Until I was eight, my entire life consisted of dinner parties. Dinner parties, and cocktail parties, and stiff, uncomfortable dress robes. House-elves, and manors, and wildy expensive furnishings. Blood purity, and arrogance, and dark magic. And Regulus Black.

Perhaps I should explain.

My name is Phaedra Aldebaran. You've never heard of the Aldebarans? Then you must be muggleborn. Please don't think I'm being full of myself, for that's not it at all. It's only that I come from one of the oldest pure-blood lines there is. There was, I should probably say.

My father, Aeolus Aldebaran, was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Yes, that's correct. If you're a muggle—though I can't see why in Merlin's name you would be reading this, should that be the case—Britain's Home Office is a rough equivalent. I say 'was' because his post was given to a numbskull wizard called Barty Crouch when I was eight.

My mother, Echidna Aldebaran, stayed at home with me most of the time—when she wasn't staying out all hours of the night or locking herself in her rooms for days at a time. She was a proper harpy. It was my mother that taught me most of the spells I'd known by the time I'd begun my schooling at Hogwarts. What with her somewhat unreliable presence, this was far from the education that other children my age were receiving from their parents. And far below the caliber of learning that I, as an Aldebaran, should have been required to receive. It's not that she tried to keep me from learning. She just couldn't be bothered.

I loathed her.

Frankly, with our riches, I don't see why I didn't have tutors. I hope you understand when I say that we were wealthy. Beyond wealthy. Three Gringotts vaults each in either of my parents names, and one begun for me as soon as they knew my mother was carrying me.

I got my father's looks, which I hated at first but grew to be thankful for. The grey-green Aldebaran eyes, the naturally tanned skin, the stick-straight, honey-colored hair. My mother was what they call a 'dark beauty': her skin was pale as all get-out but her hair was blacker than coal, her lips a vivid red, her eyes so dark brown that they seemed black, too. She was all curves, a body of hills and valleys. She was exquisite. I looked nothing like her. Not that I'm horrid, by any means—I'm quite pretty, if I do say so myself. But I have nothing on my mother.

Oh, and I had a brother. Cyrus. He was five years younger than me, and a right little snot.

My time was spent, for the most part, sitting quietly at the end of the dining room table while my parents entertained guests. If he or she was a well-known wizard or witch, chances are they had come round our manor for dinner at some point or another. Nobby Leach, retired Minister of Magic (you might have heard of him, he got a bit of nasty publicity over the Squib Rights marches—keeping this between you and me, my mother was one of the pure-bloods who rioted during those marches…harpy, remember?) was our guest more times than I can recall.

More regular visitors included, of course, the Malfoys, the Bulstrodes, the Lestranges, the Selwyns, the Notts…even the Prewetts and the Longbottoms (my mother wasn't thrilled, let me tell you). You name the renowned wizarding family, we'd had them for tea, at least. Hell, if they were pure-bloods, they were our guests.

And of course, the Blacks. At least once a week, our halls were graced by the 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.' I grew up with them. Andromeda—she was the oldest, and my favorite—taught me to read. Narcissa showed me how to spell my hair up and pretty myself with charms. Bellatrix taught me how to shift blame to anyone but myself. And Sirius and Regulus, being closer to my age, taught me everything else. Sirius was nearly two years older than Regulus and I—a fact he reminded us of frequently. He could be a right arse, Sirius, and he was, most of the time.

But Regulus. Ohhh, when I was little, Regulus Black was my entire world. Until I was eight, that is.

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