The Unspeakable Sort ||English version||

Chapter one: Feeling

1
||Regulus||

Regulus Black had always thought of himself as an intelligent boy.

By the age of one and a half, he was already perfectly capable of composing complete sentences, and by the age of three, he never stopped talking. In fact, he talked so much, he believes he had exhausted his maximum word count prematurely. By the age of fifteen, he barely spoke at all.

At the age of seven, he read his first book, entitled The Tales of Beedle and the Bard. Yet, rather than indulge the nature of his passion, after discovering him reading in a dark corner of the Black estate's library, his parents had punished him. They believed it would be better to spend his free time on a concrete activity, rather than reading that idle nonsense published by blood traitors. Regulus had nodded, lowering his head. However, that same evening, having pulled the covers down over his dark curls, he had taken out from under the pillow an old book of fairy tales that he had found in a secluded corner of the library and had run his eyes over the ink until they began to hurt. And so he had continued to do, every single evening, until the day he took the train to Hogwarts, where he discovered he no longer had to hide.

At the age of eleven, just starting his first year, he had been the first in the class able to summon a Defènsio Evocàtus. It was a simple defensive spell, capable of creating a barrier of minimal dimensions, and yet, many had thought it was surprising how he had managed to perform such spell in only the first hour of class.

At the age of 14, lips pressed together by the strident and icy magic of Walburga Black, he had learned how by deliberately deciding to carry out the tasks assigned while under the influence of it, one could neutralize the effects of the imperio curse.

So yes, Regulus Black had always thought of himself as a pretty smart boy. And yet, there were times when every little victory, every successful spell, every good grade, every accomplishment wasn't good enough to stop him from feeling stupid.

He had learned that thinking of himself as something and feeling like it couldn't be more different things.

Regulus knew, of course, that he wasn't stupid. And yet, he found it so hard not to feel that way.

It was silly, really, that he felt like that because of a dull grade in arithmancy. Silly, how that dreadful scribbled on the left edge of the page made his nerves tingle and his stomach turn.

When the bell that signaled the end of classes for the day rang, Regulus headed for the teacher's desk. Septima Vector sat there with a sullen expression, her brown hair tied in a low ponytail. Leaning forward, she scratched her chin absently, her rounded eyes peering at Regulus over her half-moon eyeglasses.

«Can I help you, Mr. Black?» she asked, her voice sour.

Regulus gulped, his eyes buried in a grudging resentment. "I'm sorry to bother you outside of your working hours, Miss Vector, but I have a question to ask you." The nerves at the base of her jaw tensed, she struggled to put on an affable expression.

«Go on, Mr. Black.» Was the woman's dry response, fingers scribbling absently in her small black notebook, her lips thin as she spoke.

«You see, Miss, as you are no doubt already aware, I am considered by many professors to be one of the best, if not the best student in my year.» Regulus leaned forward, ignoring the enjoyment he was having in annoying the woman, who simply nodded resignedly.

«Now, in my opinion, yours is the only subject in which I am having... difficulties. I find it senseless that I should be penalized this way because of simple misunderstandings, don't you agree?»