Rosemary

Dear Lady Black, the letter reads, in a cursive written by someone who can’t write in cursive, I am sorry to say I have abducted your son, Master Regulus Black. Don’t worry, he is perfectly safe and will remain so, however if you would like to… the letter continues in such a manner. Even Regulus isn’t sure if he’d been kidnapped (sorry, abducted), or if he has simply popped out for a day with an old friend. There is only a vague mention of ransom – never mind the amount – and the man had signed with his full name.

“James Potter?”

“Yes?” the man – James – responds. Perks up.

“That’s really your name? And you put it in the letter?”

“Seemed the polite thing to do.”

“Are you dumb?”

James looks somewhere between affronted and amused. Not how people usually answer to being insulted.

Regulus twirls the fork in his fingers, and it turns into a rather smart – albeit still silver – quill. He’s always been adept at transfiguration. James snags on the movement, takes in a sharp breath. A click of fingers and the parchment turns blank.

To Her Excellence Lady Black, Regulus writes, using his non-dominant hand to obscure his handwriting. The words are rendered in a non-recognisable, but still stunning cursive.

As you are by now no doubt aware, your son Master Regulus Black has been kidnapped. At present he is safe and well. Please see attached a lock of his hair as confirmation.

No physical harm shall befall him, provided you follow the instructions I give you. Should you not, his death will not be swift.

Do not, for any reason, attempt to communicate with the Auror department or any private agency.

Before end of the week, secure 20 thousand galleons in old currency.

The galleons must be placed in a large cigar box, securely closed and wrapped in white paper. Remain at home and alert until midnight on Saturday and await further instructions.

Regulus signs the letter with an unreadable squiggle in place of a name, then twirls the silver quill around his fingers – it turns into a sharp, simple dagger. He cuts off a lock of his hair from behind an ear, where the disruption won’t be visible. Vanity, as always, present.

James stares dumbly as Regulus hands him the hair.

“Secure it and put it in the envelope with the letter.”

“Why?”

“She can see my magical signature in it. Will know that I’m alive and you’re not just trying to extort money for a corpse.”

“Huh,” James looks struck with something. “Clever. Never knew you could do that.” He takes the letter and reads through it, promptly choking on his tea. “20 thousand? Are you insane?”

Regulus doesn’t respond. Changes the dagger back into a fork (and James’ eyes get stuck on that, again), and goes back to his breakfast.

“That’s way too much money.”

“And how much were you going to ask for?”

“I don’t know. Five hundred?”

“Five… five hundred? That’s just insulting. Are you trying to be insulting?”

“What?”

“You think I’m worth five hundred galleons? The heir of the House of Back? Five hundred?”

Regulus is furious. Not only has he been kidnapped (abducted) by a moron: the moron thinks him worthless.

“Five hundred galleons is a lot of money.”

“Sure. If you’re poor,” Regulus argues, “you want five hundred? Here,” he takes the cheapest ring off his fingers and drops it on the table in front of James, “this is worth about double, pawn it and keep the change.”

James twirls the ring around his fingers. “Very pretty,” he smiles, slipping it on, rubbing the little leaf motif engraved in the silver, “you walk around with thousands worth of jewellery on you? Surprised nobody kidnapped you before.”

“I thought I was abducted.”

You know the scene in deathly hallows where hermione and harry do the sad platonic dance and it’s beautiful and intimate and just so wonderfully sad right?

-But you do smell especially like flowers today -I took a shower.