Late autumn, 1968. The beech tree in the courtyard of 12 Grimmauld Place shed its last leaf.
Regulus was seven.
A year of guided magic circulation had paid off. His strength had increased, his body was noticeably sturdier, his perception of magic sharper, his control more precise.
Sirius was eight.
And his rebellion had entered a new phase.
He was no longer satisfied with talking back. Now, he resisted on purpose.
Walburga told him to memorize the family tree, so he deliberately mixed up names. She made him practice etiquette, and he turned teacups into frogs. She demanded formal dress, and he tore his collar.
Once, at dinner, Sirius openly questioned pure-blood ideology. Walburga exploded. Regulus stepped in to smooth things over, and from that moment on, Sirius saw him as someone currying favor with their parents.
They spoke less and less.
Sometimes Regulus would run into Sirius in the corridor and catch the look in his eyes. Anger at betrayal, confusion, and a trace of disappointment.
Sirius thought Regulus had chosen the family, and that meant choosing against him.
In some ways, he wasn't wrong.
---
The first weekend of December, the Malfoys arrived as scheduled.
Everyone knew the real purpose of the visit. Malfoy was here on Voldemort's behalf, to probe where the House of Black stood.
Abraxas Malfoy was fifty-five, impeccably maintained, his silver-gray hair bound neatly at the nape of his neck.
He wore deep green robes, the cuffs embroidered with intricate silver serpents. An ebony cane rested in his hand, its head set with a dark opal that glimmered green.
"Walburga, you look well," he said smoothly. "Orion, it's been some time. How fares your work with the Wizengamot?"
Orion sat at the head of the table, his tone even. "Much the same. And you, Mr. Malfoy? Keeping busy?"
Abraxas lifted his teacup and blew gently across the surface. "Thinking about the future. The future of the magical world, and our place in it."
Lucius wasn't present. Regulus guessed he was preparing for something more important. A formal entry into the Death Eaters, perhaps, or involvement in Voldemort's inner circle.
"The Dark Lord holds the Black family in high regard," Abraxas said, cutting to the point. "Among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, your bloodline is the oldest, the purest, and the most steadfast."
"Steadfast?" Orion asked.
"In preserving tradition." Abraxas set his cup down. "Many families waver now. The Potters openly associate with Muggle-borns. The Weasleys are practically a symbol of bloodline betrayal. The Longbottoms are pure-blood, yes, but weak.
Only the Blacks have remained consistent. The Dark Lord believes such a family deserves its rightful place in the new order."
Walburga leaned forward slightly. "Does the Dark Lord have… specific plans?"
Abraxas's voice rose with enthusiasm. "Restoration. Purging weakness from the Ministry of Magic. Rebuilding the authority of the Wizengamot. Standardizing magical education.
Most importantly, establishing pure-blood leadership and returning the magical world to its proper order."
"Ambitious," Orion said.
"Visionary," Abraxas corrected. "The Dark Lord possesses not only ambition, but power, knowledge, and the resolve to reshape reality.
He's already gathered like-minded supporters. the Lestranges, Notts, Carrows and all have declared their support."
"Support what?"
Sirius's voice cut in.
Walburga frowned. "Sirius, when adults are speaking—"
"I'm asking honestly." Sirius locked eyes with Abraxas. "Support him doing what? Killing people? Persecuting Muggle-borns? Turning everyone into his slaves?"
"Sirius!" Walburga's voice sharpened.
Abraxas raised a hand, stopping her. He looked at Sirius without a hint of anger.
"It's good for the young to question," he said. "The Dark Lord doesn't seek tyranny. He seeks order.
In the new order, everyone will have their place. Pure-blood wizards are born to lead the magical world. Half-bloods and Muggle-borns can serve. Muggles must be managed."
"By what right?" Sirius jumped to his feet, voice ringing. "By what right do you decide who leads and who serves?"
Abraxas answered as if it were obvious. "By strength. By millennia of legacy. By magic's own choice.
Pure-blood magic is stronger and more stableand that is fact."
"I don't think—" Sirius started.
"You thinking doesn't matter," Abraxas interrupted gently. "The rules by which the world turns won't change because of an eight-year-old.
When you grow up, when you've seen the chaos of the magical world, Muggle fear and persecution of magic, pure-blood families pushed to the margins, perhaps you'll understand."
"And if I never do?" Sirius shot back, defiance burning in his eyes.
"Then you'll have two options," Abraxas said with a smile. "Accept what you don't understand and follow the rules. Or be excluded by them."
The threat was naked.
Sirius went pale, but he didn't back down.
That was when Regulus spoke.
"Mr. Malfoy is right," he said calmly. "Order requires power to uphold it. If pure-blood wizards truly possess stronger magical talent, then having us lead would create a more stable, stronger society."
All eyes turned to him.
Walburga's eyes lit up. Orion's expression didn't change.
Sirius stared at Regulus, shock giving way to disbelief, then settling into something wounded and distant.
"You really think that?" Sirius asked, his voice trembling, as if asking one last time.
Regulus met his gaze. "I'm stating a fact. If pure-blood magic is stronger, then leadership follows naturally."
Sirius opened his mouth to argue again, fury rising, but Walburga stood abruptly.
"Sirius, go to your room. Now."
Sirius looked at his mother, then his father, then his brother, and finally at Abraxas.
He turned and left.
After he was gone, the room felt looser, the tension easing.
Abraxas lifted his teacup again. "The magical world's future isn't limited to Britain, Europe, the Americas and Asia. The Dark Lord's influence is spreading.
Families who support him will have the chance to participate in rebuilding magical order on a global scale and will get resources, knowledge and power. Far beyond what the Ministry can offer."
Regulus almost wanted to scoff. Voldemort's ambition truly knew no bounds. Global order, when he couldn't even secure Britain.
After a moment, Orion spoke. "We need time to consider."
Abraxas rose. "Of course. The Dark Lord never forces loyalty. There will be a small gathering in Wiltshire next month. A few like-minded families exchanging views. If the Blacks are interested, I can extend an invitation."
Walburga looked to her husband, hope in her eyes.
Orion nodded. "We'll consider it."
Once Malfoy was gone, Walburga rounded on Orion immediately.
"We must attend. Abraxas is right. This is an opportunity. The House of Black should lead in the new era—"
"Walburga," Orion cut in, exhaustion heavy in his voice. "We need caution. It all sounds ideal, but what's the cost?
Those 'weak elements' he wants to purge may include our friends. Even our family."
"Andromeda is no longer family," Walburga said coldly.
"And Sirius. If his rebellion continues—"
"Then let him go!" Walburga's voice rose sharply. "The House of Black doesn't need a rebellious son. We have Regulus."
She turned to her younger child, eyes burning. "You spoke well today. Thinking of the greater whole. That's what an heir of the House of Black should be."
Regulus lowered his head. He didn't respond.
---
In the attic laboratory, Regulus didn't light a lamp.
He sat in the dark, replaying the afternoon.
Abraxas's words carried several key truths.
Voldemort's influence had already spread beyond Britain, moving toward something global.
He tempted pure-blood families with visions of future order, with promises of power and resources.
And his methods included something called purging, a gentle word for unrestrained violence.
No one but Regulus knew how this would end.
Voldemort would fall. That outcome was inevitable, yet driven by countless coincidences along the way.
Regulus needed strength.