July, 1972.
Sirius Black finished his first year at Hogwarts and returned to 12 Grimmauld Place.
He had changed a lot.
He'd grown his hair long and started wearing Muggle jeans and T-shirts he'd picked up from James Potter. There was nothing left of the image a proper Pure-blood wizard was supposed to have.
"James thinks Quidditch should allow a few harmless prank charms," Sirius said casually over dinner. "It'd make the game more fun."
Walburga set down her knife and fork. "James? That child from the Potter family? If I recall, their bloodline is still passable, but their taste—"
"Is excellent," Sirius cut in. "At least they speak like actual people, instead of going on about glory, bloodlines, and duty all day."
The air at the table froze.
Regulus quietly cut into the roast fish on his plate, watching Sirius out of the corner of his eye.
There was something bright in his brother's eyes. A light that had never existed at 12 Grimmauld Place.
Freedom, perhaps.
Regulus knew it then. Sirius was already halfway out the door.
"And there's Remus," Sirius went on, as if he hadn't noticed his mother's expression. "He's basically a walking library. Knows bits of magical history the professors never bother to teach. Peter's a bit timid, but he's a good guy—"
"That's enough," Walburga snapped, her voice icy. "I have no interest in your friends' trivialities. Where is your Hogwarts report card?"
"Upstairs. Passed everything. Outstanding in Flying. Defense Against the Dark Arts was good." Sirius shrugged, completely unfazed. "That's enough."
"Enough?" Walburga stood, anger flashing across her face. "The heir of the House of Black should excel in every subject. Should be a Prefect. Should—"
"I'm not the heir." Sirius rose to his feet as well, meeting her head-on. "Regulus is. You chose him years ago, didn't you?"
He looked at his brother.
Regulus met his gaze and said nothing.
"Look at him," Sirius said, pointing at Regulus. "Sitting straight, cutting fish like he's brewing a potion. He's already ready to be the kind of Black you want. So let me go. All right?"
He turned and left the dining room.
Walburga moved as if to follow, but Orion caught her hand.
"Let him go," Orion said quietly. "Some words can't be taken back once they're spoken."
He'd seen this day coming years ago. Regulus had played no small part in it, and Orion had never tried to stop it.
Regulus finished his dinner and went upstairs. At the turn of the staircase, he found Sirius leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of his jeans, staring out at the dim street beyond the window.
"Do you think I went too far?" Sirius asked without turning.
"I think you're happy," Regulus said softly, shaking his head.
Sirius paused, then turned to look at him.
"At Hogwarts, I am happy," he admitted. "The Gryffindor Tower is always loud. Someone's always doing something stupid. Someone's always laughing. It's not like this place."
He glanced around the dark corridor.
"It's like a beautiful tomb."
"Tombs can hold treasures," Regulus said, a subtle warning beneath the words. "If you know how to look."
Every tragedy began with a lack of power. Sirius had never thought about seeking power at all, right up until his death.
"I don't want a tomb's treasure," Sirius said, shaking his head. "I want a life in the sunlight, even if it's short."
He looked at Regulus. "You know what's really ridiculous? James's parents. The Potters. They're Pure-blood too, but they don't obsess over it.
They care whether James is happy. Whether he's made friends. Whether he's learning things he actually enjoys. Not whether he can uphold family honor."
Regulus fell silent. He knew it was true. The Potter family might be Pure-blood, but they'd always been open-minded and normal.
"So you have a family now," Regulus said, a hint of emotion slipping through.
Sirius's expression softened. "Yeah. I do."
Then his face hardened again. "But you wouldn't understand. You already chose this place."
He walked back to his room. The door closed softly behind him.
Regulus stood alone in the corridor, listening to Walburga's distant complaints to Orion drifting up from downstairs.
I understand. I just won't make the same choice.
Gryffindor is your home. The Potter family is your home. But how long will that protect you? And when the time comes, will you be able to protect them?
When Voldemort truly rises. When war begins. When your Muggle-born friends become targets, you'll fight back.
But you won't have the power. You won't be able to protect anyone.
Regulus shook his head, pushed the thoughts away, and returned to his room.
---
By the end of July, Orion set up a simple dueling field in the back garden to test Regulus's practical ability.
"Hogwarts isn't just a school," he said. "There's competition. Conflict. Struggles beneath the surface. You need to know how to protect yourself."
"Rules: non-lethal spells only. Begin."
Orion showed no mercy simply because his opponent was eleven years old. He raised his wand, and the first silent disarming spell shot out fast and precise, aimed straight for Regulus's wrist.
Regulus didn't dodge. He didn't draw his wand.
He lifted his left hand and opened his palm.
The red spell struck an invisible barrier half a meter away, bursting into silver sparks.
A silent, wandless Protego.
Orion's eyebrows rose. He pressed on.
Impedimenta. Locomotor Mortis. Petrificus Totalus.
Spells flew in from different angles, the tempo steadily increasing.
Regulus still didn't move. He stood where he was, arms relaxed at his sides, only adjusting his fingers now and then. Each spell was intercepted at the last moment. Some deflected. Some dispersed. Some vanished entirely.
He never cast a full-body shield. That consumed too much magic and could be shattered under sustained pressure.
Instead, he deployed multiple micro-shields, forming them instantly where needed and dissolving them just as fast once their job was done.
Thirty seconds later, Orion stopped.
"You're using intent to control magic directly," he said, astonished. "You've eliminated the casting process entirely."
His usually steady voice wavered. Even elite Aurors rarely achieved that level of control.
And his second son was doing it with ease at eleven.
"Yes," Regulus said, nodding. "Without incantations or gestures, it's faster and more efficient."
"Who taught you?"
"I figured it out myself," Regulus replied. In truth, it was a byproduct of his magic-guidance circulation.
Orion was silent for a long time. He looked at his son with a complicated expression. Surprise. Pride. And a trace of concern.
At last, he spoke. "You're exceptional, Regulus. Beyond my expectations."
"Thank you." Regulus inclined his head slightly.
Orion stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You'll accomplish great things. But at Hogwarts, you only need to be an excellent student. Don't stand out unnecessarily. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Regulus said. "I'll control how much I show."
When the test ended, Orion took him to the deepest level of the family vault, into a far more secret inheritance chamber. Only a few blackwood shelves stood inside.
Orion took out three items.
The first was a Family Ring. Silver, engraved with the Black family crest. It wasn't the true ring of the Head of House, but a replica.
"No authority as Head of House," Orion said, handing it to Regulus. "But it can sense the family's protective wards. If you're wearing it and another member of the Black family is in mortal danger, it will heat up. The hotter it gets, the greater the danger."
Regulus accepted the ring and understood what it meant.
No authority, but still a symbol of the Head of House. And symbols carried obligations.
That obligation was Sirius.
The second item was a Magic Notebook. The cover was made of some kind of black leather, warm to the touch. There was no lock. Only Black blood could open it.
"Made with ancestral blood and secret rites," Orion said. "Anything written inside encrypts itself. Only the writer can fully read it. To anyone else, it appears as chaotic symbols. If someone tries to force it open, the contents self-destruct."
It was tacit permission.
Orion knew Regulus would study dangerous things. He didn't stop him. He simply gave him a safer way to record them.
The third item was a Meteorite Amulet. A simple silver pendant, set with a small piece of dark gray stone at its center. The surface bore the patterns of a fusion crust.
"One of our ancestors brought it back from the north," Orion said. "They say it came from the sky itself. It's been centuries, and no one's ever figured out what it does. It never gathers dust. It always stays this temperature."
Regulus took the amulet. The stone felt smooth and faintly warm, as if something alive flowed within it.
"I think it suits you," Orion said. "Because where your eyes are looking… isn't the same place as ours."
At last, his father rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Hogwarts is a small world," he said. "But remember this. There are worlds beyond it."