Late autumn, 1968. The last leaf fell from the beech tree in the courtyard of 12 Grimmauld Place.
Regulus was seven years old.
The past year of magic circulation exercises had shown remarkable results. His strength had increased somewhat, his constitution was noticeably stronger, and his magical perception was keener and his control more refined.
Sirius, meanwhile, was eight, and his rebellion had entered a new phase.
He was no longer satisfied with just talking back; he had begun to resist systematically.
When Walburga made him recite the family tree, he deliberately mispronounced names. When she made him practice etiquette, he transfigured teacups into frogs. When she made him wear formal dress robes, he tore the collar.
During one dinner, Sirius openly questioned pure-blood theory. Walburga was furious. Regulus smoothed things over, but Sirius saw this as sucking up to their parents, and conversations between the brothers grew fewer and fewer.
Sometimes Regulus would meet Sirius in the hallway, and the look in Sirius's eyes was complex: anger at betrayal, incomprehension, and a touch of disappointment.
He thinks I chose the family, that I betrayed him. But in a way, he is right.
On the first weekend of December, Malfoy visited as scheduled. Everyone knew the real purpose: Malfoy represented Voldemort and had come to probe the Black family's stance.
Abraxas Malfoy was fifty-five, well-preserved, with long silver-gray hair tied neatly behind his head.
He wore dark green robes with complex serpentine patterns embroidered in silver thread on the cuffs, and held an ebony cane topped with a dark green black opal.
"Walburga, you look well," his voice was smooth and cultured. "Orion, long time no see. Is work at the Wizengamot going smoothly?"
Orion sat at the head of the table, his tone calm. "As always. What has kept you busy lately, Mr. Malfoy?"
Abraxas lifted his teacup and blew on it gently. "Thinking about the future. The future of the wizarding world, and our future."
Lucius hadn't come. Regulus surmised he might be preparing for a more important occasion—formally joining the Death Eaters or participating in Voldemort's core affairs on behalf of the family.
"That Lord admires the Black family very much," Abraxas cut to the chase. "He says that among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Black family's bloodline is the oldest, purest, and most steadfast."
"Steadfast?" Orion asked.
"In maintaining tradition," Abraxas put down his teacup. "Many families are wavering nowadays. The Potters openly befriend Muggle-borns. The Weasleys have become almost synonymous with blood traitors. The Longbottoms, though pure-blood, are too soft.
Only the Black family remains consistent. That Lord believes such a family should occupy its rightful place in the new order."
Walburga leaned forward slightly. "Does That Lord... have any specific plans?"
Abraxas's voice rose slightly. "Revival! purging the weak elements in the Ministry, rebuilding the authority of the Wizengamot, standardizing magical education.
Most importantly, establishing the dominance of pure-blood wizards and returning the wizarding world to its proper order."
"Sounds ambitious," Orion said.
"It is foresight!" Abraxas corrected. "That Lord possesses not just ambition, but power, knowledge, and the determination to change reality.
He has already gathered a group of like-minded people. The Lestranges, the Notts, the Carrows... have all expressed their support."
"Support for what?" Sirius suddenly interjected.
Walburga frowned. "Sirius, when adults are speaking—"
"I'm asking for the truth," Sirius stared intently at Abraxas. "Support him in doing what? Killing people? Persecuting Muggle-borns? Or turning everyone into his slaves?"
"Sirius!" Walburga's voice became shrill.
But Abraxas raised a hand to stop her. He looked at Sirius, his eyes devoid of anger.
He said, "It is good for young people to have questions. That Lord seeks to establish not tyranny, but order.
Under the new order, everyone will find their place. Pure-blood wizards are born to lead the wizarding world. Half-bloods and Muggle-borns can serve, while Muggles need to be managed."
"Why?" Sirius stood up excitedly, shouting his rebuttal. "Why do you get to decide who leads and who serves?"
Abraxas replied as if it were obvious, "By power, by a thousand years of heritage, by the choice of magic itself. Pure-blood wizards have stronger, more stable magic. This is a fact."
"I don't think—" Sirius started to continue.
Abraxas interrupted him, his tone gentle. "What you think is not important. The rules by which the world operates will not change because of an eight-year-old child.
When you grow up and see the chaos of the wizarding world with your own eyes, see Muggles' fear and persecution of magic, see how pure-blood families are marginalized, perhaps you will understand."
"What if I never understand?" Sirius's eyes were full of stubborn defiance.
"Then you will have two choices," Abraxas smiled. "Accept that you don't understand but follow the rules, or be excluded by them."
This was a naked threat. Sirius's face went pale, but he gritted his teeth and didn't back down.
At this moment, Regulus spoke.
"Mr. Malfoy is right," his voice was calm. "Order requires power to maintain. If pure-blood wizards indeed possess stronger magical talent, then our leadership of the wizarding world could bring about a more stable and powerful society."
Everyone looked at him.
Walburga's eyes lit up. Orion's expression remained unchanged.
And Sirius—he stared at Regulus, his gaze shifting from shock to disbelief, and finally to disappointment.
"You think so too?" Sirius's voice trembled slightly, as if seeking final confirmation.
Regulus met his gaze. "I am stating facts. If pure-blood wizards have stronger magical talent, then this is reasonable."
Sirius was about to retort, even more furious now, when Walburga stood up and scolded sharply, "Sirius, go to your room, now!"
Sirius looked at his mother, at his father, at his brother, and finally at Abraxas. He turned and left.
After Sirius left, the atmosphere in the living room relaxed somewhat.
Abraxas picked up his teacup again. "The future of the wizarding world is not just in Britain. Europe, America, Asia... That Lord's influence is expanding.
Families who support him will have the opportunity to participate in the global reconstruction of magical order. That means resources, knowledge, and power far beyond what the current Ministry can provide."
Regulus couldn't help but want to scoff. Voldemort's ambition isn't small, aiming globally, yet he can't even handle Britain.
Orion was silent for a moment before saying, "We need time to consider."
Abraxas stood up. "Of course. That Lord never forces anyone. There will be a small gathering in Wiltshire next month where several like-minded families will exchange ideas. If the Black family is interested, I can extend an invitation."
Walburga looked at her husband, expectation in her eyes.
Orion nodded. "We will consider it."
After Malfoy left, Walburga immediately turned to Orion. "We must attend. Abraxas is right; this is an opportunity. The Black family should take a leading position in the new era—"
Orion interrupted her, his voice weary. "Walburga, this matter requires caution. Everything sounds wonderful, but what is the cost?
His 'purging of weak elements' might include our friends, even family."
"Andromeda is no longer family," Walburga said coldly.
"And Sirius. If his rebellion continues..."
"Then let him go!" Walburga's voice suddenly rose. "The Black family does not lack for a rebellious son; we have Regulus."
She looked at her second son, her gaze fervent. "You spoke very well today. Rational, logical, considering the big picture. That is what the heir of the Black family should be like."
Regulus lowered his head and did not respond.
...
In the attic laboratory, Regulus didn't light a lamp. He sat in the darkness, recalling everything from the afternoon.
Abraxas's words revealed several key pieces of information: Voldemort's power had already exceeded Britain and was expanding globally.
Voldemort was tempting pure-blood families with a future order, promising power and resources.
Voldemort's methods included 'purging'—a word that sounded mild, but he knew it would mean pure violence.
Except for himself, no one knew that Voldemort would ultimately fail, and this inevitable result was driven by many accidents.
He needed power.