The wards of the Black Manor shimmered against my arrival, old and aristocratic — layers of ancestral magic stacked upon centuries of paranoia. A whisper of intent was enough to let me through; Orion had long since keyed my magical signature into the wards, a gesture of friendship forged in the days when we first dreamt of reshaping the world together.
The corridors were cold, proud things — portraits murmuring half-forgotten curses as I passed. I could feel the pulse of the family magic in the air, dark and old, humming like restrained thunder. Orion and Walburga were away for the evening, which suited me perfectly. I had not come for them.
I had come for their sons.
Sirius and Regulus waited in the drawing room, two young boys with the unmistakable air of their bloodline — the sharp posture of nobility, the calculating glint in their eyes. Sirius, even at this age, already carried rebellion like a flame in his chest, while Regulus watched him quietly, weighing every word like a strategist in miniature.
When I stepped into the room, both straightened instinctively. Respect was something bred into the Black family like bone.
"Uncle Tom," Sirius greeted — the name they'd been taught to use, though the title meant more in symbolism than blood.
"Boys," I said with a faint smile, lowering myself into one of the ornate chairs. "Your father speaks highly of you. Says you've both begun your magical studies early."
Regulus nodded first. "Father says it's important that we understand our heritage. That the Blacks must always remain strong."
I leaned forward slightly, my eyes narrowing with quiet amusement. "And what does strength mean to you, Regulus?"
He hesitated, then answered carefully, "To never show weakness. To protect our blood and family name."
Sirius rolled his eyes, muttering, "Father's words, not his."
I chuckled softly. "Good. Question even the words you're raised on, Sirius. It's the mark of a mind that won't be chained."
They both looked at me with curiosity — the kind that always blooms in young, impressionable minds when faced with power they don't yet understand. That was when I handed them each a small stack of parchment — notes written in my elegant script, filled with simplified concepts on wards, curses, and magical theory. The kind of knowledge most pure-bloods wouldn't share with children.
"These," I said, "are lessons that your textbooks will never teach you. They're meant to open your eyes, not to corrupt them. I want you to learn why magic behaves as it does — not just how to wave a wand and recite an incantation."
Regulus' eyes widened slightly. "Father said we weren't ready for advanced magic."
I smiled thinly. "Your father is a wise man. But wisdom is not the same as foresight. The world is changing faster than even he can imagine."
Sirius tilted his head. "Changing how?"
I folded my hands. "The muggles — the non-magical — have just ended their second great war. You've heard of it, I'm sure. They created weapons capable of annihilating entire cities in moments. Nuclear fire. They are clever, inventive, and dangerous… and they outnumber us by billions."
Regulus frowned, his small brow creasing. "But… wizards are stronger. We have magic."
"Yes," I said quietly. "But what is strength when it's surrounded by numbers so vast they blot out the sky? One day they will see us — not as myths, not as old stories — but as threats. They will point their guns, their bombs, their armies at us. And when that day comes, do you think the Ministry will be ready to protect you? To protect your family?"
Sirius looked uncertain now. "So what should we do?"
I leaned back, my voice calm, measured, and laced with conviction. "We must rule them before they destroy us. Not as tyrants, but as shepherds. Muggles cannot control their violence — they've proved that time and again. It is our duty, as those who hold true power, to ensure balance. To shape the world into one where magic can survive without fear."
The words hung in the air like a quiet storm.
"That's… not what Father says," Regulus murmured.
I smiled faintly. "Your father believes in the purity of blood. That's his shield. But I believe in the purity of purpose. A wizard's worth is not his ancestry — it's his strength, his understanding, his will to see the truth of the world. Blood is only the beginning. What matters is how far you're willing to reach."
The room was silent for a moment. Even the portraits seemed to listen.
I reached out, gently resting a hand on each boy's shoulder. "You two are the next generation of a proud house. You will see things even your parents cannot imagine. Remember this: the world is built by those who prepare for the storm before it breaks."
Regulus nodded slowly, eyes filled with thought. Sirius looked conflicted — intrigued, but uncertain. That was fine. Seeds rarely bloom the day they're planted.
As I stood, I added softly, "Study those notes. Learn them well. When the time comes, you will understand what I'm trying to build. And if you do… you'll have a place in the world that is to come."
With that, I turned toward the door, the air around me bending as my apparition magic stirred.
"Uncle Tom!" Sirius called. "Are muggles really that dangerous?"
I paused, half in shadow. "Yes, Sirius," I said quietly. "And the most dangerous thing about them is not their weapons… it's that they believe they're the heroes of every story they write."
Then I vanished into the darkness, leaving behind two boys — one destined to fight me, and the other destined to die in my name.