Chapter 10: Growth and Expectations
In July 1972, Sirius Black finished his first year at Hogwarts and returned to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
He had changed.
His hair was longer. He wore Muggle jeans and a T shirt he had picked up from James Potter, and the sight of him at the Black dining table looked like a deliberate insult made from fabric.
"James says Quidditch should allow a few harmless prank spells," Sirius said over dinner, tone casual, as if he were discussing the weather. "Would make it more interesting."
Walburga set down her knife and fork with a sharp click.
"James? That boy from the Potter family? Their blood is pure enough, but their taste"
"Their taste is excellent," Sirius cut in. "At least people in their family speak like human beings instead of droning on about honour, bloodline, and duty."
The air froze.
Regulus continued cutting the grilled fish on his plate, quiet and precise, watching Sirius the way one watched a flame that had started to climb too high.
There was something bright in Sirius's eyes, a light that had never belonged to Grimmauld Place.
Freedom, perhaps.
Regulus already knew where it would lead.
"And Remus," Sirius went on, apparently oblivious to Walburga's expression, "he is practically a walking library. He knows everything about History of Magic that the teachers never mention. Peter's a bit timid, but he's a good person"
"Enough," Walburga said, voice like ice. "I do not want to hear the trivialities of your friends. Where is your report from Hogwarts?"
"Upstairs." Sirius shrugged, as though this whole conversation were a mild inconvenience. "I passed everything. Outstanding in flying. Exceeds Expectations in Defence Against the Dark Arts. It's enough."
"Enough?" Walburga rose so fast her chair scraped the floor. "A son of the House of Black should be outstanding in every subject. He should become a prefect. He should"
"I am not the heir." Sirius stood too, shoulders squared, meeting her glare without flinching. "Regulus is. You chose him ages ago, did you not?"
His eyes flicked to Regulus.
Regulus met the look and said nothing.
"Look at him," Sirius said, pointing as if Regulus were an exhibit. "Sitting up straight, cutting fish like he's conducting a potion experiment. He's already preparing to become the Black you want. So leave me alone, all right?"
He turned and walked out of the dining room.
Walburga took a step as if to follow, but Orion's hand came down on her wrist, firm and quiet.
"Let him go," Orion said. "Once some things are said, they cannot be taken back."
He had seen this coming for years.
Regulus had helped shape it, and Orion had never tried to stop it.
Regulus finished his meal and went upstairs.
At the bend of the staircase he found Sirius, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, staring out at the dim street beyond the curtains.
"Do you think I went too far?" Sirius asked without turning.
Regulus shook his head slightly.
"I think you are happy."
Sirius paused, then turned to face him.
"At Hogwarts, I am happy," he admitted. "Gryffindor Tower is always noisy. Someone's always doing something stupid. Someone's always laughing. Unlike here"
His gaze slid down the corridor, where the wallpaper and shadows seemed to swallow sound.
"It's like a magnificent tomb."
"There are treasures in tombs too," Regulus said, voice calm, hinting without explaining. "If you know where to look."
Most tragedies began as a shortage of power.
Sirius never thought to seek it until the moment he died.
"I do not want treasures from a tomb." Sirius shook his head. "I want a life in the sunshine, even if it's brief."
He looked at Regulus as if trying, once more, to pull him across an invisible line.
"Do you know what the most ridiculous part is? James's parents, the Potters. They're pure blood too, but they do not talk about bloodlines all day."
"They care whether James is happy. Whether he's made friends. Whether he's learning things he actually likes. Not whether he can uphold family glory."
Regulus said nothing.
It was true. The Potter family were pure blood, but they were open minded and ordinary by the standards of the wizarding world. They sounded, to Sirius, like sanity.
"So you have a home now," Regulus said, and there was a faint edge of something beneath the words.
Sirius's expression softened.
"Yes. I have a home."
Then his face hardened again, like a door closing.
"But you would not understand. You've already chosen this place."
He walked away, and the door to his room shut with a soft finality.
Regulus stood in the corridor, listening to Walburga's complaints drifting up from downstairs, sharp and endless, with Orion's quieter replies buried underneath.
I understand, Regulus thought.
But I will not make that choice.
Your home is Gryffindor. It is the Potter family. It is laughter and sunlight.
How long will that protect you?
And when the war truly begins, will you be able to protect it?
When Voldemort rises in earnest, when Muggle born friends become targets, Sirius would fight. Of course he would.
Unfortunately, he had no power yet. Not the kind that mattered.
Regulus pushed the thought aside and returned to his room.
At the end of July, Orion set up a simple duelling space in the back garden to test Regulus's combat ability.
"Hogwarts is not only a school," Orion said. "There is competition, conflict, and struggles that people do not speak about. You need to know how to protect yourself."
He lifted his wand.
"The rule is simple. Only non harmful spells. Begin."
Orion did not go easy on him because Regulus was eleven.
A silent Expelliarmus snapped through the air, fast and precise, aimed at Regulus's wrist.
Regulus did not dodge.
He did not even hold a wand.
He raised his left hand and opened his palm.
The red spell struck an unseen barrier half a metre in front of him and burst into silver sparks.
A silent, wandless Shield Charm.
Orion's eyebrows shot up.
He attacked again.
Impedimenta.
A Leg Locker Curse.
Petrificus Totalus.
Spells came from different angles, quicker and quicker, the rhythm sharpening as Orion tested the limits.
Regulus still did not move from where he stood. His arms hung naturally at his sides, and only his fingers shifted, minute adjustments, as if he were turning invisible dials.
Each spell was intercepted just before impact.
Some deflected.
Some dissipated.
Some were absorbed into nothing.
He did not cast one large Shield Charm over his whole body. That would have been wasteful, and it would have cracked under pressure.
Instead he formed many tiny Shield Charms, appearing exactly where needed, vanishing the moment they had done their work.
Thirty seconds later, Orion stopped.
His voice held a rare note of astonishment.
"You are using your consciousness to control magic directly, without the usual casting process."
"Yes," Regulus admitted with a small nod. "Without incantations and gestures as intermediaries, the response is faster and the consumption is lower."
"Who taught you?"
"No one," Regulus said. "I worked it out."
It was, in truth, a side effect of his circulation training. The paths he had carved inside himself made this kind of precision possible.
Orion stared at him for a long moment.
Surprise.
Pride.
And beneath it, a thin thread of worry.
Finally he said, "You are exceptional, Regulus. You have exceeded my expectations."
"Thank you." Regulus bowed his head slightly.
Orion stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder.
"You will accomplish extraordinary things. But at Hogwarts, you only need to be an outstanding student. You do not need to appear abnormal. Do you understand?"
"I understand," Regulus said. "I will control how much I show."
After the assessment, Orion led him to the deepest part of the family vault, into an inheritance chamber that felt older than the house itself.
Only a few shelves stood there, black wood polished to a dull shine.
Orion took out three items.
The first was a ring, silver, with the Black crest engraved on its face. It was not the true ring of the head of the house, but a replica.
"It carries no authority," Orion said, placing it in Regulus's hand, "but it can sense the family's protective magic. Wear it, and if another member of the House of Black is in mortal danger, it will heat. The higher the temperature, the greater the danger."
Regulus closed his fingers around it.
No authority.
Still a symbol.
And the duty it implied was not theoretical. It had a name.
Sirius.
The second item was a magical notebook. Its cover was made from a kind of black leather that felt strangely warm under the fingertips. There was no visible lock.
"Only Black blood can open it," Orion said. "It was made with the blood of our ancestors and certain secret arts. Anything written inside will be encrypted automatically. Only the author can fully decipher it. To anyone else it will appear as meaningless symbols. If someone tries to force it open, the contents will destroy themselves."
It was a quiet permission.
Orion knew Regulus would study dangerous subjects.
He did not stop him.
He gave him a safer way to record what he found.
The third item was a meteorite pendant, a plain silver setting holding a small piece of dark grey stone. Its surface carried the texture of a fused crust, as if it had been burned by a long fall through fire.
"A Black ancestor brought it back from Northern Europe," Orion said. "It is said to be from beyond the heavens. For centuries no one has determined what it does, except that it never gathers dust and it always keeps the same warmth."
Regulus took it.
The stone felt smooth, slightly warm, as if something living moved beneath the surface.
"I think it suits you," Orion said, "because your eyes look toward places most of us never consider."
Then his father set a hand on his shoulder again, the gesture steady, grounding.
"Hogwarts is a small world," Orion said, "but remember this. There are worlds beyond the world."