Chapter 11: An Overconfident Conflict
On 1 September 1972, at 10:47 a.m., Regulus Black stopped in front of the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten at King's Cross Station.
He was eleven, slender, dressed in a neatly pressed dark green travelling robe. A brooch bearing the Black family crest was pinned precisely at his collar. His hair was pure black, touched with the House of Black's familiar curl, and his grey eyes moved over the station with measured calm.
In his left hand he held a brand new dragon hide trunk, because Walburga had insisted that anything less would be an embarrassment. In his right hand was a cage containing a snowy owl.
The owl stood quietly inside, amber eyes taking in the crowd through the bars. It did not flap or fuss like the others. It only turned its head now and then, watchful and patient.
Regulus inhaled slowly.
Beyond this wall was a world he had studied for ten years, and was finally about to enter with his own feet.
He stepped forward.
The sensation was like passing through warm mist, and then noise hit him all at once.
Owls hooted in a chaotic chorus. Cats protested from baskets with sharp, offended meows. A toad leapt from an unfastened pocket and set off a shriek. Parents delivered frantic last second instructions. Children's voices cracked with excitement, names and laughter bouncing off the stone and iron.
Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
The Hogwarts Express waited on the tracks like a crimson beast, the engine breathing white steam that curled into rolling clouds under the platform roof. Students surged towards the carriage doors in a tide, robes of different colours flowing together in shifting blocks.
Regulus did not rush. He stood still and let his gaze sweep the platform.
He saw the Potters.
Charlus and Euphemia Potter stood a short distance away, wearing the gentle, proud expressions of parents sending a child to school. Four people clustered around them.
James Potter was at the centre, brown hair as messy as if a hurricane had given it personal attention. His glasses sat crooked on his nose. He was talking with his hands, demonstrating something exaggerated to a thin boy with a worn trunk.
Remus Lupin.
Peter Pettigrew hovered half a step behind James, small and round faced, eyes darting constantly as if looking for threats in every direction.
And Sirius Black leaned against a pile of luggage.
At thirteen, Sirius was a head taller than he had been last summer, his shoulders beginning to broaden into the shape of a teenager. He wore the Muggle jeans Walburga loathed, faded at the knees from hard use, and a plain dark shirt. A Gryffindor robe hung loose over it.
The robe had been altered. The silver trim at the collar had been dyed gold and red, and there were traces of an embroidered lion at the cuffs.
James said something, and Sirius threw his head back and laughed. It was a real laugh, unguarded, coming from deep in his chest. One hand rested on Remus's shoulder while the other gestured as he spoke.
Then Sirius's gaze drifted across the platform and landed on Regulus.
The laughter faded naturally, as if it had never been there.
Sirius did not look away. He did not nod, or offer the smallest acknowledgement. He simply watched from twenty feet away through the crowd and noise, as if Regulus were a stranger standing in a different season.
Then James noticed him too.
"Oi!" James shouted, voice cutting through the clamour. "Look who it is. Has the Black family's little viper come early to get used to the environment?"
Heads turned.
Students and parents glanced over, curiosity and judgement flickering across faces. For a moment Regulus felt the weight of many eyes, like sunlight through magnifying glass.
Sirius's hand came down on James's shoulder.
The touch was light, but James stopped talking at once.
Sirius said nothing. He only shook his head once, then turned, yanked open a carriage door, and boarded first.
James followed, with Remus and Peter close behind. Just before stepping up, James looked back at Regulus, curiosity and hostility mixing in his eyes like a badly brewed potion.
Regulus lifted his trunk and walked towards the middle of the train.
James Potter was not worth his attention.
Inside, the Hogwarts Express was more spacious than it had any right to be, the sort of tidy impossibility made possible by an Undetectable Extension Charm. The corridor was carpeted in dark red. Sliding doors lined both sides, most already shut, laughter and chatter leaking out in warm bursts.
Regulus moved quietly down the corridor.
As he passed the third carriage, its door stood open.
He saw James already shrugging off his jacket, trying to stick Chocolate Frog cards to the ceiling. Peter hunched over his luggage, fiddling with straps. Remus sat by the window with a worn copy of A History of Magic in his hands, face composed, eyes intent.
Sirius sat opposite, feet propped on the seat, turning a model Golden Snitch in his fingers, as if the small metal wings were more interesting than the world.
Sirius looked up.
His eyes met Regulus's through the open doorway.
Then Sirius looked down again and continued to toy with the Snitch, as if he had seen nothing at all.
Regulus kept walking.
Near the seventh carriage he saw two more second years.
A red haired girl with green eyes and faint freckles, wearing a simple black robe that was clean and carefully kept. A plain silver brooch pinned at her collar.
Lily Evans.
Beside her stood a black haired boy with greasy hair and sallow skin. His robe was clearly second hand and altered to fit, cuffs worn thin with use.
Severus Snape.
They were speaking in low voices. Snape leaned forward as he talked, words coming quickly, his fingers occasionally tracing patterns in the air. Lily listened with focused attention, nodding now and then.
As Regulus passed, Snape glanced up.
He took in the trunk, the owl, the expensive cut of Regulus's robe.
Snape's lips tightened. Something wary and hostile flashed across his eyes.
Then he looked away and continued speaking to Lily.
Regulus reached the ninth carriage.
It was empty.
He hoisted his trunk onto the rack, slid the owl cage under the opposite seat, and sat down. From his robe he drew a notebook and opened it to the most recent page.
The Relationship Between Ancient Rune Variants and Magic Flow Efficiency.
Below the title were symbols, formulas, and diagrams. Some were standard Ancient Runes. Most were variants he had modified himself, strokes simplified and conduction paths refined.
Regulus dipped his quill into ink and began to record the thoughts he had shaped the night before.
The train pulled out of London's outskirts. Dense buildings gave way to scattered farmhouses, then to rolling fields under a gloomy sky. Clouds hung low and heavy, promising rain.
The carriage door was yanked open so sharply it struck the wall with a dull thud.
Regulus finished a complex curve, then looked up.
He did not need to look. He had felt the presence before the door even moved.
"Look who it is," James Potter announced, voice stuffed with performative outrage. "The little young master of the Black family, studying Dark Arts all by himself?"
Regulus did not respond. He simply watched James, calm and unmoved.
James was in his second year, but to Regulus he might as well have been a child throwing stones at a lake to see the ripples.
James strode into the compartment. Remus followed, expression uneasy, shoulders tight. Peter clung to the doorframe, knuckles pale, as though prepared to flee the moment anything went wrong.
"I'm talking to you," James said, stepping closer and leaning over Regulus, trying to loom. "I heard you bully Sirius at home. Playing the good child to steal all the attention."
"James," Remus said quietly. "Don't."
"Don't what?" James snapped, straightening. His hand moved towards the wand tucked inside his robe.
Regulus almost found it funny.
He wondered what Sirius had said, or what James had decided to believe, for them to picture Regulus as some petty tyrant in a family ruled by Walburga Black.
"James."
Sirius's voice came from the corridor.
He appeared in the doorway, breathing slightly uneven, as if he had run.
"I told you not to come."
"I'm only looking," James said, defiant. "He's not going to eat anyone"
Footsteps pounded again, faster, urgent.
Two more figures arrived.
Lily Evans and Severus Snape.
Snape took one look at the scene and a mocking curl appeared on his mouth.
"How lively," he drawled. "Potter bullying a first year again?"
James spun.
"None of your business, Snivellus!"
Then his eyes landed on Lily behind Snape, and his tone sharpened further, as if her presence irritated him more than any insult.
"You again, meddling Evans."
Snape's face darkened at once. His hand slid towards his own wand.
Lily grabbed his arm.
"Severus, don't."
But James was quicker.
"Expelliarmus!"
A jet of red light shot towards Snape.
The compartment was narrow, and they were less than ten feet apart. The spell reached Snape almost instantly.
Regulus's wand slipped into his left hand in one smooth motion.
He gave a slight wave, relaxed, effortless, without any dramatic gesture.
The spell stopped.
Frozen in midair.
The red light held its shape, no longer a flash but a visible strip of glowing force, like a ribbon suspended between worlds. One end still connected to James's wand tip. The other hung half a foot from Snape's chest, perfectly motionless.
The entire compartment fell into dead silence.