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To truly, strategically understand a highly dangerous person's present combat motivations, one absolutely must deeply, mathematically know exactly what forged their dark past.
Fortunately for Regulus's corporate planning, Professor Albus Dumbledore (the highly manipulative future version from canon) had absolutely already completely, thoroughly investigated little Tom Riddle's pathetic Muggle background, his squalid orphanage experiences, and the filthy Gaunt shack, and so on.
Therefore, Regulus absolutely only physically needed to deliberately, mysteriously reveal a very few, highly specific, disgusting factual details about Voldemort's dirty bloodline to his fanatic parents. He deliberately left massive amounts of highly suggestive, dark room for his parents' own paranoid, pureblood imagination to violently fill in the gaps—
He completely, cynically believed that the highly prejudiced Black couple would instantly, independently conjure up dark political plots and filthy bloodline conspiracies that were actually vastly more outlandish and horrifying than the pathetic, mundane truth.
( ¯︶¯ )
Exactly as expected, Regulus had honestly only softly spoken a very little bit about the filthy Muggle orphanage and the disgraced, poverty-stricken Gaunts when Walburga's aristocratic expression gradually, violently turned to absolute, pure unadulterated disgust. She looked exactly as if she had suddenly, physically seen a massive, stinking puddle of thick Mountain Troll snot resting directly on the expensive rug at her feet.
Meanwhile, Orion completely fell into a heavy, terrifying silence. He stared absolutely motionlessly at the violently flickering golden flames in the marble fireplace, his dark eyes completely unfocused, seemingly agonizingly, slowly digesting exactly the massive, world-shattering political intelligence he had just heard from his twelve-year-old son.
After a massively long, highly oppressive silence in the dining room, Orion finally spoke slowly, his deep voice carrying a terrifying, lethal weight:
"These highly classified, highly dangerous things you just smoothly mentioned, Regulus... does Professor Albus Dumbledore... does he logically currently know about them?"
Well. He technically absolutely doesn't fully know exactly all of it right now in 1973, but he absolutely, mathematically will sooner or later— Regulus had absolutely zero psychological or moral burden whatsoever about lying regarding the timeline, and simply nodded completely decisively to his father.
The roaring fire in the dark room still burned incredibly brightly, and although the physical room was absolutely just as physically warm as before, the previously highly pleasant, relaxed, and unburdened festive family atmosphere suddenly, violently turned entirely freezing cold. It was quiet to the absolute point of being almost completely unsettling.
Orion finally, heavily broke the heavy silence again; he turned his dark head to look directly at his wife, his tone completely, terrifyingly solemn and absolutely brokering no argument:
"Walburga. Listen to me very closely. Remember these exact words, and absolutely do not politically reveal this filthy bloodline intelligence to a single, living soul—and that absolutely, strictly includes Bellatrix and Cissy."
He paused, letting the absolute command sink in, then his sharp, freezing gaze violently shifted directly down to the trembling House-elf standing beside the table:
"Kreacher. The exact same absolute rule goes for you."
"Kreacher certainly, absolutely won't ever tell a soul, Master Orion! Kreacher absolutely only serves the Noble House of Black loyally!" The ancient House-elf quickly, violently straightened his bony back, standing at absolute attention, so incredibly terrified of the dark political secret that his croaking voice physically trembled slightly.
A highly soft, incredibly satisfied smile flashed beautifully in Regulus's dark eyes, and he said softly, rewarding the loyalty:
"Thank you so much, Kreacher. Keeping this specific secret is incredibly, vitally important to our family's physical survival."
"Mm!" Hearing the incredibly rare, highly polite thanks directly from his absolute favorite young master, Kreacher nodded his heavy head completely vigorously, looking so incredibly, violently excited by the praise that he actually looked exactly as if he might physically faint dead away on the rug the very next second.
...
This specific kind of heavy, highly terrifying, dark political topic, while absolutely, mathematically necessary for their future corporate survival, was truly, completely out of place with the warm festive atmosphere of the holidays.
It's a massive, happy holiday, after all—
Regulus simply, smoothly got up from his heavy mahogany chair and gracefully waved his hawthorn wand—a beautiful, shimmering layer of crystal-clear magical dew instantly appeared directly on the fresh green mistletoe and holly branches currently hung on the dark walls. The water droplets perfectly, beautifully reflected the warm candlelight exactly like countless scattered, glittering gems.
Truly, undeniably remarkable, flawless spatial magic— Sirius praised highly loudly inwardly, glancing deeply at Regulus, absolutely only to find his brilliant younger brother looking completely directly back at him with incredibly bright, challenging eyes and a highly mischievous, demanding Slytherin smile clearly written on his handsome face.
Sirius sighed highly helplessly, completely understanding the silent command. He immediately, perfectly cooperated by aggressively conjuring massive flocks of glowing golden little birds, fluttering silver butterflies, and blooming, brilliant red magical flowers directly from the very tip of his own oak wand...
He had absolutely, firmly promised his younger brother on the train ride home—we are brothers united in battle. If there was to be a highly theatrical, manipulative "magic performance" segment at home to safely distract their fanatical parents, absolutely neither of them could politically be left out of the show.
The brilliant, warm magical colors immediately, flawlessly dispelled the heavy, freezing political gloom that had been suffocating the air in the room just a moment ago.
"Alright, that's completely enough business for one night. Let's absolutely not talk about that depressing dark Lord anymore," Regulus smiled brilliantly, his corporate tone completely relaxed and warm again. "It is officially time for dessert—"
He turned his handsome head to look directly, deeply into the House-elf's massive, watery eyes: "Kreacher, you honestly have absolutely no idea exactly how much I deeply miss your famous orange juice roasted pudding at school!"
The devoted House-elf's massive eyes immediately, violently lit up with sheer, unadulterated joy, and he quickly, happily trotted directly towards the massive iron oven in the kitchens, his large bat-like ears bobbing wildly with every single step.
Walburga's sharp, dark gaze entirely returned to Regulus—her brilliant son's handsome smile was absolutely still exactly as warm and completely flawless as before. It looked exactly as if the freezing, terrifying, highly calculating coldness and contempt she had vividly seen in his dark eyes earlier was absolutely just a brief trick of the firelight, a mere illusion.
...
As the undisputed, incredibly wealthy Black Family's absolute favorite youngest child, the highly famous Slytherin rising star, the terrifying Dueling Club President, and the absolute, undisputed corporate leader of the massive Hog Gang (HP)—Regulus completely, unsurprisingly received countless, incredibly expensive Christmas gifts. Massive, towering mountains of big and small brightly wrapped packages completely piled up, entirely taking over his dark green bedroom...
Even the highly popular Gryffindor Sirius was completely, slightly outdone by the sheer, mathematical volume of corporate tribute Regulus received from his political allies and terrified enemies alike.
Even the filthy, oblivious Muggles living on the grim streets of Grimmauld Place heavily, violently noticed the massive, terrifying storm of hundreds of arriving magical owls swooping down on Number Twelve; they frequently, highly angrily called the local municipal department to loudly complain about the massive, highly unnatural amount of bird droppings completely covering their tiny front yards and rusting cars.
Regulus simply, highly pragmatically dragged a complaining Sirius entirely out of bed late at night to aggressively, magically perform several massive, highly thorough "Scouring Charms" completely over the entire Muggle square—when the miserable Muggles finally woke up the next morning, they would completely, miraculously find their dirty cars highly polished and the filthy pavements completely, perfectly clean.
This was their highly secret, highly practical magical Christmas gift directly to their oblivious Muggle neighbors.
Surprisingly, his highly prejudiced, fanatical mother, Walburga, who absolutely should have violently, loudly scoffed at actively performing free manual labor for filthy Muggles, completely, absolutely said nothing about the midnight excursion.
What a truly, undeniably wonderful Christmas—
Sirius was completely, utterly at ease at home for the very first time in years. He existed entirely without a single, violent screaming argument with his mother, seemingly beautifully returning entirely to the peaceful past, still acting safely as his parents' absolute favorite, highly boisterous eldest son.
Meanwhile, back in the miserable spinner's end, Severus Snape completely shockingly received a massive, highly official Gringotts bank deposit slip directly with his own name prominently printed on it. The sheer, astronomical amount of corporate Galleons Regulus had violently deposited as his "Potion Master's salary" made his dark heart violently, completely pound against his ribs in pure, unadulterated shock.
James Potter played completely, highly aggressively like a crazy person in the snow, causing massive, highly entertaining physical chaos entirely throughout the magical village of Godric's Hollow, and even managed to somehow make the highly secret time to personally visit Remus.
Christmas of 1973 completely, terrifyingly coincided perfectly with a highly dark new moon; the freezing moon was completely, entirely hidden in the sun's shadow. And Remus Lupin completely, tearfully received a massive, highly expensive, six-month supply of flawlessly brewed Wolfsbane Potion completely anonymously sent by Regulus's corporate owls.
As for Regulus himself—the absolute, pure happiness and safety of his family and his highly loyal corporate friends was his absolute, greatest personal happiness.
Oh, and of course, Regulus completely also received a highly massive, heavily enchanted, extra-strength crate of lemon-flavored Fanta directly from Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.
And in return, he politely, corporately sent Dumbledore a massive stack of highly upgraded, highly classified 'Developing Paper' communicators.
...
The warm, lingering afterglow of the Christmas holidays had absolutely not yet faded, and the freezing New Year's Day was physically just around the corner.
Regulus honestly had almost absolutely zero political difficulty, not even physically needing to intelligently invent complex corporate reasons, to easily persuade his highly relaxed parents to completely, officially agree to let him and Sirius safely visit the "highly respectable" Frye Family estate in London—
Their highly aggressive Pig Gang (HP) had absolutely, formally agreed to illegally, aggressively experience the terrifying, raw kinetic power of Muggle weapons together...
Evie's Muggle mother had enthusiastically, highly politely stated in her heavy, cream-colored invitation letter that the family had happily, massively prepared a truly sumptuous traditional afternoon tea and highly delicious desserts. She was highly looking forward to formally meeting her children's new, brilliant 'Wizard' friends from boarding school, and highly thoughtfully offered to physically arrange a private Muggle car for transportation.
But Regulus completely, stubbornly wanted to actively, highly authentically experience raw, gritty Muggle life in the United Kingdom directly in the 1970s. He and Sirius completely put on highly expensive, custom-tailored Muggle business suits, securely carried a massive, unfolding map of London, legally bought paper tickets with Muggle money, and actually, physically took the screeching, highly crowded underground subway directly into the suburbs.
Along the incredibly chaotic, noisy Muggle way, several highly enthusiastic, smiling female strangers even completely, aggressively tucked several fresh, beautiful flowers directly into the two handsome boys' arms.
Riding completely, exhaustingly all the way to the absolute very end of the long subway line, the Black brothers finally found a highly freezing, completely less crowded place near the woods. They exchanged highly tired, brilliant smiles, aggressively pulled their two highly polished racing broomsticks completely from their magically expanded pockets, and, flawlessly avoiding the few remaining Muggles' sight with Disillusionment Charms, violently flew highly low over the freezing trees directly to the exact Muggle address Evie had given them.
The well-maintained, highly paved Muggle road gradually became completely, surprisingly desolate. There were absolutely no roaring cars or bundled pedestrians around anywhere, acting exactly as if they had somehow, accidentally illegally entered a massive, highly restricted private nature reserve.
"Is the specific, written address absolutely mathematically correct?" Sirius frowned deeply in pure, unadulterated pureblood confusion, looking at the dense trees. "This completely, absolutely doesn't physically look like someone actually lives anywhere near here..."
"It absolutely should logically be completely correct." Regulus was actually also a bit deeply, analytically unsure, checking the parchment. "The highly detailed Muggle map can't possibly mathematically be wrong, right?"
...
The highly mundane plot suddenly took a massive, terrifying turn; when they finally, slowly rounded a massive, freezing patch of dense woods and actually reached the exact physical address provided by Evie Frye, the two highly arrogant Black brothers were completely, utterly physically stunned—
Exactly what aggressively came into their shocked view was an exceptionally, impossibly grand, massive Muggle mansion: terrifyingly high, completely white reinforced concrete walls violently surrounded the entire massive estate, and a highly immaculate, sprawling cobblestone driveway wound beautifully directly towards the massive, heavy front door of the house. In the absolute center of the massive courtyard, the freezing water droplets completely spraying from a massive, ornate stone fountain sparkled brilliantly in the weak winter sun, and the massive, sprawling surrounding shrubs were incredibly neatly, highly elegantly, perfectly trimmed into geometric shapes.
The highly secure, military-grade guard post currently sitting at the massive, heavy cast-iron front gate was completely unmanned at the moment, presumably highly politely arranged by the Frye Family in advance to avoid scaring the wizards.
There were also several highly massive, terrifyingly advanced surveillance CCTV cameras aggressively mounted completely on the high, white security walls, their red lights blinking.
"Sirius, do you actually, logically know what Jacob literally just told me before the holidays?" Looking completely blankly up at the massive, terrifyingly expensive Muggle mansion before him, Regulus completely, utterly couldn't physically resist the massive urge to aggressively complain out loud. "He literally, highly sincerely looked me dead in the eye and said: 'Our family is very, highly ordinary. There is absolutely nothing special about us.'"
Then, Regulus violently, cynically shook his head—
Well—
A highly massive, heavily armed, highly wealthy Muggle family possessing an absolute, massive private shooting range and military-grade surveillance cameras? Exactly how on earth could that ever mathematically be considered 'highly ordinary'?!
Absolutely never logically believe a single, bloody word a highly trained Assassin says.