**July, 1972**
Sirius Black returned to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, after his first year at Hogwarts. He did not come back quietly.
He had changed. His hair was long, falling over his eyes in a rebellious curtain. The tailored robes were gone, replaced by Muggle jeans and a band t-shirt, an aesthetic clearly borrowed from James Potter.
He looked like everything a pure-blood wizard shouldn't be. He looked happy.
"James says Quidditch takes itself too seriously," Sirius remarked casually over dinner, stabbing a roasted potato. "He thinks we should be allowed to use prank spells during practice. Just for fun."
Walburga froze. Her fork hovered halfway to her mouth. "James? That Potter boy? I recall the family is pure-blooded, but their taste is... lacking."
"They have great taste," Sirius interrupted, grinning. "At least they speak like human beings, instead of walking encyclopedias of 'honor' and 'lineage'."
The air at the table grew thin.
Regulus quietly dissected his grilled fish. He observed his brother. There was a light in Sirius's eyes that the chandeliers of Grimmauld Place had never been able to kindle. It was the light of freedom.
*He's gone,* Regulus thought. *He's physically here, but he's already packed his bags.*
"And Remus," Sirius continued, oblivious or indifferent to the tension. "He's brilliant. A walking library. Knows more history than Binns. And Peter... he's a bit twitchy, but he's loyal."
"Enough!" Walburga slammed her hand on the table. "I do not wish to hear gossip about blood-traitors and half-breeds. Where are your report cards?"
"Upstairs." Sirius shrugged. "Passed everything. Outstanding in Flying. Exceeds Expectations in Defense. That's enough, isn't it?"
"Enough?" Walburga stood up, her chair screeching against the floor. "The heir to the House of Black does not aim for 'enough'! You should be perfect! You should be—"
"I am not the heir," Sirius said. He stood up too, matching her glare. "Regulus is the heir. You chose him a long time ago, didn't you?"
He pointed a finger at Regulus.
"Look at him," Sirius sneered. "Sitting there cutting his fish like he's performing surgery. He's the perfect little doll you wanted. So let me go."
He turned and stormed out of the dining room. Walburga moved to follow him, wand twitching, but Orion caught her wrist.
"Let him go," Orion said quietly. "Words spoken in anger are hard to retrieve."
Orion looked at his plate. He had seen this coming years ago. He glanced at Regulus, who was still eating.
Regulus finished his dinner in silence and went upstairs.
He found Sirius in the corridor on the second floor. His brother was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, staring out at the grim London street below.
"Do you think I'm unreasonable?" Sirius asked without turning around.
"I think you are happy," Regulus said.
Sirius paused. He turned around, surprise flickering in his eyes.
"I was," Sirius admitted softly. "At Hogwarts... in Gryffindor Tower... it's noisy. People do stupid things. They laugh. They feel alive. Unlike here."
He gestured to the dark, silent hallway. "This place is a magnificent tomb."
"There is treasure in tombs," Regulus said, "if you know where to dig."
Sirius shook his head. "I don't want treasure, Reg. I want life. I want sunlight. Even if it burns me."
He looked at his younger brother with a sudden intensity. "You know what's funny? The Potters are pure-bloods too. But they don't talk about blood. They asked James if he made friends. They asked if he was happy. They didn't ask if he upheld the family honor."
Regulus said nothing. He knew it was true.
"So, you have a home now," Regulus said.
Sirius's face softened. "Yeah. I have a home." Then his expression hardened again. "But you wouldn't understand. You chose the tomb."
He walked into his room and closed the door.
Regulus stood in the corridor, listening to the muffled sounds of his parents arguing downstairs.
*I understand, Sirius,* Regulus thought. *But your home is built on sand. When the war comes, being happy won't save you. Being powerful might.*
◈ ◈ ◈
**Late July, 1972**
The backyard of Grimmauld Place had been transformed. Orion stood at one end of a dueling strip, wand drawn.
"Hogwarts is more than a school," Orion said. "It is a microcosm of our world. There is rivalry. There is danger. You must know how to protect yourself."
He raised his wand. "Rules: Non-lethal spells only. Begin."
Orion didn't hold back. He slashed his wand.
*Expelliarmus.*
The spell was silent, fast, and aimed perfectly at Regulus's wrist.
Regulus didn't dodge. He didn't draw his wand. He simply raised his left hand, palm open.
The red jet of light hit an invisible wall two feet in front of him and shattered into harmless silver sparks.
A wandless, silent Shield Charm.
Orion raised an eyebrow. He increased the tempo. *Impedimenta. Locomotor Mortis. Petrificus Totalus.*
The spells flew in a rhythmic barrage.
Regulus stood his ground. He moved only his fingers, directing his will like a conductor. He didn't cast a full-body shield; that was wasteful. Instead, he manifested small, localized plates of force exactly where the spells would hit.
*Block. Block. Absorb. Deflect.*
Thirty seconds later, Orion lowered his wand. The garden was silent.
"You are manipulating magic directly with your will," Orion said. It wasn't a question. "You have bypassed the somatic components."
"Yes," Regulus said, lowering his hand. "Gestures and incantations are just training wheels. Direct manipulation is faster. More efficient."
"Who taught you this?"
"I figured it out," Regulus lied—or told a half-truth. It was the result of his cyclical training.
Orion stared at him. The look on his face was complicated—pride warring with apprehension. This was Auror-level control in an eleven-year-old boy.
"You are excellent, Regulus," Orion said finally. "Exceeding expectations."
"Thank you, Father."
Orion walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "But at Hogwarts... be a student. Do not be a prodigy. Genius attracts attention. And in these times, attention is dangerous."
"Understood. I will moderate my output."
Orion nodded. "Come with me."
He led Regulus down to the cellar, past the wine racks, to the family vault. He opened a small, concealed compartment that smelled of iron and blood.
He took out three items.
First, a silver ring engraved with the Black crest. "A replica," Orion explained. "It has no authority, but it is linked to the family wards. If a member of the House is in critical danger, the metal will heat up. It is a warning system."
Regulus took it. He slipped it onto his finger. It was cold. *A warning system for Sirius,* he realized.
Second, a notebook bound in black leather. It looked ordinary, but it felt warm, like living skin.
"Blood-bound," Orion said. "Whatever you write is encrypted. To anyone else, it will look like gibberish. If they try to force it, the pages will self-destruct."
Regulus looked up at his father. This was permission. Orion knew he was researching dangerous things, and he was giving him a safe place to hide them.
Third, a simple silver amulet holding a dark grey stone. The stone was pitted and rough, with a fusion crust.
"A meteorite," Orion said. "Ancestors brought it back from the North. It fell from the sky. We don't know what it does. It never gathers dust. It never gets cold."
Regulus took the amulet. The stone hummed against his skin. It felt... vast.
"I think it suits you," Orion said softly. "Because you are always looking in a different direction than the rest of us."
Orion squeezed his shoulder.
"Hogwarts is a small world, Regulus. But remember... there are worlds beyond worlds."