Chapter 10: Growth and Expectations
July 1972. Sirius Black had finished his first year at Hogwarts and returned to 12 Grimmauld Place.
He had changed a great deal.
He had grown his hair long and was wearing Muggle jeans and a T-shirt picked up from James Potter — looking nothing like a proper pure-blood wizard.
"James says Quidditch should allow some harmless jinxes to make the game more fun," he remarked casually at dinner.
Walburga set down her cutlery. "James? That Potter boy? I recall their bloodline is still reasonably pure, but their taste..."
"Their taste is fine," Sirius cut in. "At least no one in their family drones on about glory, bloodlines, and duty all day long."
The air at the table froze.
Regulus quietly cut the roasted fish on his plate while observing Sirius.
There was something bright in Sirius's eyes — a light that had never appeared inside Grimmauld Place. Perhaps it was freedom.
He knew it: Sirius was about to leave this house for good. "Then there's Remus," Sirius continued, seemingly oblivious to his mother's darkening face. "He's practically a walking library — knows every obscure magical history detail the professors never cover. Peter's a bit timid, but he's a good sort..."
"Enough!" Walburga's voice was frigid. "I have no interest in hearing trivia about your friends. Where is your report card?"
"Upstairs. Passing marks in everything. Outstanding in Flying. Exceeds Expectations in Defence Against the Dark Arts." Sirius shrugged, utterly unfazed by his mother's tone. "Good enough."
"Good enough?" Walburga stood, enraged. "The heir to the Black family should excel in every subject! Should become a Prefect! Should—"
"I'm not the heir," Sirius stood as well, squaring off against her. "Regulus is. You all made that choice long ago, didn't you?"
He looked at his brother. Regulus met his eyes but said nothing.
"Look at him," Sirius said, gesturing toward Regulus. "Sitting ramrod straight, cutting his fish like he's performing a Potions experiment. He's already ready to be the kind of Black you want. So give me a break, won't you?"
He turned and left the dining room. Walburga moved to follow, but Orion placed a hand on hers.
"Let him go," Orion said. "Some words, once spoken, cannot be taken back."
He had foreseen this day years ago — and Regulus had contributed considerably to its arrival, though Orion had never intervened to stop it.
Regulus finished his dinner, then went upstairs. At the staircase landing he found Sirius leaning against the wall, hands shoved in his jeans pockets, staring out at the dim street beyond the window.
"You think I went too far?" Sirius did not turn around.
"I think you look happy." Regulus shook his head gently.
Sirius paused, then turned to face him.
"At Hogwarts, I am happy," Sirius admitted. "Gryffindor Tower is always noisy, someone is always doing something stupid, someone is always laughing. Not like this place—"
He glanced around the gloomy corridor. "It's like a magnificent tomb."
"Tombs hold treasure too," Regulus remarked obliquely, "if you know where to look."
'Every tragedy stems from a lack of power,' he thought. 'And Sirius never once sought power — right up until his death.'
"I don't want tomb treasure," Sirius shook his head. "I want a life in the sunlight, even if it's brief."
He studied his brother. "You know what the funniest part is? James's parents — the Potters — they're pure-blood too. But you never hear them going on about bloodlines.
They care about whether James is happy, whether he's making friends, whether he's studying things that interest him — not whether he can uphold the family's honor."
Regulus was silent. He knew this was true. In the original story, the Potters, though pure-blood, had always been open-minded and normal.
"So you have a home now," Regulus said, with a trace of wistfulness.
Sirius's expression softened. "Yes. I have a home."
Then his face hardened again. "But you wouldn't understand. You've already chosen to stay here."
He walked back to his room and closed the door softly.
Regulus stood in the corridor, listening to the faint sound of Walburga complaining to Orion downstairs.
'I understand. But I won't make the same choice. Your home is Gryffindor, the Potters — but how long can that protect you? And can you protect them?'
'When Voldemort truly rises, when war breaks out, when your Muggle-born friends become targets, you will choose to fight back.'
'But you won't have the strength. You won't be able to protect anything.'
He shook his head, pushed the thoughts aside, and returned to his room.
At the end of July, Orion set up a simple dueling ground in the rear courtyard to test Regulus's combat ability.
"Hogwarts is not just a school," he said. "There is competition, conflict, unseen rivalries. You need to know how to defend yourself."
"Rules: non-harmful spells only. Begin."
Orion did not hold back just because his opponent was an eleven-year-old. He raised his wand and fired a silent Disarming Charm — fast and precise, aimed straight at Regulus's wrist.
Regulus did not dodge, nor did he have a wand. He simply raised his left hand and opened his palm.
The red jet of the spell struck an invisible barrier half a meter from him and scattered into silver sparks.
A silent, wandless Shield Charm.
Orion's eyebrows rose. He pressed the attack — Impediment Jinx, Leg-Locker Curse, Full Body-Bind — spells flying in from different angles at an accelerating pace.
Regulus still did not move. He stood in place, arms hanging naturally at his sides, only occasionally adjusting the angle of a finger. Every spell was intercepted the instant before impact — some deflected, some dissolved, some absorbed.
He had not even cast a single full-body Shield Charm — that would drain too much energy and could be broken by sustained fire.
Instead, he produced a rapid succession of micro-shields, materializing precisely where needed, then vanishing the moment their task was done.
After thirty seconds, Orion lowered his wand.
"You're using your will to manipulate magic directly — bypassing the spellcasting process entirely." His voice was laden with astonishment.
His famously unflappable composure wavered. This level of skill was rare even among elite Aurors.
And his younger son, barely eleven years old, was handling it with ease.
"Yes." Regulus nodded. "No incantation or wand movement needed as an intermediary. Faster response, lower cost."
"Who taught you?"
"I figured it out myself." Regulus said. In truth, it was a byproduct of the magic-channeling exercises.
Orion was quiet for a long time. He studied his son — surprise, pride, and a sliver of apprehension shifting through his gaze.
At last he said: "You are exceptional, Regulus. Beyond my expectations."
"Thank you." Regulus inclined his head slightly.
Orion stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You will achieve extraordinary things. But at Hogwarts, you only need to be an excellent student — not an anomaly. Do you understand?"
"I understand." Regulus nodded. "I will control how much I reveal."
After the assessment, Orion took him to the deepest reaches of the family vault — a yet more hidden inheritance chamber, furnished with only a few dark wooden shelves.
Orion produced three items.
The first was a family ring, cast in silver, its face engraved with the Black family crest. It was not the genuine article worn by the head of house, but a replica.
"No authority of headship," Orion said, handing it to Regulus. "But it resonates with the family's protective magic. If you wear it when another member of the Black family is in mortal danger, the ring grows warm. The hotter it gets, the greater the peril."
Regulus accepted the ring, understanding what it signified.
Though it carried no authority, it was itself a symbol of headship — and with it came obligation and responsibility. That obligation was Sirius.
The second was a magical notebook. Its cover was some kind of black leather, warm to the touch, with no lock — only one of Black blood could open it.
"Crafted from ancestral blood using secret methods," Orion explained. "Whatever you write encrypts itself automatically. Only the original author can fully decipher it. Anyone else sees nothing but jumbled symbols, and any attempt to force it open triggers the contents to self-destruct."
This was tacit permission. Orion knew Regulus would inevitably research dangerous subjects. Rather than forbid it, he simply provided a secure means of recording.
The third was a meteorite amulet — a simple silver pendant set with a small dark-grey stone whose surface bore the textured ridges of a fusion crust.
"A Black ancestor brought this back from the Nordic lands. Said to have come from beyond the sky. It's been in the family for centuries, and no one has ever determined its magical properties. It simply never collects dust and always stays this exact temperature."
Regulus took the amulet. The stone felt smooth and faintly warm, as though something alive flowed within it.
"I think it suits you," Orion said. "Because where your eyes look is not the same place as ours."
Finally, his father rested a hand on his shoulder. "Hogwarts is a small world. But remember — beyond the world, there are more worlds still."