natural. "You should be grateful. I’m thinking of your interests."

The corner of Rodolphus’s eye twitched.

I’m supposed to be grateful?

"Cousin Bella has spent so much energy worrying about Black family affairs," Regulus said. "From now on, I’ll handle those matters. She can devote herself to the Lestrange household."

He glanced at Bella, then back to Rodolphus. "Oh, and the damage to the Lestrange estate tonight will be covered by the Blacks. Send us the repair costs for the banquet hall. Name your figure."

Rodolphus stood by the doorframe, mouth opening and closing.

He wanted to say something. He had no idea what.

What was wrong with every single person in the Black family?

Orion stood behind the barrier. Hearing those last few lines, his eyebrows lifted slightly.

He hadn’t expected this.

The boy could do that too?

Fighting was fighting, but this kind of verbal maneuvering was something he’d never seen from Regulus before.

Sirius stood pressed against the wall, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. He fought to keep it straight, held for two seconds, and lost.

All that nostalgia and gratitude had felt off. He knew what Regulus was. Sentimentality wasn’t in the repertoire.

Now it made sense.

The memories were fake. The warmth was fake. All of it was setup, layer after layer, building to one punchline: go have a baby.

He didn’t know what the issue was with having children, but aimed at Bella, it just felt... wildly incongruous.

He wanted to laugh.

Regulus pulled his gaze from Rodolphus and let it settle on Bella again.

"Cousin." His tone hadn’t shifted. Nothing ever changed. "Be a good Madam Lestrange. We’re still family. If you ever need anything, I’ll come visit."

He stepped forward. Gravel crunched under his foot.

"But Black family affairs... stop worrying about them. And my business... stop meddling."

Bella stood on the pile of rubble. Every expression had drained from her face, leaving only stillness.

She simply stood there, watching Regulus, her eyes barely moving.

She knew every word out of his mouth was calculated to provoke her. Layer upon layer, all of it dressed in pretty language, all of it hiding the knife.

But she’d heard him clearly. The message was simple. After this fight, the winner dictated terms. The loser kept quiet.

You win, and Black family affairs are yours to manage however you please. You lose, and you go be a good Madam Lestrange, and you never touch Black family business again.

Even if she refused those terms, if she couldn’t win, everyone here would accept them on her behalf.

If she lost tonight, her voice in Black family matters would be worth nothing. Ever again.

It came down to fighting, in the end.

And she had no intention of losing.

Only conventional methods wouldn’t take him. That much was fact.

She stared at Regulus for a long moment. Then: "Regulus."

Her voice was soft. "You know I haven’t been serious. Not once."

Regulus met her gaze. The faintest pull at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, Cousin. I know."

A note of anticipation entered his voice. "So?"

Bella said nothing. Her wand rose, tip angled downward, pointing at the floor.

Magic poured from her, but it was nothing like before.

A layer of dark mist crept along her wrist, spreading upward. Past her forearm. Her shoulder. Her neck. Her face.

Her pupils deepened inside that dark haze, shifting from brown to something close to black, the edges of her irises stained as though dipped in ink.

The air changed with it.

Everyone in the hall felt it at the same time. Breathing grew heavy, as though something pressed against their chests.

A smell threaded through the air. Rot and sweetness, cloying, like the first breath from a coffin that hadn’t been opened in a very long time.

Bella stood atop the rubble. The dark mist seeped from beneath her, curling up along the hem of her skirt.

Where it touched the broken stone at her feet, the surface darkened, then turned pale, as though something was corroding them from within.

Her head tilted slightly to one side. She looked at Regulus. Her lips parted.

"Your dear cousin," her voice was very soft, "is worried she might kill you."

---

Join my Patreon for early access to Chapters: patreon.com/rivyura

Next Target 1600PS :)