Chapter 11: A Reckless Confrontation
September 1, 1972, 10:47 a.m. Regulus Black came to a halt before the barrier between platforms nine and ten at King's Cross Station.
The eleven-year-old was tall for his age, wearing a crisply pressed dark green robe with the Black family crest pinned at his collar.
His hair was pure black with the signature slight curl of the Black family, and his calm grey eyes swept over his surroundings.
In his left hand he carried a brand-new dragonhide suitcase — Walburga had insisted on the most expensive — and in his right, a cage containing a snowy owl.
The owl stood quietly inside, amber eyes peering through the bars. Unlike other owls, it showed no agitation, flapping no wings — only the occasional slow rotation of its head.
Regulus took a deep breath.
Through this wall lay another world — one he had studied in books for ten years and was about to enter in person.
He stepped forward. The sensation was like passing through a curtain of warm mist, and then sound rushed in.
A cacophony of life and chaos — owl cries weaving a discordant chorus, cats yowling unhappily from baskets.
Shrieks triggered by toads leaping from improperly fastened pockets, parents issuing last-minute reminders, and children screaming with excitement until their voices cracked. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The Hogwarts Express lay along the tracks like an enormous crimson beast, its engine belching white steam that gathered beneath the platform canopy in roiling clouds.
Students surged toward the carriage doors in a tide of multicolored robes.
Regulus stood in place, his gaze calmly scanning the platform.
He spotted the Potter family. Charlus and Euphemia Potter stood nearby, wearing the kind of warm, easy smiles common to parents seeing their children off to school.
Four figures surrounded them.
James Potter stood at the front, brown hair looking as though a hurricane had swept through it, glasses perched crookedly on his nose.
He was waving his arms and demonstrating some dramatic maneuver to a thin boy carrying a battered suitcase — Remus Lupin.
Peter Pettigrew hung half a step behind James — short, round-faced, eyes darting constantly.
Sirius Black leaned against his luggage.
At thirteen, he had shot up since last summer, his shoulders beginning to take on a young man's frame.
He wore the Muggle jeans Walburga so despised, washed to a faded white with worn patches at the knees, a plain dark shirt, and a Gryffindor school robe hanging loosely over it.
The robe had clearly been altered — the silver piping at the collar had been dyed scarlet and gold, and embroidered lion motifs showed at the cuffs.
James said something, and Sirius threw his head back in laughter — a genuine, relaxed sound rising from deep in his chest. One hand rested on Remus's shoulder while the other gestured animatedly.
Then his gaze swept the platform and found Regulus. The laughter naturally subsided.
He did not look away, but neither did he nod nor wave. He simply watched, across twenty feet of distance, across the noisy crowd.
Then James noticed too.
"Hey!" James shouted, his voice cutting through the platform's din. "Look who it is! The little Black snake, here to scope out the territory early?"
The shout drew the attention of other students and parents. Suddenly a great many eyes turned toward Regulus.
Sirius placed a hand on James's shoulder — lightly, but James shut his mouth at once. Sirius said nothing, only shook his head, then turned and pulled open the carriage door, first to board the train.
James followed, Remus and Peter close behind. Before climbing aboard, James cast one more glance at Regulus — a look mingling curiosity with hostility.
Regulus picked up his suitcase and headed for the middle of the train. James Potter was not worth his attention.
The interior of the Hogwarts Express was far more spacious than its exterior suggested — a textbook application of the Undetectable Extension Charm.
The corridor was carpeted in deep crimson, lined on both sides with sliding doors. Most were already shut, chatter and laughter seeping from within.
Regulus walked the corridor in silence.
Passing the third carriage, its door stood open. He glimpsed the scene inside — James had already shed his coat and was trying to stick Chocolate Frog cards to the ceiling.
Peter was fussing with his luggage, head down. Remus sat by the window, a worn copy of "A History of Magic" in his hands.
Sirius reclined across from him, legs propped on the empty seat, toying with a Golden Snitch model — procured from who knew where.
Sirius looked up. His gaze traveled through the open doorway and met Regulus's.
Then Sirius lowered his eyes and went back to fiddling with the Snitch, as though he had seen nothing at all.
Regulus walked on.
Several more carriages passed, most fully occupied. Near the seventh carriage he spotted two figures.
A red-haired girl with green eyes and a faint dusting of freckles. She wore a plain black robe, freshly laundered, with a simple silver brooch at the collar — Lily Evans, second year.
Beside her was a black-haired boy with greasy hair and sallow skin, his robe clearly second-hand and taken in, the cuffs worn thin — Severus Snape, also second year.
The two were talking in low voices. Snape leaned forward as he spoke, words coming fast, fingers tracing shapes in the air. Lily listened intently, nodding from time to time.
As Regulus passed, Snape glanced up briefly.
His eyes took in the dragonhide suitcase in Regulus's hand, the snowy owl in its cage, and the impeccably tailored, expensive dark green traveling robe.
His lips pressed together, and something flashed in his eyes — a mix of hostility and wariness.
Then he looked away and resumed talking to Lily.
Regulus made his way to the ninth carriage, which was empty.
He set his suitcase on the luggage rack, placed the owl cage beneath the opposite seat, sat down, and drew a notebook from inside his robe.
He found the most recent page: "Variations of Ancient Runes and Their Relationship to Magical Energy Flow Efficiency."
Below it ran a series of complex symbols, formulas, and diagrams. Some were standard Ancient Runes, but most were his own modified variants — simplified strokes, optimized magical conduction paths.
He took out a quill, dipped it in ink, and began recording the previous night's thoughts.
The train passed beyond the outskirts of London. The view shifted from dense urban buildings to scattered farmhouses, rolling fields, and an overcast sky with low-hanging clouds threatening rain.
The compartment door was flung open without warning, crashing against the wall with a dull bang.
Regulus finished a complex curve in his notes before looking up.
In truth, he had not needed to look — he had sensed who it was before they even reached the door.
"Well, well! Look who it is!" James Potter's voice was thick with theatrical flair. "The little Black prince, sitting here all alone studying the Dark Arts?"
Regulus did not react, simply watching James's performance in silence.
James Potter might be a second-year, but to Regulus he was no different from a small child.
James strode into the compartment, Remus and Peter trailing behind. Remus's expression was uneasy. Peter clung nervously to the doorframe, as though ready to bolt at any moment.
"I'm talking to you!" James moved in front of Regulus, bending down to stare into his face, voice sharp. "I've heard you bully Sirius at home. Playing the good little boy, stealing all the attention."
"James," Remus said quietly. "Don't."
"Don't what?" James straightened up, his hand already reaching for the wand inside his robe.
Regulus found it amusing. He had no idea how Sirius had described him to his friends — apparently claiming that Regulus bullied him.
"James!"
Sirius's voice came from the corridor. He appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath.
He said to James: "I told you not to come."
"I'm just looking!" James protested. "It's not like he's going to bite—"
At that moment, two more people came running up.
Lily Evans and Severus Snape.
Snape took in the scene inside the compartment, and a contemptuous smirk curved the corner of his mouth. "How lively. Potter bullying first-years again?"
James whipped around. "None of your business, Snivellus!"
Then he noticed Lily Evans behind Snape, and his tone grew even harsher. "You again. Nosy Evans."
Snape's face darkened instantly. His hand moved toward his wand.
Lily grabbed his arm. "Severus, don't!"
But James was faster. "Expelliarmus!"
A jet of red light shot toward Snape.
The compartment was narrow — barely ten feet separated them. The spell reached Snape almost instantaneously.
A wand slid of its own accord into Regulus's left hand. He made only the slightest flick — unhurried, effortless, without a single violent motion.
But the spell stopped. Frozen in midair.
The red light materialized in the open space — the Disarming Charm now hung there like a glowing crimson ribbon, one end connected to the tip of James's wand, the other suspended half a foot from Snape's chest, perfectly motionless.
The entire compartment fell into absolute silence.