August 31, 1971. The atmosphere at the dinner table at 12 Grimmauld Place was heavy.
Tomorrow, Sirius was going to Hogwarts. Walburga had been preparing for a week.
"Remember," she said for the tenth time, "you represent the Black family. When you get on the train, sit in the Slytherin compartment. Do not associate with those—"
Sirius's voice wasn't loud. "I won't go to Slytherin."
Walburga's knife and fork froze in mid-air. "What did you say?"
"I won't go to Slytherin," Sirius repeated, staring at the roast lamb chop on his plate. "I'm going to Gryffindor."
The dining table fell into silence.
Even the ancestral portraits on the walls stopped their whispering. Phineas Nigellus widened his eyes in his frame, mouth agape like a dehydrated fish.
Orion slowly put down his wine glass. "The Sorting Hat considers the student's wishes, but it also considers bloodline and traits. The Black family has been in Slytherin for five hundred years."
"Then I'll break that streak," Sirius said stubbornly. "I don't want to spend seven years with a bunch of snakes."
"Snakes?" Walburga's voice began to tremble. "That is where your family has been for generations! That is glory!"
"That is a cage!" Sirius's voice suddenly became agitated. "I don't need Black family glory! I just need to be myself!"
He turned to Regulus. His ten-year-old brother's expression was calm as he cut a piece of steak and put it in his mouth.
"And you?" Sirius asked. "You'll go to Slytherin, right?
Be their perfect heir, study hard, perform well, and wait for the day you take over this rotten family."
Regulus looked up at him. "I will go where I fit in."
"Fit in?" Sirius laughed. "There's only one place that fits a Black: the Slytherin dungeons, with those lunatics full of pure-blood glory. Have fun, brother."
He turned and left the dining room.
Walburga slumped in her chair, her face looking terrible. Orion was expressionless, but his magic was surging.
Regulus continued to finish the food on his plate.
He knew what would happen. In the original story, Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, becoming the first non-Slytherin Black.
He also knew that from tomorrow on, many things would begin to change.
On the evening of September 1st, an owl brought a letter from Hogwarts.
Walburga's hands trembled as she tore open the envelope. She quickly scanned the parchment, her face turning from pale to ashen, her lips quivering, and then her eyes rolled back as she collapsed backward.
Orion caught her and took the letter at the same time.
It read: "Sirius Black has been sorted into Gryffindor House."
That night, the atmosphere at 12 Grimmauld Place was like a funeral.
But Regulus knew this was just the beginning.
From the next day on, Walburga shifted all her attention to him.
"You must be ten times better than him," she said at breakfast. "No, a hundred times! You must prove that the Black bloodline has not degenerated, prove that the true heir is here."
Regulus just nodded, saying nothing.
All this was exactly what he had hoped for, though the price was Sirius's departure, eventually leading to him leaving this home completely. He didn't feel particularly happy about that deep down.
But this was the best arrangement.
He gained new privileges: unlimited access to the library, permission to borrow some books from the Family Heritage Section, and even browse some lower-risk experimental notes under supervision.
After Sirius left home, the mansion became much quieter. Regulus spent four hours a day in the library, two hours in the attic, and the rest of the time dealing with his mother's lessons and his father's occasional tests.
The magic circulation exercises over the past two years had brought substantial changes.
His magical capacity had been increasing slowly but steadily, like digging an extra spoonful from a well every day; over time, the well deepened.
This was a painstaking effort. Every night before bed, Regulus would practice magic circulation.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, eyes closed, breathing slowed, sensing the magic.
Then imagining the magic flowing from his limbs to his chest, then back to his limbs, beginning the cycle.
Gradually, he no longer needed to imagine it deliberately. The magic seemed to gain a consciousness of its own, flowing naturally along the opened paths.
Like a river finding its bed.
Moreover, he could now make several feathers draw multiple perfect circles in the air with a trajectory error of less than a millimeter.
Or make the surface of a cup of water form complex ripple patterns that wouldn't dissipate for a long time.
This was the synchronization of magic and will, a change in control precision.
Finally, there was recovery speed.
Previously, he needed long rests after high-intensity practice. Now, by guiding the magic to circulate in his body, he could accelerate natural magical recovery.
Just like stretching after exercise promotes blood circulation, magic had its own circulatory system.
From the autumn of 1971 to the spring of 1972, his three cousins successively had in-depth contact with Regulus.
Bellatrix visited Grimmauld Place more often. At twenty, she had completely become an early follower of Voldemort, a burning fanaticism in her eyes.
"The world is sick, Regulus," she told him in the garden one afternoon. "Filthy Muggle blood pollutes magic, half-blood wizards dilute ancient power, and the Ministry is held by cowards.
We need a cleansing."
"Cleansing?" Regulus watched her wave her hand viciously in the air, like an invisible blade.
"Removing impurities." Bellatrix smiled, but the smile sent chills down one's spine. "That Lord will lead us. He has power, foresight, and determination.
When he takes power, pure-blood families will stand at the top again. We don't need equality; we want true rule."
"Rule over whom?" Regulus looked at his cousin Bella, knowing she would gradually descend into madness until she became Voldemort's likeness.
But he couldn't stop this process, nor did he intend to.
"Everyone!" Bella's words were full of excitement. "Muggles, half-bloods, Mudbloods—they will find their place."
Narcissa's attitude was different. At sixteen, she was a sixth-year at Hogwarts and a Slytherin prefect, pragmatic and shrewd.
"Bella has her path," Narcissa told Regulus privately during a family gathering. "But you must walk your own path. Slytherin isn't just about fanaticism; we also have wisdom."
"Wisdom?"
"Balance." Narcissa poked her cake gently with a silver fork. "Knowing when to advance, when to retreat. Knowing who is useful, who is dangerous. Knowing what to say, and what to hide."
She taught him several practical tips: "Always have three excuses ready. For example, if caught out of bed at night, you need three different reasons for different people.
Tell a professor, 'I got lost in the library.' Tell a prefect, 'I lost a pet.' Tell a friend the truth, but make sure the friend is reliable."
"Never let anyone know you completely. Even with your best friend, keep at least one secret. Secrets are leverage, and also armor."
"In Slytherin, value is more important than friendship. What can you offer? Knowledge? Resources? Protection? Be clear about your value, then find people who need that value."
Regulus listened carefully. Narcissa's words were cold, but very real and useful.
Andromeda visited the least, but Regulus cared about her the most. Among the three cousins, she showed him the most kindness.
At seventeen, she was still a seventh-year at Hogwarts, known throughout the school as an outlier.
She never participated in the pure-blood students' clique, instead often discussing magical creatures with half-blood and Muggle-born students, for which she was repeatedly scolded by Bella for tainting her bloodline.
She came to Grimmauld Place less and less. Walburga didn't welcome her because her thinking was problematic.
On a rainy day in March 1972, Andromeda found Regulus in his room.
"I'm leaving," she said straight away.
"Where to?"
"Leaving Britain." Andromeda sat on the chair by the window, rain tracing long lines on the glass. "Marrying Ted. He's a Muggle-born. You know what that means."
Regulus nodded. It meant being disowned, her name burned off the tapestry, no longer recognized by the family.
"Are you afraid?" he asked.
"Afraid," Andromeda said honestly. "Afraid of losing family, afraid of being ostracized, afraid of the uncertainty of the future. But I'm more afraid of staying here and slowly becoming someone I don't recognize."
She looked at Regulus. "I know you're different from Sirius. You're smart, rational, and know how to compromise.
But don't let compromise become surrender. Don't let this family swallow you whole. You have your own heart; remember it."
Regulus was silent for a long time, then said, "Thank you."
"Take care." Andromeda stood up, walked to the door, and looked back. "And... if one day you need help, real help, you can find me. I'll be in France."
Another Black was leaving.