OOC
GAME: Ex-Oblivione
DESCRIPTION: AU HP RPG set in 1995.
DATE: April 2009
PB: Ian Somerhalder
JOURNAL: bloodless
CONCEPT: Ex-Oblivione was an amazing way to take an AU spin on one of my roleplaying staples. Unfortunately, the timing was horrible on my part and coming out of HP retirement is harder than I thought. I really, really enjoyed writing the application and was looking forward to all the opportunities the game had to offer, but with so much else on my plate, It Just Wasn't Meant To Be. Looks like the doors of Potterverse are still closed to me.
IC
Name: Regulus Arcturus Black
Age: 34, born July 13th, 1961.
Occupation: An operative on the Ministry's Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. His parents openly objected to Regulus joining the Ministry, but after their deaths, very little stood in the way of Regulus forging some sort of occupation for himself — not being used to being a layabout heir, he wanted a practical job. And most of all, he wanted something to get him away from the house.
He joined the Department of Magical Accidents & Catastrophes several years ago hoping to be an Obliviator — he'd always been a fair hand at charms — but instead found himself on the Reversal Squad. This suits him just fine, as Regulus' knowledge of Muggles isn't refined enough to make for a truly successful Obliviator anyhow. The new legislation three years ago suddenly meant far more work for the Magic Reversal Squad and a new influx of recruits, meaning Regulus has taken on a bit of a supervisory role with his new team. Some days, it feels like he never stops running from point-to-point, reversing and erasing newly-illegal magic. But once again, he's helping enforce a law he doesn't quite believe in. What a shocker.
PB: Ian Somerhalder
Appearance: Regulus is tall and slight of build, with the dark hair and grey-blue eyes so characteristic amongst the Black family. He is smaller than his older brother, his body slightly more fragile and his looks not quite as handsome, but the family resemblance is obvious — they possess the same delicate features and classically handsome looks. He resembles his brother — but Reg's features are thinner, his skin paler, his expression more sombre, his past more sickly. He was thin and looked surprisingly undernourished as a boy, with the lean build of a Seeker, but subsequent years and adulthood have put flesh on his bones and more muscle to his build. Age has showed marked benefits to the man, even if he's used to a wary smirk more than anything else, and even scraggly facial hair hasn't helped overcome youthful looks. He carries himself with what appears to be a shadow of Sirius' swaggering arrogance; the genuineness of this confidence is, strictly speaking, debatable.
Personality: Regulus' life today is far different from his life twenty years ago, and for that we are grateful.
Twenty years ago, he was a scared young boy who had just lost the last bastion of safety in his family — Sirius, the elder brother and shield and heir — and was then forced into being scion, suddenly bearing the weight of familial pride and responsibility practically overnight. Torn between opposing sides of his family, insecure and desperate to reinforce that fickle sense of pureblood self-worth, he followed the cousins he admired and listened to the mother he feared (and whose respect he desperately feared to lose). Years raised in the cold and hostile purist environment led to a Regulus closed off behind shells of callousness and a cool, flippant exterior; he used his peers and their bloody-minded mentality like an armour, slipping behind their ideology because it was all the stronger than his own, and the more convenient. He lived in a family of wolves and barely even understood his own gaping weaknesses, almost until it was too late.
Had the Dark Lord survived, the boy's path would have been quite different — but as it stands, Voldemort's defeat was an unexpected breath of fresh air. Regulus gladly admitted defeat and slunk back to the side of mudbloods and Gryffindors; the thought of going underground and continuing to fight the good fight never occurred to him.
Today, that lost little boy has luckily grown up into a sombre, taciturn man, fond of reading and a quiet humour — where his older brother consists of loud boisterous antics, Regulus indulges in eyerolls and discreet sarcasm. Even at age thirty-four, part of him still has the bratty younger brother routine honed to a T, and you could even say he's making up for lost time. And despite ordinarily being a rather mature, level-headed individual — older than his years, certainly — Regulus is still prone to extra flights of fancy and rambunctiousness whenever provoked by his brother. If there's a single person capable of dragging a playful temper out of the preternaturally grumpy younger Black, it is Sirius.
Otherwise, he is an expert at reining in his temper and politely confining his true opinions. Regulus is the essential social diplomat (years of pureblood etiquette weren't lost on him, after all!) and, accordingly, seems to have inherited the lion's share of tact between the Black brothers. It stems from an instinctive dislike of rocking the boat and stirring waves — which, if it wasn't obvious, is one major note of difference between the Black brothers. But indeed, he's quite the lion in serpent's skin, and this has only become more obvious since graduating Hogwarts and leaving the Death Eaters behind; Regulus is shockingly kind when he allows himself to be, and while his kindness might not be the fierce blazing overwhelming love that Sirius displays, it is still a soft and calculated altruism. He even pays attention to such small, overlooked creatures like house-elves. Regulus cares immensely — but he does so quietly.
And despite being the younger, he is also arguably the responsible one of the household — a rather unconventional young adulthood under Sirius' wing has slowly acclimatised him to icecream for breakfast, but he's often the first one to stamp his foot down against harebrained pranks and schemes (or the first one forcibly wheedled and convinced into participating, depending on the circumstances that day). Being the youngest impressionable Black, his head can be in the clouds and his nose stuck in a book, just as he's a bit more gullible than he should be; Regulus has his guard up regarding all private emotional matters, but is surprisingly malleable in anything else. It could be blamed on an overabundance of adventure novels as a child, perhaps, or having grown up surrounded by other, louder personalities far stronger than his own — at least on the outside.
After everything he's been through, however — the faded Death Eater tattoo still branded into his left forearm, the occasional haunted look of Azkaban in his older brother's eyes — Regulus still isn't entirely certain where he stands, and how secure his new foundation is. His greatest desire is simply to be accepted. He had to fight for that acceptance so long that having it being given freely by Sirius and others was — well — shocking. A very large part of him is still frighteningly dependent upon other people; given the right coercion from other family members and old contacts, something might give out of sheer desperation and weak will. As they say — “Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.”
The man isn't arrogant at all — quite the contrary, he actually has some rather crippling self-esteem — but he successfully affected narcissism and arrogance for years amongst his Slytherin peers. Even decades later, he's still slowly unravelling the damage that the family's expectations did to him. To strangers, he appears reserved and blandly sarcastic, even haughty; it is only upon prying past those layers of natural reticence that one encounters a livelier, almost painfully sympathetic young man.
Likes & dislikes:
Likes: Sirius, old books and libraries, sweets, house elves, (black) cats, astronomy, fantastical novels with dragons and Lethifolds and adventurers, immaculate penmanship, spellcasting practice, Kreacher, specialised left-handed wands, Arithmancy, coffee with generous amounts of milk and sugar, Narcissa, autumn, Quidditch, academic journals, Draco, the family tree.
Dislikes: An empty house, Potions, confrontation, being bedridden, migraines, obvious irresponsibility, yelling of any sort, abandonment, reading about illnesses, waking up early, idiocy, his own personal indecision, Death Eaters, the family tree.
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual. The Blacks stamped down on any signs of deviancy; now simply imagine how prudish he must be.
What is your character's social and political background and why? Regulus possesses a murky past as a pureblood, purist, and Death Eater — but he was defined more by the opinions of the company he kept, rather than his own. Since then, he's left all of that behind. Or at least tried to.
Even after everything he's been through, Regulus has still chosen no official political stance — he rarely clarifies his beliefs openly, and does not argue any particular political ideology. Even as a Death Eater, he was quiet and withdrawn, preferring to let others bandy the words and philosophy. Nowadays, he usually maintains a tactful silence on anything political — though it's no secret that Regulus Black is, for all intents and purposes, "rehabilitated". He has accepted the sanctuary that Dumbledore's people offered him, and gladly put aside his Death Eater's cowl.
His opinions are mixed and varied, and change depending on who he's with at the time; Regulus is the perennial fencesitter, capable of seeing and understanding both sides at once. He still possesses an instinctive dislike and distrust of Dumbledore, ingrained thanks to years of vitriol from the Black family and peers, but he sides with the Order of the Phoenix's ideals more often than not — they inflict less death and anguish on others, for one, and he's had quite enough of that to last a lifetime. Rationally, Regulus understands the no-magic laws and sees how they would help to maintain peace — but he cannot help having a kneejerk aversion to them. He grew up wielding magic. It's a part of him and a part of all wizard identity. He might understand letting it go in theory, but is finding it increasingly difficult to do so in practice.
Personal Background:
1975, age 14: Sirius runs away.
1977, age 16: Becomes a Death Eater.
1979, age 18: Orion dies. Walburga snaps a little.
1981, age 20: Harry Potter killed and and Sirius put away. Walburga goes crrrrazy. And this is the straw which breaks the hippogriff's back: Regulus does something utterly mad himself, stealing one of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes and delivering the locket to Dumbledore.
1985, age 24: After four years off her rocker, Walburga dies. Regulus becomes head of an empty house, but moves in with Narcissa and obtains an entry-level job at the Ministry.
1988, age 27: Moves into own flat.
1985 — 1991: By '91, has been with the Death Eaters for fourteen years.
1991, age 30: Voldemort defeated. Sirius pardoned, returns. Regulus spent six years as Master Black.
1992, age 31: Anti-magic legislation.
1995, age 34: Present day.
Regulus Arcturus Black led a quiet childhood under the watchful eye of sombre family portraits, wheedling house elves, and strict parents — their father would have offered some softer care, but constant sickness had the man fading away while their mother took up the dominant reins regarding the raising of her sons. Regulus inherited the family's good looks and talent for spellwork (particularly Transfiguration), but also Orion's weak constitution; he was the runt of the proverbial litter, whilst Sirius was alpha male, rabble-rouser, and general attention-hound. Later, Reg would grow out of his awkward fragility and into the slim-built frame of a Quidditch Seeker, but it would take time.
Hogwarts was a time of division; on his first day in that dining hall, Regulus politely declined the Sorting Hat's extended offer of bravery and lionheart, and told it to put him in Slytherin. Having witnessed firsthand the familial estrangement Sirius suffered after being placed in Gryffindor, Regulus was terrified of it; at the tender age of ten, he had already lost his only brother to the powers of social exclusivity, and he was hardly prepared to make the choice to lose his parents and all of his cousins as well. He wasn't strong enough to make that sort of decision. It would take time.
He made a few close friends at the school, but he always came across as surprisingly quiet and thoughtful to the (many people) already familiar with the notorious Sirius Black. After meeting the older brother, people would sometimes think Regulus a pale imitation of Black vitality: less lively, less talkative, more introverted and withdrawn, and strangely bitter. He nursed a venomous dislike of James Potter especially, and looked forward to the few scraps of normalcy he could extract from his brother — when they spoke at all.
In what seems (to him) like an eternity spent at Grimmauld Place — raging familial arguments and playtime with Sirius and the cousins all mingling into one — one day stands out in particular. It is, of course, the day that Sirius finally had enough at age fifteen and ran away, and was consequently blasted off that blasted family tree.
In Regulus' mind, everything went downhill after that.
Walburga became even more frighteningly possessive and dominating; tensions grew higher in the household, and Orion seemed to wilt even further. Practically overnight, Regulus had to step up and fill the shoes of scion after fourteen years of being the spare, and he was always one hundred percent aware that he did not meet expectations. He might be the most dutiful and obedient son, but he was not the most charismatic, and everyone knew it. He was not the first choice for heir. But with Sirius gone, he was the only choice — and as time dragged on, Regulus tried, desperately, to regain his esteem somehow in the Black family's eyes. It led him to the Death Eaters, and it led him to that tattoo on his arm.
He didn't really know what he'd gotten into, of course; he expected it to be a run-of-the-mill secret society, and was appalled to discover the true extent of their power and what they were willing to do. But he went along with it. Weak-willed and frightened and so very desperate for others to like him, Regulus went along with it.
Those years weren't kind on him. He was still a child, but he grew up faster during the war than he should have; he witnessed atrocities, and even committed a few. (Or many, as the case might be.) He was terrified of dying, he was terrified of accidentally facing Sirius someday on the battlefield, and with time, he finally understood that he did not believe in what he fought for. As the wizarding world crashed around him, Regulus came closer and closer to the end of his rope. His father died, and Walburga came one step closer to madness. When the Chosen One was defeated in 1981, rather than outright celebrating with the rest of his peers, Regulus felt a stifling sense of overwhelming existential panic. In one fell swoop, prophecies had been proven wrong, his brother had been sent to Azkaban for murder, his mother had finally become fully mentally ill, necessitating his constant taking care of her, and something felt … deeply wrong in life.
At his wit's end, Regulus finally broke. Using the knowledge he'd obtained from Kreacher years ago but never had the courage to act on, he went to the cave and stole the Dark Lord's locket, desperately hoping to, somehow, do his little part in reversing the fortunes of this Merlin-forsaken war. He went straight to Dumbledore, and turned turncoat on the Death Eaters. From that day forward, it was to be an uphill battle to gain trust with Dumbledore's side, and a slew of paranoid years expecting to be found out at any moment.
He was twenty when his mother went insane, and he spent four years with her off her rocker until she finally died in 1985. The eternal mummy's boy, Regulus had spent most of the last few years looking after her and tending to her murderous rages and rants and ravings. He grieved her passing, but equally felt the sudden freedom it granted him — he had full reign of the house and the formidable Black estate and fortune.
And the first thing he did was to lock up the home. After just one night alone in Grimmauld Place with only Kreacher for company, Regulus knew that if he stayed there, he'd end up an even madder old hermit than his mother had become. He knew that he had to get out. He went to the Malfoy manor and ended up staying with his cousin Narcissa for a few years, getting onto his feet with an entry-level Ministry job and starting to learn the ins and outs of independence. His time with Narcissa was largely what kept him sane; she was his last remaining non-mentally insane family, he became godfather to Draco, and soon learned that his cousin shared his treachery of the Dark Lord. It was, needless to say, a comfort in a time of massive fear and uncertainty.
Regulus spent six years as head of house, managing the finances, working for himself, and keeping up the Black reputation. He spent time in Grimmauld Place only when necessary; sometimes he opened it up to entertain guests, but the house always lacked a certain joie de vivre he could never seem to find.
That life and energy finally came back when the Dark Lord was defeated, and Sirius was pardoned and returned from Azkaban when Regulus was thirty years old. Ten years had set the brothers growing apart, and Regulus was both loath — and yet relieved — to hand over the power to its rightful owner. As unusual as being called "Master Black" had been at first, he'd certainly grown used to it. He's now had five years of living back at Grimmauld Place with both Sirius and Nymphadora for company and to brighten up its dreary hallways. Undoubtedly, life has gotten better; but undoubtedly, it's also filled with new tensions and strife. The two brothers still haven't quite mended the torn bridges between them thanks to abandonment and ideology and Azkaban, and Regulus still hasn't quite come to terms with his own past. Despite having been a successful mole to Dumbledore 'til the end, he's still building up that trust — and treachery aside, he did spend fourteen years as a Death Eater. War makes people do terrible things.
Relationships with Family & Friends: Thanks to the engendered bias of purebloods, Regulus feels a natural warmth towards his family members, whether they're Sirius or Bellatrix alike — but time has confused warmth for his intense craving for their respect. The Blacks aren't your typical loving family, and as such, Regulus learnt to keep himself distant from most people and only open up wth a very select few.
SIRIUS. His… brother. It's hard to quantify exactly what Regulus thinks of Sirius, except that a) he grew up wanting to be him, b) then he grew up wanting to be anything but him, c) he was deeply concerned for him, d) he was terrified of facing him, e) he's relieved to have him back, f) he's also somewhat bitter to have him back, g) and yes, alright, fine, he loves him. Sirius has always represented what Regulus is not. On the best of days, this engenders fondness and typical fraternal hijinks; on the worst of days, this manifests as a deep conflict of personalities and an immensely strained, jealous connection. At the end of it all, however, Reg is far more like his older brother than he's ever cared to realise.
NARCISSA. His best friend and confidante. Regulus always felt more in common with Cissa than others in the family, including Bellatrix (who, frankly, frightens him). The two youngest cousins have always bonded well, and he allows a certain protectiveness over her that he doesn't often feel for people. He's godfather to her son.
BELLATRIX. To be determined! But I can probably say right now: He might fear Bellatrix, and she and Walburga might constitute the sole reasons behind his wariness towards dominant brunette women, but he will also climb mountains simply to earn her respect. Jumping through hoops for Bella was a childhood habit, and later in life, that manifested as a weak-willed obedience to her as a Death Eater. (Plot: Him having been under her wing as a DE, perhaps?)
NYMPHADORA. To be determined!
SNAPE. To be determined!
JAMES. Ever since Sirius ran away, Regulus has nursed years upon years of bitterness and envy towards the Potters. Rather than blaming Sirius or the Blacks for the estrangement, he found a misguided certain solace in making James the scapegoat for his familial loss. While Sirius was in Azkaban and Regulus was helping the Order, Reg consoled himself with the thought that James & co. loved Sirius maybe as much as Regulus did, so he ought to get to know them — in truth, however, he's still struggling to repair that deep sense of betrayal and theft when James 'stole Sirius away'.
OTHERS TO BE ADDED!
First Person Sample: I was cleaning out the storerooms in the house the other day, and I couldn't help but come across my old broomstick. It's a bit too small for comfort now, but still, the discovery couldn't help but make me wonder. It's been years since I last flew, let alone played a game of Quidditch, let alone as a Seeker — one wonders whether I've completely lost those abilities, or if they are, perhaps, lying dormant. It could be worth the attempt to find out. I would have to go on a shopping trip first, however. I can't even count the last time I did my shopping in person rather than via exclusive catalogue, owl order, or personal tailors or craftsmen, but an expedition to Diagon Alley—well, it could be done.
My father's security spells are finally fading, too. It's been over ten years and they still held strong. It's an awful shame I never asked him for the cantrips. His skills were incredible; I only understand this in hindsight, when inspecting the doorways and discovering everything he did to keep us (and himself) safe. It is only ever in hindsight that one realises what someone truly did for you. We all give the best of our hearts uncritically, to those who hardly think about us in return. If I could find his old notes, I could reproduce the spells.
But I'm not even sure I'd like to. His touch in this spellwork is immediately recognisable. Were I to layer my own spells on top of that, his unmistakable print would be gone forever.
Third Person Sample: Regulus prided himself on his handwriting. Walburga Black had always insisted that the highest of society could not afford to have miserable handwriting, and that the shape of one's letters reflected upon yourself. Sloppy penmanship foretold a sloppy mind. And so ever since childhood, Regulus had spent countless hours practicing his quillwork, particularly that of his signature: R.A.B., Regulus Arcturus Black. His hand would eventually cramp and he'd spill ink on the parchment in the late hours, and yet he practiced still. The pride he took in his name was reflected in his signature.
As the years went on, he could eventually distinguish himself by the fact that his writing was never sloppy. As he exchanged owls and letters with other students, he did not spill ink. He did not frantically cross out his own words. He might spend an hour in front of a piece of parchment, rolling the words across his tongue, but when it finally came to writing: Regulus Arcturus Black wrote his words carefully, precisely, and formulated them perfectly. His hand never wavered. The only times his resolution failed was when exchanging correspondence with Sirius — then, he wrote before he thought, quill spitting out words that he'd have to come back to and furiously scrape off afterwards. Sirius enraged him, frustrated him, and above all else, confused him.
And so when the day finally came, close to his eighteenth birthday, to write a letter that he'd been dreading, Regulus was perfectly calm. He had thought the entire situation over a thousand, million, billion times. He had felt the tell-tale roiling waves of panic before. They had almost incapacitated him, leaving him with insomnia and dry-heaving in the water-closet on the third floor of Grimmauld Place. The terror made him physically nauseous, but on the day he made his bed (for the last time), tucked away his wand (for the last time) and pulled out the parchment, blotting paper, inkwell, and quill, he was ready.
The words were perfect. He had been thinking of them for over a month. His hand shook slightly in the middle, but by the time he came to his signature, the R.A.B. was so practiced that his hand completed the flourishes by rote.
He dotted his I's and crossed his T's, blotted the paper, shook it slightly to dry it, and then folded it away inside the imitation locket.
He was ready.
