"I'll write up the key points and the underlying logic," Regulus said. "Leave it here at home. Anyone who wants to learn can read it for themselves."
Orion looked at him and nodded.
Something deeper moved behind his eyes, as though he were watching the family's future take shape in the son sitting before him, stretching further than any direction he could have imagined.
The door on the far side of the study swung open, the one connecting to the training room.
Gerald Hawke stepped through first, the hem of his robes dusted with grit. He glanced up, spotted Regulus, and gave a casual nod.
"Young Mr. Black."
"Mr. Hawke." Regulus returned the greeting politely.
Hawke turned to Orion. "Mr. Black, Sirius's training has reached a stopping point." His tone was matter-of-fact. "He's got a solid grasp of the fundamentals now. Applying them well."
Orion nodded for him to continue.
Hawke added one more thing, a note of genuine admiration creeping in. "Mr. Black, I have to say it again. The Black bloodline is..." He shook his head, searching for the right word. "The talent is remarkable. Truly remarkable."
Orion's gaze flicked to Regulus for a beat, then back. He offered Hawke a few courteous words, thanked him for his efforts, mentioned that further arrangements would follow.
Hawke nodded, said his goodbyes, and left.
The study door closed.
Father and son looked at each other. A few seconds of quiet.
Hawke had praised Sirius's talent. And he wasn't wrong. Among the young wizards Hawke had trained, Sirius belonged in the top tier.
But Hawke had no idea what real talent looked like.
Minutes ago, in this very room, without a word or a gesture anyone would notice, the person who'd nearly shaken the current Head of House Black off his chair with an invisible spell had been standing right in front of him, politely calling him "Mr. Hawke."
Neither father nor son spoke. But amusement glinted in both pairs of eyes.
Before long, the training room door opened again, and Sirius walked out.
His steps were unsteady, each one landing like he was treading on cotton. His body listed sideways, and he had to grip the doorframe to stay upright.
Several scorch marks blackened his robes, the edges curled and charred. A chunk was missing from the left shoulder entirely.
Then he saw Regulus sitting there, and his body snapped straight.
Pure reflex. No thought behind it. He didn't want to look wrecked in front of his brother.
Even though Regulus had seen him wrecked more than once.
Some of those times, Regulus had been the one doing the wrecking.
Sirius pulled his hand off the wall and let it hang at his side. His feet found their balance, mostly, though his knees still trembled faintly.
His mouth opened.
Regulus, where've you been all this time?
Regulus, did you go lick Voldemort's boots like Bella?
Regulus, do you have any idea how unbearable Walburga's been while you were gone?
But his lips parted and closed again. The words jammed in his throat, refusing to come out.
He stood there, looking at Regulus. Regulus looked back.
Neither said a word.
Then Sirius broke eye contact and kept walking. One step at a time, slow, but without touching the wall.
He crossed the study and the door shut behind him.
Regulus and Orion both watched him go, watched the door close.
Silence held the room for a few seconds before Regulus turned back. "Father, I'm heading to my room."
Orion didn't respond right away. Regulus stood to leave, and only then did he speak. "More magic training ahead?"
Regulus paused. Shook his head. "No need."
There would always be more to practice. The road of magic stretched endlessly, peak after peak waiting beyond the horizon. Of course he'd keep training.
But he didn't need to lock himself away for solitary research anymore.
The Decomposition Curse was complete. Space Warp was second nature. Fiendfyre control was stable. Everything he'd set out to accomplish over the break was done, except for Star Guided meditation.
What came next was testing in live combat. Real confrontation, to prove these spells' worth under pressure.
In uncertain conditions, against real opponents, could he deploy what he'd developed? How would it perform?
And finding the catalyst to ignite Bellatrix.
Orion studied him, his gaze lingering on Regulus's face for a moment, then nodded. "Rest at home for a week. There are plans for the one after."
"All right."
Regulus turned and left. Steady footsteps, his back disappearing through the doorway.
---
On a morning in mid-July, after breakfast, Orion brought Regulus to the hall.
The hall occupied the east wing of the house. Reserved for guests of significant standing, it saw little use otherwise.
A fire burned in the hearth. Above it hung an oil painting of a North Sea storm, enormous waves heaving and crashing, a sailing ship barely visible at the crest of one, fighting to stay afloat.
They settled into the sofa by the window. The wait was short. Kreacher pushed the door open and entered, someone following behind.
"Master, young master, the guest has arrived."
Regulus looked up. A witch.
Around six foot two.
Blonde hair woven into a braid and pinned at the back of her head, not a strand out of place.
She wore a wizard's hunting coat in dark grey, tailored close, cinched at the waist, with leather reinforcements at the shoulders. Beneath the fabric, the contour of toned muscle was visible.
She stood there looking martial, austere, and somehow effortlessly striking.
Mid-twenties, by the look of her.
Her magic ran deep, rolling around her like a slow, heavy tide. Nothing showy, but anyone with even a sliver of magical perception could tell immediately: this was a formidable witch.
Orion rose. "Freya von Eisenhardt."
He turned to Regulus. "This is Regulus."
Regulus stood and offered a slight bow.
Eisenhardt. He knew the family.
German Pure-bloods. A name that carried as much weight in Northern European magical circles as Black did in Britain.
The Eisenhardt family controlled the cultivation and trade of most Magical Pearls in the North Sea. They held deep roots inside the German Ministry of Magic.
Regulus had read their file in the family library's archive of foreign Pure-blood families.
The Eisenhardt lineage traced back to the thirteenth century.
Unlike their British counterparts, they had no taste for socializing or spectacle. Their style was restrained, pragmatic.
The family creed was action before words. Every generation's Head of House was known for composure, efficiency, and precision in judgment.
During Grindelwald's rise, the Eisenhardt family chose neutrality.
But unlike the fence-sitters who called themselves neutral, they meant it.
They neither backed Grindelwald's Acolytes nor joined the International Confederation of Wizards' campaign against them. They stayed on their patch of North Sea coastline and minded their own business.
Grindelwald's people had approached them. The request, so the records said, was to use the North Sea shipping lanes to transport certain goods. The Eisenhardts refused.
But the refusal was gracious. A generous gift accompanied it, enough to preserve dignity on both sides.
After that, a tacit understanding formed between the Eisenhardts and Grindelwald: no cooperation, no hostility, no interference.
When the war ended, they escaped any reckoning. No evidence existed linking them to Grindelwald's Acolytes' activities.
The International Confederation of Wizards investigated. In the end, the only verdict they could reach was: strict neutrality.
When Regulus had first read that passage, the assessment came instantly. Not just pragmatic. Clever.
In an era that demanded you pick a side, navigating both factions without making an enemy of either, and emerging clean on the other end, took more than strength. It required political judgment of the highest order.
German Pure-blood philosophy diverged from Britain's.
British Pure-bloods loved to trumpet the purity of their blood, loved their social circles, loved proclaiming the supremacy of magical lineage at every opportunity.
German Pure-bloods valued strength and competence. Bloodline mattered, certainly, but what mattered more was whether you could shoulder the family's weight and make the right call when it counted.
They intermarried too, but the purpose was consolidating power, not proving how pure your blood was.
The difference traced back to each country's wizarding history.
British Pure-bloods clung to the manners of old-world aristocracy. Generations huddled on the same islands, intermarrying with Continental families when it suited them, but convinced that their own traditions were the only authentic ones. Over time, that bred a stiff, hidebound conservatism.
Germany sat at the heart of Europe. Its wizarding families had tangled with every kind of power over the centuries, taken their lumps and dealt some of their own, and gradually forged that hard-nosed, practical way of doing things.
Regulus turned these thoughts over as his gaze rested on Freya.