Four months later.
March, 1964.
Walburga Black hosted what she called a spring tea gathering. Officially, it was a pleasant social afternoon for the women of the family. In reality, however, it was simply Walburga's way of showing off her son's growth to her sisters.
The first to arrive was thirteen-year-old Bellatrix.
She stepped into the Black family manor wearing a dark green velvet dress. Her black hair had been combed carefully, every strand arranged with meticulous precision. Even at thirteen, Bellatrix carried herself with a sharp, almost predatory confidence. Her eyes swept across the room like a judge searching for flaws.
The moment she saw Sirius, she walked straight over.
"I heard you blew up the living room," she said bluntly.
Sirius immediately puffed up with pride and lifted his chin.
"I can control my magic now!" he declared.
Soon after, nine-year-old Andromeda and eight-year-old Narcissa entered the house with their mother, Druella.
Andromeda greeted Regulus with a gentle smile as she passed by. Narcissa, on the other hand, paused to examine the new decorations around the living room, her blue eyes quietly assessing every detail.
The tea party began shortly afterward.
The adults gathered around the large table, chatting politely about topics that Regulus found endlessly dull: personnel changes at the Ministry of Magic, marriages within old wizarding families, and the recent engagement of a daughter from some distant pure-blood house. The groom's bloodline, someone mentioned, was not entirely pure—but his wealth apparently compensated for that flaw.
Meanwhile, the children sat at a smaller table prepared specifically for them. The servants had placed child-sized plates, teacups, and polished silver cutlery neatly in front of each seat.
Sirius, however, had little interest in biscuits or tea.
He was restless.
He wanted to show off.
Across the table, Regulus was not paying attention to the conversation at all. Instead, his mind wandered to a question that had been bothering him for several days.
Why did the Transfiguration Spell require imagining a specific form?
What would happen if someone simply wanted to change the state of matter instead of transforming it into a specific object?
Could the structure itself be altered without fixing it to a predefined shape?
"Watch this."
Sirius suddenly spoke, interrupting Regulus's thoughts.
The four-year-old fixed his gaze on a silver spoon resting on the table.
Magic surged outward.
Slowly, the spoon began to bend.
It formed a smooth, elegant curve.
Sirius grinned proudly.
But then his excitement got the better of him.
Just a little more, he thought.
If it bends more, it'll look even better.
More magic poured out.
Too much.
The spoon bent further… and further…
Until it went too far.
Sirius suddenly realized something was wrong.
He glanced nervously at Bellatrix, hoping she had not noticed.
That single moment of distraction was enough.
His control slipped.
The magic that had been focused on the spoon suddenly burst outward like a flood breaking through a shattered dam.
The uncontrolled energy surged across the entire table.
Regulus immediately felt the disturbance.
His head snapped up.
Every piece of silverware on the small table began to change.
The bright silver color faded.
A strange fleshy pink spread across the metal surfaces.
Thin ring-shaped patterns appeared.
Then they moved.
The spoons wriggled.
The forks twisted.
The knives curled.
Within seconds, the entire set of cutlery had transformed into earthworms.
Twelve fat, pink worms squirmed across the white tablecloth.
The commotion instantly drew the attention of the adults.
Walburga turned around.
Her face slowly shifted from red… to white.
Druella calmly set down her teacup, though her expression stiffened.
Bellatrix raised one eyebrow dramatically. She covered her mouth with one hand and let out a theatrical gasp.
"Ah."
Sirius froze.
He stared at the table.
At the worms.
His lips trembled.
"I…"
The word caught in his throat.
He could not continue.
Walburga's hand slowly reached for her wand.
Regulus saw the anger in his mother's eyes.
But it was not just anger.
It was humiliation.
The proud mistress of the Black family had just lost face in front of her sisters.
Trouble, Regulus thought.
If she loses her temper now, the tea party will end badly. Sirius will be punished, and Mother will complain about it for the next three days.
That sounded exhausting.
Regulus quietly stood up.
He walked toward the small table and looked down at the wriggling creatures.
I have to admit, he thought, the transformation is quite complete.
He began analyzing the structure automatically.
The Transfiguration Spell had not destroyed the material foundation entirely. Instead, it had reorganized the molecular arrangement.
The silver atoms still existed.
Which meant the memory-metal effect should still remain.
All he needed to do was find the last stable structural state before the transformation occurred.
Regulus raised his hand.
His palm hovered about ten centimeters above the worms.
Magic began to flow outward.
Unlike ordinary wizards, Regulus's control over magic operated with microscopic precision.
He did not rely on emotional impulse the way most spellcasting worked.
Instead, he relied on calculation.
His brain instinctively constructed complex dimensional models.
It calculated magical flow, adjusted output frequencies, and mapped structural changes simultaneously.
Sometimes Regulus felt as if there were a supercomputer hidden inside his mind.
He once jokingly called it his Transmigrator's perk.
The next moment, silver light shimmered inside the earthworms.
They stopped wriggling.
Then they slowly floated upward.
One by one, the twelve worms rose into the air.
They arranged themselves into a perfect hexagon.
A stable hexagonal structure, Regulus noted mentally.
Optimal distribution of magical energy.
Bellatrix leaned forward.
Her eyes widened.
Narcissa covered her mouth in surprise.
Andromeda whispered softly.
"Merlin…"
The reversal began.
The worms contracted.
Their bodies stretched and reshaped.
Silver light burst from within.
Ten seconds later—
The original cutlery returned.
Spoons, forks, and knives floated in midair, shining as if nothing had happened.
Regulus moved his fingers slightly.
The utensils drifted downward along the shortest possible paths, carefully avoiding obstacles.
One by one, they settled back into their exact original positions.
Spoon.
Fork.
Knife.
Teacup.
Saucer.
Small plate.
Everything returned perfectly.
Only one problem remained.
The bent spoon.
The crease was deep.
The metal had suffered structural fatigue.
Regulus extended his index finger and gently touched the damaged section.
To restore the crystal structure, the metal needed to be heated to its recrystallization temperature—but not beyond its melting point.
Magic simulated the thermal effect.
Its frequency adjusted to resonate precisely with the silver atoms.
Slowly—
The crease vanished.
The atoms returned to their proper positions as if time itself were reversing.
Five seconds later, the spoon looked completely new.
Regulus withdrew his hand.
He returned to his seat calmly.
Then he picked up the biscuit he had been eating earlier.
His face remained expressionless.
But inside—
He felt rather proud.
As expected of me.
"Merlin's beard!" Druella blurted.
She nearly dropped the teacup in her hand.
Bellatrix stood up and walked to the table.
She picked up the restored spoon and inspected it carefully.
She turned it over.
Held it toward the light.
Tapped it with her fingernail.
The spoon produced a clear metallic ring.
Bellatrix slowly looked up at Regulus.
Her gaze was filled with shock.
"You… how did you do that?"
Regulus chewed his biscuit thoughtfully.
"They wanted to change back," he said vaguely.
"What?"
"The cutlery wanted to look like cutlery again. I just helped a little."
The explanation sounded absurd.
But coming from a three-year-old, it somehow seemed perfectly natural.
Of course I know how I did it, Regulus thought.
But even if I can do it… explaining it would be impossible.
Wizards often performed incredible feats based purely on instinct and talent.
But if a three-year-old could both perform the feat and explain the theory behind it…
That would be far too suspicious.
Nearby, Narcissa whispered quietly.
"He looks so relaxed."
Andromeda nodded slowly.
But there was a hint of worry in her eyes.
Walburga's expression shifted rapidly.
Shock.
Confusion.
Then overwhelming joy.
But she restrained herself.
The mistress of the Black family could not lose her composure in front of guests.
She calmly lifted her teacup and took a sip.
"Regulus," she said smoothly, "has a special intuition for Transfiguration."
Druella laughed dryly.
"Special? Walburga, this is a miracle! He's only three!"
She shook her head.
"What was Orion doing at three? He was still smearing jam on the house-elves."
The adults laughed softly.
Throughout the rest of the gathering, everyone's gaze occasionally drifted toward Regulus.
But he simply sat quietly and continued eating biscuits.
As if nothing unusual had happened.
Across the table, Sirius kept his head lowered.
Regulus glanced at him briefly.
He understood immediately.
Sirius's pride had been wounded.
When the tea party finally ended, Druella left with her daughters.
The manor slowly returned to silence.
The moment the guests disappeared, Walburga finally lost control.
She picked Regulus up excitedly.
"My genius!"
She whispered eagerly in his ear.
"I knew it! The future of the Black family!"
Over her shoulder, Regulus saw Sirius.
The boy stood silently at the doorway.
His small hands gripped the doorframe tightly.
His expression was complicated.
Shock.
Hurt.
Confusion.
And perhaps—
A hint of jealousy.
Double the trouble, Regulus sighed inwardly.
A four-year-old cannot understand necessity.
He only knows that his younger brother outshined him.
Sirius suddenly turned and ran upstairs.
His footsteps thundered loudly across the stairs.
Walburga frowned.
"He's throwing another tantrum," she muttered. "Ignore him, Regulus. You did the right thing."
He's only four, Regulus thought.
But he said nothing.
After all—
He himself was only three.
That night, Orion knocked on Regulus's bedroom door.
He had just returned home. As a member of the Wizengamot, he often worked late.
"I heard about what happened today," Orion said calmly as he sat across from his son.
"Exquisite skill."
Then he asked the obvious question.
"How did you do it?"
Regulus thought for three seconds.
"I don't know," he replied.
"I just… saw how it should be done."
"Saw?" Orion frowned slightly.
"Yes."
"I saw the earthworms' original appearance," Regulus explained.
"So I let them change back."
Orion stared at him thoughtfully.
This explanation could be attributed to talent.
Rare talent.
But not impossible.
Sirius possessed immense magical power, though it lacked control.
Regulus, however, displayed something different.
Precision.
Calculation.
Control.
"An interesting explanation," Orion finally said.
"But remember something."
"In front of others, do not reveal too much."
"Genius attracts jealousy."
"And sometimes…"
"…fear."
Regulus nodded.
"I understand."
Then he casually asked,
"Cousin Bella seemed very excited."
Orion's expression darkened slightly.
"Bella…"
He sighed.
"She is obsessed with power."
"And there is someone else rising in the wizarding world who is equally obsessed with power."
He looked directly at Regulus.
"Be careful not to attract his attention."
Regulus nodded calmly.
He knew exactly who Orion meant.
Tom Riddle.
The man who would one day become—
Lord Voldemort.