In the autumn of 1962, Regulus was one and a half years old, and Siriuswas three.
Sirius's side of the nursery had become a chaotic mess, with toy broomstick parts, biting magical spinning tops, and a box of metal puzzles made by Goblins scattered across the floor.
In contrast, Regulus's corner was always tidy; a few picture books and a motionless stuffed Kneazle sat on a dark blue rug. It used to move, but Sirius had broken it.
That afternoon, Kreacher was cleaning the windows with magic, his ears perked to listen to the movements of his two young masters, his eyes watching them from the corner of his vision.
Sirius had just brought a pocket broomstick from Orion's study; it was a miniature model of a real broomstick, a teaching tool used to demonstrate the principles of the Flight Charm.
"Watch closely, Regulus!" Sirius shouted to get Regulus's attention. "This is a broomstick! A real Wizard's broomstick! I can make it float!"
He placed the broomstick on the rug, stepped back two paces, and took a deep breath, his small face beginning to turn red from the effort.
"Up!" he shouted, his hands making a lifting motion in coordination.
The broomstick twitched slightly, one end lifting about five degrees before falling back to its original spot.
"Up! Up!" Sirius tried twice more. This time, the broomstick rolled over halfway but failed to take flight.
Kreacher held his breath; he knew the broomstick had a Restriction Curseplaced on it. Only someone who understood that the Levitation Charmrequired imagining weight disappearing could activate it.
This was a tool Orion used to test the children's magical comprehension. Sirius thought he had stolen it, but that was exactly what Orion intended.
Sirius clearly didn't understand yet.
"Why won't it work?" He kicked the rug huffily. "Father can make it fly!"
Regulus moved then, crawling up from the rug faster than usual. He walked over to the broomstick and sat down with a plop.
Sirius looked at him and curled his lip in boredom. "You want to try too? You can't even talk yet."
Regulus ignored him, simply extending his right index finger and hovering it above the broomstick.
Then, with a downward tap of his finger, the broomstick rose slowly. When it reached Regulus's eye level, it hovered in the air, perfectly still.
Sirius's mouth dropped open involuntarily, and the rag Kreacher was controlling fell to the floor.
With a gentle press of Regulus's finger, the broomstick descended slowly and landed back in its original position, not a hair's breadth from where it had been.
Sirius stammered, "You... how did you..."
He was completely baffled now. Why could his younger brother do something he couldn't?
Regulus turned his head and, in a childish but clear voice, spoke his first complete sentence: "Think, then do."
"Think what?" Sirius asked instinctively.
"Think it is light," Regulus pointed at the broomstick. "Don't think it is heavy."
"But it is heavy!"
"Think it is not heavy."
"How is that possible?"
Regulus tilted his head, seemingly pondering how to explain. Then he patted the rug beside him and said to Sirius, "Sit."
Sirius sat down obediently, completely ignoring why his brother could speak so clearly the moment he opened his mouth.
Regulus picked up a fallen leaf that had drifted in through the window, placed it in his palm, and said, "It is light."
"Right."
"Think it is heavy."
Sirius stared at the leaf, trying hard to imagine it being as heavy as a stone.
But what happened?
"No," Regulus said, as if knowing what Sirius was thinking. "It's not thinking 'it is as heavy as something else.' It's forgetting it is light. Then, it is heavy."
Sirius frowned. This was too abstract; he had never imagined things this way. He scratched his head, his face full of confusion.
Regulus stood up unsteadily and returned to his corner, leaving Sirius to struggle with himself.
He had finished his teaching, but such a realization was still too early for a three-and-a-half-year-old Sirius.
But he was different. For understanding and perception, age was never a limitation.
After dinner, Orion called Kreacher to the study.
"That teaching broomstick," Orion asked, knitting his brows as he sat behind the desk. "Regulus made it levitate?"
"Yes... yes, Master." Kreacher twisted his tea towel nervously. "Young Master Regulus made it fly. One foot high, very steady."
"He spoke?"
"He said a few words." Kreacher repeated what Regulus had said to Sirius.
After listening, Orion remained silent for a long time. The portraits of ancestors on the study walls pretended to look elsewhere, but their ears were all perked up.
"From now on," Orion finally said, "whatever Regulus wants to do, as long as it isn't dangerous, let him do it. But watch him, record it, and report to me every day before dinner."
"Yes, Master!"
...December 1963, Number 12, Grimmauld Place was preparing for Christmas.
Sirius Black was just a month past his fourth birthday, at an age where he felt like the center of the universe.
He stood in the middle of the drawing room, hands on his hips, declaring to a half-decorated Christmas tree, "I'm going to make the bells on the tree ring by themselves!"
Walburga leaned out from the second floor. "Sirius, don't cause trouble. Kreacher, hang the silver baubles higher. They were too low last year; Andromeda almost hit her head."
"Yes, Mistress." Kreacher extended his long, thin fingers, manipulating the silver baubles to rise higher.
Regulus sat on the thick rug by the fireplace, as quiet as a potted fern in the corner.
A soul from another world had been in this body for three years. He had long since accepted the reality: this was a magical world, and he was Regulus Black, the tragic character who died young in the original story.
But he didn't intend to repeat the tragedy. He had grander goals: the stars, the universe, realms never touched upon in the original work.
As for Sirius?
Let him be, Regulus thought. After all, he would eventually become an emissary of justice, a hero against Lord Voldemort.
As long as I'm alive, the resources of the House of Black will be my springboard. There's no need to compete with a four-year-old.
"Regulus! Watch closely!" Sirius's voice pulled him back to reality.
Sirius took a deep breath, staring at a golden bell at the top of the tree. Once again, his small face turned bright red as he made a grasping motion with his hands.
magic began to surge.
"Move!" Sirius shouted.
Regulus's magic perception was exceptionally keen, like having an extra sensory system. He could see Sirius's magic surging, and it was about to spiral out of control.
Bang!
The entire Christmas tree began to shake violently.
The star ornament at the top fell off, hitting Kreacher on the head. The hanging candy canes knocked against each other, and the glass baubles jingled.
A string of magical lights at the top that changed colors on their own suddenly began to flash frantically, at a frequency like a seizure.
"Stop! Stop!" Walburga rushed down the stairs.
But it was too late.
Sirius was frightened by his own magic. He wanted to stop, but he couldn't. The young child's face was full of panic as he waved his hands in vain, which only made the magical output more unstable.
Boom!
The three floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side of the drawing room shattered simultaneously.
Glass shards sprayed outward, but fortunately, they hit a Protection Charmand were slowed to a standstill; otherwise, the entire street outside would have suffered.
The chandelier swung wildly, its crystal pendants clashing together and making a piercing noise.
"Ah!"
The portraits screamed in unison, with Phineas Nigellus shouting the loudest: "Barbarians! The Blacks have truly fallen!"
Walburga raised her wand, and a powerful Calming Charm hit Sirius.
He stumbled back a few steps and fell onto his bottom, staring blankly at his hands.
Walburga's expression was a sight to behold—first anger, but then even more pride.
"The magic is abundant," she said in a peculiar tone. "But the direction was wrong. Next time, aim at something useless, like those ugly vases your father collects."
Sirius blinked, not quite understanding; he had expected a scolding.
Regulus closed his book.
This was the trouble with Wizard children, he sighed. magic fluctuated with emotions, like a pressure cooker without a safety valve, ready to explode at any moment.
Kreacher began to clean up the mess. Walburga gave Sirius a complicated look before turning to go back upstairs.
Sirius sat on the rug, looking at his hands, then at the broken windows, and finally at Regulus.
"I did it," he whispered.
Regulus nodded. "Impressive."