Orion's mind drifted.
He watched Regulus finish demonstrating the spell, then walk him through its structure and key principles. This was no longer a theoretical concept or a passing idea. It was a fully realized piece of magic, polished enough to teach to someone else.
A tangle of emotions rose in his chest. Pride, admiration and beneath it all, a quiet ache.
My son has surpassed me.
My son can do this.
That's my son.
And yet, a thread of loss wound through the pride. Regulus was teaching him magic now. In certain domains, the boy had already outstripped his father. Time moved faster than anyone was ready for.
He reined it in. Those thoughts flickered and vanished, pressed back down where they belonged. As Head of House Black, as a father, sentimentality served no purpose. His role was to support, to provide resources, to clear the path so Regulus could soar higher and farther.
He turned his attention back to the Space Warp spell.
Drawing his wand, yew with a dragon heartstring core, a companion of over thirty years, he recalled Regulus's movements and incantation. The wand rose, tracing the same arc through the air.
His first attempt faltered. The magic output wasn't stable enough; the spatial ripple bloomed halfway and dissolved. He adjusted, and began again.
The ink bottle lifted, drifted through the corridor of warped space, and reappeared above the stack of documents.
Success.
Orion lowered his wand, eyes lingering on the ink bottle. "Regulus, you never stop surprising me."
A faint smile touched the corner of Regulus's mouth. He inclined his head. "Thank you, Father."
No false modesty. Developing a spell like this independently was genuinely impressive, and he knew it.
The conversation turned to holiday plans.
Orion had no intention of letting Regulus waste time on pointless socializing. Walburga had been insistent that he attend every gathering and event on the calendar, but one look at the boy's current trajectory made the answer obvious. He was in a phase of rapid growth.
Orion would overrule his wife.
"Spend the holiday focused on your magic. Whatever you need, say the word. Materials, books, training grounds, it's all open to you. If you need to go somewhere, tell me in advance and I'll arrange it."
Regulus nodded. "Understood."
Orion shifted tone. "That said, you can't spend the entire break locked away practicing. I have a task for you."
Regulus's expression sobered.
"Train at home for the first month. After that, I'll assign you a family task. Combat-oriented." Orion leaned back in his chair, his posture easing. "It's a Black family tradition. Once the heir reaches a certain age, they begin handling certain matters. Usually sixth or seventh year, once they've developed the abilities of an adult wizard. But you've grown too fast. Waiting until then would be pointless."
Regulus understood. The Black family had dealings that operated outside conventional boundaries, managed by dedicated operatives who reported to Orion on a regular basis. When the heir needed tempering, a few assignments were selected from the pile.
Hunting down dark wizards who'd damaged family interests. Eliminating enemy informants. Resolving conflicts that couldn't see the light of day.
He agreed without hesitation.
He needed real combat. Up to now, his actual fighting experience was almost nonexistent. The incident in Knockturn Alley had Orion present, and the opponents had been pathetic. The Astronomy Tower incident was resolved by Dumbledore. The skirmishes at school were little more than playground scuffles. And sparring with his father, he could never fully commit, too many reservations holding him back.
He needed genuine opponents to test himself against. To see how much of what he'd honed in the training room would hold up under the pressure of life and death.
But before any of that, there were designs to realize.
The combination of space warp and anchor points needed to be more stable. Right now he could transmit a single spell; a second caused the corridor to collapse. His control over Fiendfyre's form still had room to grow. Splitting into two birds was his limit, and pushing beyond that demanded stronger control, perhaps even the ability to partition his mind. Verdant Magic remained in its earliest stages. He could extract magical energy from plants for temporary use, but he wanted to find a way to fix those properties permanently.
And then there were the Mandrakes. They'd been on his mind constantly.
Orion continued, "Focus on your training. I'll handle your mother."
Regulus's nod carried a touch more force than usual.
He knew how to manage Walburga. Once Walburga decided her son ought to be making appearances on the social circuit, changing her mind took considerable effort. Orion stepping in was the most effective solution.
A glint of amusement passed through Orion's eyes. He clearly read the thought behind the nod.
The conversation circled back to Sirius.
"Where do you think Sirius should direct his efforts?" Orion asked.
Regulus barely paused. "Transfiguration. He has the talent for it."
Orion considered this, nodded, and said nothing more.
He waved a hand. "First night home. Get some rest. Go."
---
Regulus walked along the corridor toward his room. As he passed Sirius's door, his magical perception caught the anomaly.
A human-shaped outline made of magical energy pressed flat against the inside of the door.
Young wizards couldn't properly regulate their magic, and in Regulus's perception, it blazed like a beacon.
As footsteps drew near, the outline went rigid. All movement ceased, a clumsy attempt to project the impression that no one was inside.
Regulus stopped and knocked.
Silence behind the door. Then it cracked open.
Sirius stood there, expression caught somewhere between guilt and forced nonchalance. The act was terrible. A twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed the embarrassment underneath.
"What do you want?" His voice was deliberately flat.
Regulus looked at him. "Not going to invite me in?"
Sirius pressed his lips together, then dropped his gaze and stepped aside.
Regulus walked in, eyes sweeping the room.
Two cups of tea sat on the desk, still steaming, positioned with a precision that was anything but careless.
He glanced back at Sirius.
Sirius turned his face away, staring at a Quidditch team poster on the wall.
It had been years since Regulus last set foot in here. Once the rift between Sirius and the family deepened, this bedroom became the only territory in Grimmauld Place that belonged to him, or at least he believed it did. He'd stopped letting Regulus in. No invitations, nothing shared, as if drawing a line in the sand.
This was Gryffindor Sirius's domain. No place for the Black family heir.
He wanted to keep this space pure, untouched by the suffocating atmosphere of the household.
Regulus said nothing. He walked to the desk, picked up one of the cups, and took a sip.
The temperature was perfect. Sweetened with honey. The way Sirius liked it.
The gesture said everything. I know you were waiting for me. I know this cup was meant for me.
Sirius went stiffer still. Hands shoved in his pockets, he stayed rooted by the door.
Regulus waited.
A storm of thoughts churned behind Sirius's eyes. He didn't know how to categorize Regulus.
An enemy? No. They shared blood.
Family? That didn't fit either. Regulus walked a completely different path, one that led toward Pure-blood glory, toward a future Voldemort might rule.
Sirius understood with painful clarity that Regulus would inherit the Black family and stand with the Pure-blood faction. In some blurred vision of the future, that meant they might end up on opposite sides. Wands aimed at each other across a battlefield.
And yet Regulus was still his brother. The person he refused to acknowledge but who occupied space in a part of his mind still labeled family. The figure his gaze sometimes tracked during dinner in the Great Hall. The name that made his ears sharpen whenever someone mentioned the younger Black son.
The contradiction gnawed at him.
Sirius wasn't stupid. Back in the quiet of his room, he'd worked out the purpose behind what happened tonight. Regulus hadn't hit him without reason. Orion hadn't made him watch that duel for nothing.
They'd delivered the message in the most direct way possible: strength matters. Without it, you get hurt.
Walk whatever path you want. That's your choice. But you'd better be able to protect yourself.
Because next time, the one who raises a hand against you might be an enemy.
These thoughts circled several times before Sirius drew a deep breath and finally spoke.
"How did you do it?"
The question hung in the air, and he braced for dismissal. Pure-blood families hoarded secrets, ancient traditions, forbidden knowledge, blood magic. None of it was shared freely, not even with other members of the family.
Regulus could easily deflect with talk of family confidentiality or some other excuse.
---
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