The first school year was coming to an end, with only one day left before the Christmas holidays.
Regulus closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into the depths.
Star-track Guided Meditation had already become his daily foundation, as natural as breathing.
His growth over these past six months had all unfolded around this meditation technique, with his body and soul completing a synchronized tempering within the movement of the star tracks.
Magic was no longer merely flowing energy, but an entity deeply bound to his sinews, flesh, and spiritual will.
The magic circulation that previously required deliberate guidance had now become instinctual; every breath was accompanied by magic nourishing his body, as bone density and muscle fibers grew resilient in silence.
Even without using a Shield Charm, ordinary spells could hardly harm his foundation; this was the natural result of the body acting as a vessel, reaching resonance with magic and soul.
The transformation at the soul level was even more significant.
The three layers of Occlumency barriers no longer needed deliberate maintenance; the star-track model itself had become the most solid defense.
In the four-star synchronized Orion model, the dark red of Betelgeuse and the silver-white of the three Belt stars rotated steadily in his consciousness, like a miniature landscape of the universe.
It not only condensed his will but also tempered his spirit; external disturbances and the emotional fluctuations of others could hardly shake his mind.
With the body as the foundation, the soul as the core, and magic as the bridge, the three evolved toward a more perfect state under the pull of the star tracks.
But the lighting of the fifth star failed.
The target was Bellatrix of the Orion constellation; the reason for failure wasn't complex mathematical derivation or massive calculations, but purely a magical barrier.
When attempting to integrate it, the star-track model in his consciousness vibrated violently, the stable balance of the four stars was broken, and the backflow of magic caused his temples to throb painfully, forcing him to terminate the meditation.
But failure wasn't entirely a bad thing; the process of trying was itself a form of polishing.
To adapt to the integration of Bellatrix, he was forced to raise the precision of his magic control by another level, and his mental resilience grew stronger through repeated collapses and reconstructions.
The four-star model became increasingly stable during this process, and the compatibility between magic and soul quietly deepened; this growth from testing limits was extremely significant.
Regulus opened his eyes just as the squid outside the window swam past, its massive shadow lingering briefly on his face.
He stood up and walked toward the corridor leading to the Gryffindor Tower.
The agreed meeting place was by the One-Eyed Witch statue on the third floor, where few people passed; when Regulus arrived, Sirius was already there.
He leaned against the wall, hands shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans, his gold-and-red Gryffindor school robes draped carelessly over his shoulders, revealing a dark Muggle shirt underneath.
Without James and Remus around him, the flamboyant and jumpy aura he carried had subsided significantly; there was less rebellion in his grey eyes and more of a complex gloom.
Seeing Regulus approach, he stood up slightly straighter, his gaze falling on the cracks in the stone floor, his fingertips unconsciously picking at the texture of the wall.
"A letter came from home," Regulus spoke first, his voice calm and devoid of extra emotion.
Sirius's shoulders flinched almost imperceptibly, and his Adam's apple bobbed.
He had, of course, received letters from home; those heavy parchment envelopes were full of his mother Walburga's anger and accusations.
Every line questioned why he had betrayed the family, why he chose Gryffindor, and why he associated with Muggle-borns.
There were also letters from his father, Orion; those indeed lacked violent words but used subtle strokes to mention the family's future and the responsibilities of the Black family—those heavy expectations made him even more resistant.
He hadn't replied to a single one; at Hogwarts, he had found his own circle.
James's enthusiasm, Remus's gentleness, and Peter's submissiveness all made him feel as though he had escaped the oppression of Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Sirius was like a fish in water in Gryffindor, with friends, adventure, and freedom.
But the sensitivity and stubbornness inherent in the Black family never disappeared from his bones.
The word "family" remained a corner of his heart he was unwilling to touch, like a tiny thorn that occasionally throbbed with pain.
"They want you to come home for Christmas," Regulus added, his gaze falling on Sirius's face.
Sirius remained silent for a long time, the dust in the stone cracks falling away as he picked at them.
He looked up, his grey eyes meeting Regulus's, swirling with resistance and confusion, along with a trace of wavering that even he hadn't noticed.
He wanted to say "I'm not going back," but the words turned into a low inquiry as they reached his lips, his voice trembling slightly: "Go back? To be with those people?
Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott, Carrow… those lackeys of Lord Voldemort?"
His brow furrowed tightly, his nostrils flared slightly, and a clear expression of disgust appeared on his face.
"You're going, aren't you?" Sirius stared at him, his eyes filled with anger, disappointment, and a tiny bit of—perhaps—worry.
"You'll put on your dress robes, raise a glass, and chat and laugh with those Death Eaters, right?"
He had also received letters from Cousin Bella; those fanatical sentences, the praise for Lord Voldemort, and the obsession with pure-blood glory all made him feel suffocated.
He knew the Black family would have to make a choice sooner or later, and that choice was the path he despised most: using bloodlines to rank people and using violence to maintain order.
That wasn't glory at all; it was just a decaying shackle!
Regulus was silent for a moment as the winter sunlight filtered through the high corridor windows onto him, casting a long shadow on the floor.
He looked at the undisguised resistance in Sirius's eyes and knew in his heart that Sirius was destined never to look back.
But he didn't need to persuade him, nor did he want to; some paths must be walked alone, and some stances must be held by oneself.
His own existence was a signpost pushing Sirius toward the other path; only by letting Sirius completely cut ties with the old ways of the Black family could he preserve himself in the coming storm.
"Yes," Regulus nodded in confirmation, without the slightest ambiguity.
Sirius seemed to have expected it, yet he also seemed stung by the words.
His breath hitched for a beat, the bit of sarcastic smile on his lips vanished completely, replaced by an expression of almost weary numbness.
He took a half-step back, leaning against the wall again, his head slightly lowered as his black hair fell to cover his eyes.
"I'm not going back. That isn't my home."
"I know," Regulus's voice was flat. "I'm just relaying the family's message."
"Regulus," Sirius suddenly looked up at him, his tone intense. "Are you really going to take that path? To stand with those lunatics? To put on those damn black robes and wear that damn mask?
You're clearly so smart, you're clearly not like them, and you clearly see what they're doing—killing, persecuting, ruling everything with fear!"
Regulus looked at Sirius, this boy a year and a half older than him, who had now shed his flamboyant shell to reveal the inner edges that hadn't yet fully hardened.
"I am walking the path of the Black family," Regulus avoided the core issue, his tone still flat. "Just as you are walking the path of Gryffindor; we simply have different choices."
"That isn't the Black family's path; it's the path of destruction!" Sirius's voice rose, filled with urgency as he took a step forward.
"You think those people will tolerate the Black family? They only want obedient dogs! Once you have no utility left, they'll discard you like trash!"
Regulus watched his agitated state but did not respond.
He knew Sirius was speaking the truth, but let it be; this was the best arrangement.
Regulus reached out and lightly patted Sirius's shoulder. "Take care of yourself."
With that, he turned and left, his dark green robes leaving a lingering shadow in the corridor as he did not look back again.
Behind him, Sirius froze in place, his brow furrowed as the anger in his heart was inexplicably mixed with a messy confusion.
*Why?* Regulus clearly understood everything and clearly saw the madness of those people, so why did he still plunge headlong into it?
Regulus was no fool; on the contrary, he had been smart, even shrewd, since childhood, but it was precisely because of this that Sirius couldn't figure it out now.
Could he not see that the Black family was jumping into a fire pit?
Could he not see that the so-called pure-blood glory was just a front Voldemort used to win people over?
Was it for the family inheritance?
But Regulus never seemed like someone who cared about those things.
Was he brainwashed by their mother's pure-blood theory?
But he had dared to question his mother's views when he was a child.
Sirius suddenly realized that his understanding of Regulus had always remained on superficial labels like smart, eccentric, and quiet.
He didn't know what Regulus thought about late at night, he didn't know what he was looking at when he stared at the starry sky, and he certainly didn't know what purpose he held in choosing this path.
He only knew that from this moment on, he and Regulus had truly stepped onto two paths that would never converge again.
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