Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

The training room still hummed with residual magic. Rune-wards on the stone walls pulsed with faint red light; the floor was pitted and strewn with debris.

Regulus and Orion sat side by side on the ground, backs against the cold black stone, the air still thick with the post-collision scent of heat and damp.

Regulus was steadying his breathing, recovering magic. After a moment, he spoke first: "Sirius not coming home may not be a bad thing."

Orion's hand stilled. His eyes darkened, but he said nothing — waiting.

"He's comfortable at Hogwarts. James Potter and the others treat him genuinely. Gryffindor's atmosphere suits him."

Regulus's tone was measured, as though discussing someone unrelated to himself.

"His temperament is too fierce. The rules of the Black household, the politics of the pure-blood circle — he will never accept any of it."

He turned to Orion. "His choice, rebellious as it is, is actually the path best suited to him. Leaving Grimmauld Place, stepping away from the pure-blood wars — that's the only way he'll live freely."

Orion sat in silence, his mind suddenly flooded with fragments.

When Regulus was small — whenever Sirius had been scolded by Walburga, whenever Sirius complained of the family's choking strictures — Regulus would casually talk about choices, about paths, about leaving. Those details he had once overlooked now threaded together, and the realization hit with force.

Had his younger son, long before any of this, been gradually guiding Sirius toward this very road?

"In the future, he will stand with Dumbledore." Regulus's tone was certain, as if he had seen the ending. "This is the best arrangement."

Orion glanced up — puzzlement in his eyes, but deeper still: appraisal. "Why so sure?"

"The situation demands it." Regulus's finger traced a simple power map on the floor.

"Voldemort's rise is, at its core, a pure-blood-supremacy assault on the existing order. Dumbledore represents the force that maintains pluralistic balance.

Sirius despises the hypocrisy and brutality of the pure-blood world. Naturally, he'll align with Dumbledore."

Regulus's voice lifted slightly: "Besides, he's someone who can only live in the sunlight.

Dumbledore's side offers a righteous cause, comrades-in-arms, the justice he believes in — everything he wants.

Letting him fight for what he truly believes in is far better than caging him inside the family, turning him into a resentful rebel."

Orion observed his son's clear logic, heard the orderly analysis, and felt a swell beneath the surface.

"The equilibrium of the wizarding world broke a long time ago." Regulus pressed on, his finger still moving.

"Pure-blood families hold the resources and legacies, yet they've stagnated — fixated on preserving tradition, which is really just clinging to privilege.

Half-blood and Muggle-born wizards are rising but lack a proportional voice. That's only temporary — they'll grow ever stronger, until they can no longer be suppressed.

The Ministry appears to control everything, yet is in fact ineffectual. Voldemort's emergence simply dragged the contradiction into the open."

"The future won't be a clean black-and-white divide; it will be a tug-of-war over interests.

Sirius standing on Dumbledore's side preserves a fallback for the House of Black. We maneuver on this side, guarding the family's foundations.

Two paths, complementing each other. No matter which faction prevails, the Black family endures."

Orion was quiet for a very long time. In the training room, only the sound of two steady breaths remained.

He was forced to concede: in forecasting the future, he could not match his eleven-year-old son.

Regulus had not only mastered formidable power but possessed a lucid mind and a far-sighted vision. That mattered more for the long-term survival of the Blacks than raw magical force ever could.

After much deliberation, Orion nodded slowly, a trace of relief in his voice: "From now on, I won't interfere with his choices."

He turned to Regulus, expression solemn — as though performing an act of entrustment: "Regarding Sirius... I'll leave it to you."

Regulus said nothing. He simply looked at his father.

Orion drew a deep breath — as though steeling himself for a painful decision — and spoke, voice low: "Regulus, if it truly comes down to the worst... you take priority."

Regulus understood the sentence.

His father was saying: forced to choose between the family's survival and Sirius's safety, he had ultimately chosen the former — choosing the son better suited to carry the Black legacy forward.

Something stirred in Regulus's chest. He offered no pretty words. He only reached out and clapped Orion's shoulder — the press of his palm steady and resolute.

Orion regarded his son's composed profile and let the taut line of his mouth ease into a faint smile. Much of the heaviness in his eyes gave way to quiet satisfaction and trust.

The conversation turned naturally to the upcoming Malfoy Christmas banquet. Orion said: "Every major family will attend."

Then he asked outright: "I'd like to hear your thoughts."

"Voldemort wants loyalty — we give him loyalty. He wants resources — we supply them."

Regulus had his answer ready: "But we can't go the Lestrange route — throwing everything in, hitching the entire family's fate to him."

He elaborated on the framework he'd shared with Narcissa: "We profess allegiance on the surface while preserving independence behind the scenes.

He needs the Black name and Black power, so we use that as leverage to retain our own decision-making space within his sphere of influence.

We don't provoke, we don't blindly obey. At critical junctures, we exercise our own judgment — never allowing ourselves to be fully absorbed."

Orion listened, nodding faintly, fingers tapping his knee: "Your thinking aligns broadly with the family's existing plans."

A shrewd edge entered his voice: "Voldemort is certainly powerful, and charismatic besides — extraordinary even by historical standards. But not yet so overwhelming that every house should stake everything on him."

He turned to Regulus, deciding to share more of the inside picture: "Some families are genuinely fanatical — all-in with him. But the majority are watching.

A few have even pushed their thickest-headed members to the front, urging them into total devotion — while actually using them as test subjects.

Seeing what happens to those who bind themselves wholly to Voldemort."

Something clicked for Regulus.

He had assumed that his transmigrator's foreknowledge gave him something close to a god's-eye view of the board.

He had forgotten that Orion was a patriarch who had helmed the Black family for years, weathering countless political storms — vastly more experienced than he in this particular arena.

A thousand-year family had never survived on brute courage. It survived on exactly this kind of step-by-step caution and cunning.

He had been arrogant, underestimating the survival wisdom of these ancient houses.

But then again — for all Orion's acumen, the predestined timeline still ended in ruin for the Blacks.

Walburga's fanaticism. Sirius's rupture. Bella's madness. Voldemort's paranoia and cruelty. Craft alone couldn't neutralize all of those.

In the end, only sufficient power could let one steer one's own fate in the storm.

Orion, oblivious to his son's inner reflections, continued: "Positioning the Blacks as partners is a bold idea — and a risky one.

Voldemort's need for control is extreme. If he catches on, it's tantamount to defiance. The consequences would be dangerous."

His tone pivoted: "But it's not impossible, either. As long as we demonstrate enough value — make him feel the Black family is indispensable —

while maintaining a low enough profile, neither stealing the spotlight nor crossing his red lines, we can quietly build our own influence right under his nose."

He looked at Regulus. "At the banquet, stay by my side. I'll handle everything.

Make the right gestures, say the right words, don't ask what shouldn't be asked. Your strength is already enough to command respect — no need to show more."

Regulus nodded, then raised the matter that had been nagging at him: "Father — the family vault's legacy. I'd like to review it."

Orion's expression hardened instantly. He refused without hesitation: "No."

"Why?" Regulus pressed.

"The family legacy is not an ordinary collection of spell-books." Orion's tone turned grave.

"Our ancestors sealed their most powerful magic, their insights into magical energy, and their combat experience into memory crystals.

Those memories contain not just the complete training sequences but also remnants of each ancestor's magic and spiritual will."

He stressed each word: "That magic is immense. The spiritual wills are extraordinarily potent. Access them carelessly and at best, an ancestor's will overpowers your own, warping your magical development.

At worst, your mind collapses — consumed by the backlash — and you become nothing more than a vessel for the legacy, the self erased entirely."