In July 1972, Sirius Black finished his first year at Hogwarts and returned to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
He had changed a lot.
Not only had he grown his hair long, but he also wore Muggle jeans and T-shirts he had learned about from James Potter, looking nothing like a pure-blood Wizard should.
"James says Quidditch should allow some harmless prank spells to make it more interesting," he said casually during dinner.
Walburga set down her knife and fork. "James? That boy from the Potter Family? I remember their bloodline is pure enough, but their taste..."
"Their taste is great," Sirius interrupted. "At least the people in their family speak like human beings instead of constantly droning on about honor, bloodline, and duty."
The air at the dining table suddenly froze.
Regulus quietly cut the grilled fish on his plate while observing Sirius.
There was something bright in Sirius's eyes, a light that had never appeared in Grimmauld Place—perhaps it was freedom.
He knew that Sirius was about to leave this home.
"And Remus," Sirius continued, as if oblivious to his mother's expression, "he's practically a walking Library. He knows all the details of the History of Magic that the teachers never mentioned. Peter is a bit timid, but he's a good person..."
"Enough!" Walburga's voice was icy. "I don't want to hear about the trivialities of those friends of yours. Where is your report card from Hogwarts?"
"Upstairs. I passed everything, Outstanding in Flying Class, and Exceeds Expectations in Defense Against the Dark Arts." Sirius shrugged, completely indifferent to his mother's attitude. "It's enough."
"Enough?" Walburga stood up, infuriated. "An heir of the Black Familyshould be outstanding in every subject! Should become a prefect! Should—"
"I'm not the heir," Sirius stood up as well, confronting his mother head-on. "Regulus is. You chose him long ago, didn't you?"
He looked at his younger brother. Regulus met his gaze without speaking.
"Look at him," Sirius pointed at Regulus. "Sitting up straight, cutting fish as if he's performing a Potion experiment. He's already prepared to become the kind of Black you want, so just leave me alone, alright?"
He turned and left the dining room. Walburga wanted to chase after him, but Orion held her hand down.
"Let him go," Orion said. "Once some things are said, they can't be taken back."
He had anticipated this day years ago. Regulus had contributed much to this outcome, yet Orion had never stopped it.
Regulus finished his dinner and went upstairs. At the corner of the staircase, he encountered Sirius, who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his jeans pockets, looking out at the dim street.
"Do you think I've gone too far?" Sirius didn't look back.
"I think you are happy." Regulus shook his head slightly.
Sirius paused for a moment, then turned to look at him.
"At Hogwarts, I am happy," Sirius admitted. "Gryffindor Tower is always noisy, there's always someone doing something stupid, always someone laughing. Unlike here—"
He looked around the dim corridor. "It's like a magnificent tomb."
"There are treasures in tombs as well," Regulus hinted obscurely, "if you know how to find them."
All tragedies stem from a lack of power, yet Sirius never thought of seeking power until his death.
"I don't want treasures from a tomb," Sirius shook his head. "I want a life in the sunshine, even if it's brief."
He looked at his brother. "Do you know what the most ridiculous part is? James's parents, the Potters—they're pure-bloods too, but they don't go around talking about bloodlines all day long."
They care about whether James is happy, if he's made friends, and if he's learning things he's interested in—not whether he can uphold the family glory."
Regulus remained silent. He knew this was true; although the Potter Family was pure-blood, they had always been portrayed as open-minded and normal in the original books.
"So you have a home now," Regulus said with a hint of emotion.
Sirius's expression softened slightly. "Yes, I have a home."
Then his face hardened again. "But you wouldn't understand. You've already chosen this place."
He walked back to his room, and the door closed softly.
Regulus stood in the corridor, listening to the faint sound of Walburga's complaints to Orion drifting up from downstairs.
I understand, but I won't make that choice. Your home is Gryffindor, the Potter Family, but how long can that protect you? And can you protect your home?
When Lord Voldemort truly rises, when the war begins, and when Muggle-born friends become targets, you will of course choose to resist.
Unfortunately, you have no power; you can't protect anything.
He shook his head, stopped thinking about it, and turned back to his room.
At the end of July, Orion set up a simple dueling ground in the backyard to test Regulus's combat abilities.
"Hogwarts is not just a school," he said. "There is competition, conflict, and hidden struggles. You need to know how to protect yourself."
"The rule: use only non-harmful spells. Begin."
Orion didn't go easy just because his opponent was an eleven-year-old child. He raised his wand, and the first silent Expelliarmus was fast and precise, aimed straight at Regulus's wrist.
Regulus didn't dodge, nor did he have a wand. He simply raised his left hand and opened his palm.
The red spell struck an invisible barrier half a meter away from him, sending off silver sparks.
A silent, wandless Shield Charm.
Orion's eyebrows shot up. He continued his attack—Impedimenta, Leg-Locker Curse, Petrificus Totalus. Spells flew from different angles, their frequency gradually increasing.
Regulus still didn't move. He stood in place, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, only occasionally adjusting the angle of his fingers. Every spell was precisely intercepted just before it hit—some were deflected, some dissipated, and some were absorbed.
He didn't even use a single Shield Charm to cover his whole body; that would be too taxing and easily broken by continuous attacks.
He cast multiple miniature Shield Charms in succession, generating them instantly where needed and making them vanish just as quickly once their task was done.
Thirty seconds later, Orion stopped.
"You're using your consciousness to directly control magic, bypassing the casting process." His voice was full of astonishment.
His usually steady tone faltered slightly; such a technique was something few even among elite Aurors could achieve.
Yet his second son, only eleven years old, was already able to do it with ease.
"Yes," Regulus nodded in admission. "Without the need for incantations and gestures as intermediaries, the response is faster and the consumption is lower."
"Who taught you?"
"I figured it out myself," Regulus said. This was actually a byproduct of his magic guidance circulation.
Orion was silent for a long time. He looked at his son with a complex gaze—surprise, pride, and a hint of worry.
Finally, he said, "You are very exceptional, Regulus. You've exceeded my expectations."
"Thank you." Regulus bowed his head slightly.
Orion approached and patted his shoulder. "You will achieve extraordinary things, but at Hogwarts, you only need to be an outstanding student. You don't need to appear abnormal. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Regulus nodded. "I will control how much I show."
After the assessment, Orion took him to the deepest part of the family vault, a more secretive inheritance chamber. There were only a few Blackwooden shelves here.
Orion took out three items.
The first was a family ring, made of silver, with the Black Family crestengraved on its face. It wasn't the authentic one for the head of the house, but a replica.
"It has no head-of-house authority," Orion handed it to Regulus, "but it can sense the family's protective magic. If you wear it and another member of the Black Family is in mortal danger, the ring will heat up. The higher the temperature, the greater the danger."
Regulus took the ring, knowing its significance.
Though it granted no authority, it was a symbol of the head of the house in itself, representing duty and responsibility—and that duty was Sirius.
The second item was a magic notebook with a cover made of some kind of Black leather that felt warm to the touch. It had no lock; only those of Blackblood could open it.
"Created with the blood of ancestors and secret arts," Orion said. "Anything written in it will be automatically encrypted. Only the author can fully decipher it; others will only see chaotic symbols. If an attempt is made to force a decryption, the contents will self-destruct."
This was a tacit approval. Orion knew Regulus would surely study some dangerous things; he didn't stop him, but instead provided a secure recording tool.
The third item was a meteorite amulet, a simple silver ornament with a small piece of dark gray stone inlaid in the center, its surface bearing the texture of a fusion crust.
"This was brought back from Northern Europe by a Black ancestor. It's said to come from beyond the heavens. For centuries, no one has figured out what magical effect it has, except that it never gathers dust and always maintains this temperature."
Regulus took the amulet. The stone felt smooth and slightly warm, as if life were flowing within it.
"I think it suits you," Orion said, "because the place your eyes look toward is different from ours."
Finally, his father placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hogwarts is a small world, but you must remember that there are worlds beyond the world."