July 1972. Sirius Black finished his first year at Hogwarts and returned to 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 remarked casually at dinner.
Walburga put down her knife and fork. "James? That Potter boy? I recall their bloodline is fairly pure, but their taste..."
"Their taste is fine," Sirius interrupted. "At least people in their family speak like humans, instead of droning on about glory, bloodlines, and responsibility all day."
The air at the 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 before—perhaps it was freedom.
He knew Sirius was going 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 magical history the teachers haven't covered. Peter is a bit timid, but he's a nice guy..."
"Enough!" Walburga's voice was icy. "I don't want to hear trivia about your friends. Where is your Hogwarts report card?"
"Upstairs. Passed all subjects, Outstanding in Flying, Exceeds Expectations in Defense Against the Dark Arts." Sirius shrugged, indifferent to his mother's attitude. "Good enough."
"Good enough?" Walburga stood up, enraged. "The heir of the Black family should be Outstanding in all subjects! Should become a prefect! Should—"
"I'm not the heir," Sirius stood up too, confronting his mother tit for tat. "Regulus is. You've already chosen him, haven't you?"
He looked at his brother. Regulus met his gaze without speaking.
"Look at him," Sirius pointed at Regulus. "Sitting up straight, cutting fish like he's conducting a potion experiment. He's already prepared to be the kind of Black you want. So let me go, okay?"
He turned and left the dining room. Walburga wanted to chase after him, but Orion held her hand down.
"Let him go," Orion said. "Some words, once spoken, cannot be taken back."
He had anticipated this day years ago. Regulus had contributed much to this outcome, but Orion had never stopped it.
Regulus finished his dinner and went upstairs. He met Sirius at the corner of the stairs, leaning against the wall, hands in his jeans pockets, looking out at the dim street.
"Do you think I'm excessive?" Sirius didn't turn around.
"I think you are happy," Regulus shook his head gently.
Sirius paused, then turned to look at him.
"At Hogwarts, I am happy," Sirius admitted. "Gryffindor Tower is always noisy, someone is always doing something stupid, someone is always laughing. Unlike here—"
He looked around the dim corridor. "Like a magnificent tomb."
"There are treasures in tombs too," Regulus hinted subtly. "If you know how to look."
All tragedies stem from a lack of power, and Sirius never thought about seeking power until his death.
"I don't want treasures from a tomb," Sirius shook his head. "I want a life under the sun, even if it's short."
He looked at his brother. "You know what's funniest? James's parents, the Potters, they are pure-bloods too, but they don't hang blood status on their lips all day.
They care about whether James is happy, if he's made friends, if he's learning things he's interested in—not whether he can maintain family glory."
Regulus was silent. He knew this was true. Although the Potters were pure-bloods, they were always portrayed as open-minded and normal in the original story.
"So you have a home now," Regulus said with a touch 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 gently.
Regulus stood in the corridor, listening to Walburga's faint complaints to Orion from downstairs.
I understand, but I wouldn'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 Voldemort truly rises, when the war begins, when Muggle-born friends become targets, of course you will choose to resist.
Unfortunately, you have no power. You can protect nothing.
He shook his head, stopped dwelling on it, and returned to his room.
At the end of July, Orion set up a simple dueling ground in the backyard to test Regulus's combat ability.
"Hogwarts is not just a school," he said. "There is competition, conflict, and secret rivalry. You need to know how to protect yourself."
"Rules: use only non-lethal 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 Disarming Charm was fast and accurate, shooting straight for Regulus's wrist.
Regulus didn't dodge, nor did he use a wand. He simply raised his left hand and opened his palm.
The red spell hit an invisible barrier half a meter away from him, splashing silver sparks.
Silent, wandless Shield Charm.
Orion raised an eyebrow. He continued attacking. Impedimenta, Locomotor Mortis, Petrificus Totalus—spells flew from different angles, the frequency gradually increasing.
Regulus still didn't move. He stood in place, hands hanging naturally, only occasionally adjusting the angle of his fingers. Every spell was intercepted precisely just before hitting him—deflected, dissipated, or absorbed.
He didn't even use a single Shield Charm to cover his whole body; that would consume too much energy and be easily broken by sustained attacks.
He simply cast multiple miniature Shield Charms in succession, generating them instantly where needed and vanishing them instantly after completing their mission.
Thirty seconds later, Orion stopped.
"You are using your consciousness to manipulate magic directly, skipping the spellcasting process," his voice was full of surprise.
His perennial calm tone wavered. Such skill was rare even among elite Aurors.
And his second son, only eleven years old, could already do it with ease.
"Yes," Regulus nodded in admission. "Without spells and gestures as intermediaries, the response is faster and consumption is lower."
"Who taught you?"
"Figured it out myself," Regulus said. This was actually a byproduct of the magic circulation exercises.
Orion was silent for a long time. He looked at his son, his gaze complex—surprise, pride, and a trace of worry.
He finally said, "You are excellent, Regulus. Beyond my expectations."
"Thank you," Regulus lowered his head slightly.
Orion walked closer and patted his shoulder. "You will achieve extraordinary things. But at Hogwarts, you only need to be an excellent student. You don't need to appear abnormal. Understand?"
"Understood," Regulus nodded. "I will control how much I show."
After the test, Orion took him to the deepest part of the family vault, a more hidden inheritance chamber containing only a few black wooden shelves.
Orion took out three items.
The first was a family ring made of silver, the face carved with the Black family crest. But it wasn't the authentic ring of the family head; it was a replica.
"No authority of the family head," Orion handed it to Regulus. "But it can sense the family's protective magic. If you wear it and another Black family member is in critical danger, the ring will heat up. The higher the temperature, the greater the danger."
Regulus took the ring, knowing its meaning.
Although it had no authority, it was a symbol of the family head, and also represented obligation and responsibility. And that obligation was Sirius.
The second item was a magical notebook. The cover was some kind of black leather, warm to the touch. It had no lock; only Black blood could open it.
"Made with ancestral blood and secret arts," Orion said. "What you write will be automatically encrypted. Only the writer can fully decipher it. Others will only see chaotic symbols. If forcibly cracked, the content will self-destruct."
This was tacit approval. Orion knew Regulus would definitely research dangerous things, so instead of stopping him, he provided a safe 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 textured with a fusion crust.
"This was brought back from Northern Europe by a Black ancestor. It is said to be from beyond the sky. For hundreds of years, no one has figured out its magical function, only 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 put a hand on his shoulder. "Hogwarts is a small world, but you must remember, there are worlds beyond the world."