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At 10:47 a.m. on September 1st, 1972, in front of the wall between Platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross Station, Regulus Black came to a stop.
The eleven-year-old boy was tall for his age, slender in build, dressed in an immaculately pressed dark green robe. A Black family crest pin was fastened neatly at his collar, polished to a muted gleam.
His hair was a pure black, carrying the Black family's distinctive natural curl, and his grey eyes moved calmly as they surveyed the scene around him.
In his left hand, he carried a brand-new dragon hide suitcase, the most expensive one, because Walburga had insisted. In his right hand was a cage holding a snowy owl.
Inside the cage, the owl stood quietly on its perch, amber eyes peering out through the bars as it observed its surroundings. Unlike the other owls, it didn't beat its wings in agitation, only turning its head now and then with composed curiosity.
Regulus drew in a slow breath.
Beyond this wall lay another world, one he had read about for ten years, memorized in textbooks and histories, and was now about to step into with his own feet.
He moved forward.
The sensation was like passing through a curtain of warm mist and then sound rushed in all at once.
It was a noise full of life and chaos: Owls hooted in a clashing, off key chorus, cats yowled unhappily from their baskets, voices piled atop one another in a dizzying surge.
There were shrieks as toads leapt out of unfastened pockets, last-second parental warnings barked in hurried tones, and children shouting so excitedly their voices cracked.
Platform Nine and Three Quarters (Platform 9¾)!
The Hogwarts Express lay along the tracks like a massive scarlet beast at rest, its engine hissing as it released thick white steam that rolled up beneath the station roof, gathering into rolling clouds.
Students surged toward the train doors in waves, robes of every color blending together into a moving tapestry.
Regulus remained where he was, his gaze sweeping over the platform.
He saw the Potters: Charlus and Euphemia Potter stood not far away, wearing the gentle, ordinary smiles of parents sending their child off to school, warmth and pride clear in their expressions.
Around them stood four figures.
James Potter was at the front, brown hair sticking up in every direction as if he had just been hit by a small hurricane, his glasses perched crookedly on the bridge of his nose.
He was waving his arms dramatically, demonstrating something exaggerated to a thin, frail looking boy holding a worn old trunk—that was Remus Lupin.
Peter Pettigrew stood half a step behind James, short and round faced, his eyes constantly darting about as if afraid of missing something.
Sirius Black was leaning against a stack of luggage.
At thirteen, he had grown taller since the previous summer, his shoulders beginning to take on the shape of adolescence.
He was wearing the Muggle jeans Walburga loathed with a passion, washed pale with age and frayed at the knees. On top was a plain dark shirt and draped loosely over it was a Gryffindor school robe.
The robe had clearly been altered; the silver trim at the collar had been dyed red and gold, and faint traces of an embroidered lion still clung to the cuffs.
James said something, and Sirius threw his head back and laughed, a genuine, unguarded sound that came from deep in his chest. One hand rested casually on Remus's shoulder while the other gestured animatedly as he spoke.
Then his gaze swept across the platform, landed on Regulus, and the laughter faded naturally, without drama.
He did not look away, but neither did he nod or offer any sign of acknowledgment. He simply watched, silently, from twenty feet away, with the noise of the crowd flowing between them.
Then James saw him too.
"Hey!" James shouted loudly, his voice cutting cleanly through the platform's din. "Would you look at that! The Black family's little venomous snake, here early to get familiar with the territory?"
The shout immediately drew attention from nearby students and parents, and for a moment, countless eyes turned toward them.
Sirius placed a hand on James's shoulder. The gesture was light, almost casual, but James shut his mouth at once. Sirius didn't say a word. He only shook his head, then turned, pulled open the carriage door, and boarded the train first.
James followed after him, with Remus and Peter coming right behind. Just before stepping inside, James glanced back at Regulus one last time, his expression carrying an uneasy mix of curiosity and hostility.
Regulus lifted his trunk and walked toward the middle of the train; James Potter was not worth bothering with.
The interior of the Hogwarts Express was more spacious than it appeared from the outside, a textbook application of the Undetectable Extension Charm.
The corridor was laid with deep red carpet, with sliding doors lining both sides. Most of them were already shut, voices and laughter spilling out from behind the panels.
Regulus moved quietly down the corridor.
As he passed the third carriage, one door stood open. He caught a brief glimpse of the scene inside: James had already taken off his outer robe and was trying to stick a Chocolate Frog card to the ceiling of the compartment.
Peter was bent over his trunk, fiddling with something out of sight. Remus sat by the window, a battered copy of A History of Magic resting in his hands.
Sirius sat opposite him, one leg propped up on an empty seat, idly turning a Golden Snitch model he had acquired from who knew where.
Sirius looked up, his gaze passing straight through the open doorway and meeting Regulus's eyes.
Then he lowered his head again and continued rolling the Snitch between his fingers, as if he had seen nothing at all.
Regulus continued walking forward.
After passing several more carriages, most of them already full, he spotted two familiar figures near the seventh carriage.
A red-haired girl with green eyes and faint freckles across her face. She wore a simple black robe, plain but freshly cleaned, with a modest silver brooch fastened at the collar: Lily Evans, a second year.
Beside her stood a black-haired boy with greasy hair and a sallow complexion. His robe was clearly a second-hand one that had been altered to fit, with the cuffs worn thin from use: Severus Snape, also a second year.
They were speaking in low voices. When Snape talked, he leaned forward, words spilling out quickly, his fingers occasionally tracing shapes in the air. Lily listened with focused attention, nodding now and then.
As Regulus passed by, Snape looked up and glanced at him.
His gaze dropped to the trunk in Regulus's hand, then to the snowy owl inside its cage, and finally to the dark green traveling robe, cut to fit perfectly, its fabric unmistakably expensive.
Snape's lips pressed together slightly, and a flicker of hostility mixed with wariness flashed through his eyes.
Then he looked away and continued speaking to Lily.
Regulus reached the ninth carriage, which was completely empty.
He lifted his trunk onto the luggage rack, slid the owl cage beneath the seat opposite him, then sat down and took a notebook from inside his robe.
He flipped to the most recent page:
The relationship between Ancient Runes variants and magical flow efficiency.
Below it lay a dense spread of complex symbols, formulas, and diagrams. Some were standard Ancient Runes, but most were modified versions of his own design, strokes streamlined, structures refined, the paths of magical transmission optimized for smoother circulation and less loss.
He took out his quill, dipped it into the ink, and began recording the thoughts he had organized through the night before.
The train rolled out of London's suburbs. Outside the window, crowded buildings gradually gave way to scattered farmhouses, then to wide, stretching fields. The sky hung low and gray, clouds pressing down heavily, as though rain could fall at any moment.
The compartment door was suddenly yanked open and slammed against the wall with a dull thud.
Regulus lifted his head only after finishing a particularly complex curve.
In truth, he didn't need to look; he had already sensed who it was before the person even reached the door.
"Well, would you look at that!" James Potter's voice was full of performative exaggeration. "The Black family's precious little lord, all alone in here. What's this, studying Dark arts?"
Regulus did not react, simply watched the performance in silence.
Despite James Potter being a second year, to Regulus, he was no different from a small child throwing a tantrum.
James stepped into the compartment, Remus and Peter following behind him. Remus looked uneasy, his eyebrows knit with concern, while Peter gripped the doorframe tightly, tense as if ready to bolt at any second.
"I'm talking to you!" James moved closer, leaning down until he was right in front of Regulus, his tone aggressive. "I hear you're always bullying Sirius at home. Playing the perfect little good kid, stealing all the attention?"
"James," Remus said quietly. "Don't."
"Don't what?" James straightened up, his hand already slipping toward the inside pocket of his robe, fingers brushing his wand.
Regulus found it faintly amusing. He had no idea how Sirius had described him to his friends, for them to actually believe that he bullied him.
"James!"
Sirius's voice came from the corridor. He appeared in the doorway, his breathing uneven, as if he had hurried over.
He looked at James and said, "I told you not to come."
"I'm just taking a look!" James shot back, clearly unconvinced. "It's not like he's going to bite anyone—"
At that moment, two more people rushed over.
Lily Evans and Severus Snape.
Snape glanced into the compartment, taking in the scene, a faint curve of mockery lifting the corner of his mouth. "Lively as ever. Potter picking on first years again?"
James spun around sharply. "None of your business, Snivellus!"
Then he noticed Lily Evans standing just behind Snape, and his tone turned even nastier. "You again! Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, Evans!"
Snape's expression darkened instantly, and his hand also reached for his wand.
Lily grabbed his arm. "Severus, don't!"
But James was faster. "Expelliarmus!"
A streak of red light shot toward Snape.
The compartment was narrow, the distance between them less than ten feet. The spell crossed the space almost instantly.
Regulus's wand slid into his left hand without conscious thought. He made a small, precise movement, casual and effortless, without any dramatic flourish.
The spell stopped.
The red light solidified in mid-air. The Disarming Charm now looked like a glowing red ribbon suspended in space, one end still connected to the tip of James's wand, the other hanging half an inch from Snape's chest, completely motionless.
The entire compartment fell into a dead silence.
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[CHAPTER END]