SOLSTICE

029

The first year ended with bombshell.

Silence fell over the room.
 

No one expected this revelation. Now it was clear: Cyril was from the House of Black. Members of the Black family scrutinized him, their expressions a mix of shock and curiosity. 

A proud smirk appeared on Orion's lips. It was a boon to have such a powerful wizard in the family.

The next burning question: who was his father? It definitely wasn't Sirius. Initially, Dumbledore had claimed Cyril was the child of a Muggle and that Sirius had saved him. But it seemed that was a lie. What if Sirius was the father all along?

"Blimey," James muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Padfoot, he definitely doesn’t look like your spawn, does he?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the cheeky implication.

James pressed on, “I mean, look at you and look at him,” he said, eyeing Cyril up and down.

Sirius looked ready to clobber him. James quickly raised his arms in surrender, hurriedly adding, “and he doesn’t give a toss about Quidditch. So, definitely not yours, mate.”

Orion mustered the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at everyone. "Who is the father?" His eyes bore into Cyril. Cyril's gaze shifted from Orion to Regulus. The room erupted into gasps and whispers. Regulus, stunned, struggled to process the revelation. As realization dawned, tears welled up in his eyes, his voice trembling. "You... you're my son?"

Regulus had always believed his life would be short, either by fate or his own hand. He had never imagined he would find love, let alone have a child. It was a beautiful dream, a fantasy he never thought possible.

"Yes... father," Cyril replied, his voice flat and emotionless. Cyril had always known who his father was, but saying it out loud made it more real for him. It felt strange, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. The reality of it all was sinking in for both of them.

Regulus had a barrage of questions swirling in his mind. Who was the mother? Why hadn't Cyril approached him sooner, unlike others who had sought him out before? Was Cyril ashamed of him? Did he hate him? The whys were overwhelming.

He took a deep breath as Evan subtly rubbed his back, trying to offer some comfort. "Who is the mother?" Regulus asked, his voice desperate.

He desperately wanted to know, yet he feared the answer. He didn't glance at a certain Ravenclaw, unsure if he even wanted to know the answer. The fear of what he might hear was almost paralyzing.

But Cyril's reaction was surprising; a hint of mischief visible in his eyes was out of character. Everyone was waiting in anticipation, the tension palpable. Regulus's heart raced. Unbeknownst to him, another heart raced in equal anticipation.

"Have patience, Father. You will find out eventually," Cyril said with a slight smirk.

This display of playful defiance was new for his court. They had last seen this version of Cyril in his first year. The Cyril of the ensuing years had been markedly different, more reserved and darker. His once vibrant eyes had turned cold, his demeanor frightening, as if shadows had crept into his very soul.

A frustrated groan almost escaped Regulus's lips as he raked his hands through his hair in exasperation. The enigmatic response only fueled his anxiety and curiosity.

Walburga, however, showed no interest through her expressions or words. Her face remained impassive, but there was a glint of approval in her eyes. At least someone worthy of being called a Black was present in the next generation, not some disappointment. She watched Cyril with a critical eye, hoping that he would follow the right track and uphold the family’s honor and traditions.