In the spring of 1965, the garden of Number 12, Grimmauld Place was slowly awakening from winter. The tall beech trees lining the yard had begun to sprout tender green buds, and the soft London sunlight filtered through their branches, casting broken shadows across the grass.
"Regulus!"
Sirius burst out of the house with the unstoppable energy only a five-year-old could possess. In his hand he waved a small toy sword, swinging it through the air as though he were a knight charging into battle.
"Look!" Sirius shouted excitedly. "I can make the sword glow!"
He squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated as hard as he could. For a brief moment, a faint silver light flickered at the tip of the toy sword. It glimmered weakly, barely brighter than a candle flame, before fading away after only two seconds.
Sirius blinked in disappointment.
He was only five years old. Although his magic had begun to show signs of control, it was still wildly unstable.
"Not bad."
Regulus closed the book resting on his lap and gave a calm, almost indifferent response.
Sirius stabbed the sword dramatically into the soil.
"Come on! Let's explore the basement!" he said eagerly. "Kreacher says there are biting boxes down there!"
"I'm reading," Regulus replied, shaking his head.
Sirius frowned.
"What's so interesting about a book?"
Curious despite himself, he leaned closer and glanced at the page. The book Regulus was reading was an illustrated guide filled with drawings of magical creatures.
Sirius snorted.
"These pictures are fake! Real dragons are way bigger than that! Cousin Bella said that Great Personage has a dragon as a pet!"
Regulus raised his head slightly.
"Which Great Personage?"
Sirius immediately lowered his voice, as though sharing a dangerous secret.
"That one," he whispered. "Bella says he's gathering followers to restore the glory of the pure-bloods. Dad says he's a dangerous element."
Regulus's heart skipped a beat.
Lord Voldemort.
Tom Riddle.
Was it already beginning?
Regulus's mind quickly ran through the timeline he remembered from the original story. Voldemort's first rise to power had been during the early 1970s, but recruitment and preparation must have begun years before that.
1965…
That meant Tom Riddle was almost certainly already operating in secret. Using the slogan of pure-blood revival, he would attract support from ancient wizarding families hungry for influence and power.
"What else did Bella say?" Regulus asked quietly.
Sirius dropped down onto the stone bench beside him.
"She said that Great Personage has powerful magic. Magic that can show people miracles."
Regulus remained silent for a moment.
"Regulus?" Sirius nudged his shoulder. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking…" Regulus looked down at the book in his hands. "Knowledge is power. That Great Personage must have read a lot of books."
"No way!" Sirius protested immediately. "He's naturally powerful!"
Regulus didn't bother arguing.
Naive.
Power never appeared out of nothing.
Lord Voldemort's terrifying abilities were not simply the result of talent. His mastery came from years of studying ancient texts, conducting dangerous experiments, and plundering forgotten magical knowledge.
Books.
Research.
Dark rituals.
Everything had a source.
A sudden sense of urgency tightened around Regulus's heart.
Time was running out.
Once Lord Voldemort rose openly, the entire wizarding world would be forced to take sides. The ancient pure-blood families would inevitably be drawn into the conflict.
The Black family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
Neutrality would never be an option.
In the original story, most members of the Black family eventually joined the Death Eaters. Only Sirius and Andromeda refused.
And Regulus Black himself…
Regulus frowned slightly.
In the original timeline, he had eventually fallen under Voldemort's influence.
If he showed extraordinary magical talent, Voldemort would undoubtedly notice him sooner or later.
But hiding his talent was impossible.
Not if he wanted to survive.
Preparation had to begin now.
That afternoon, Regulus walked to his father's study with three finished children's picture books tucked under his arm.
He knocked politely on the heavy door.
"Come in."
Orion Black sat behind a massive mahogany desk covered with parchment and official Wizengamot documents. When he saw his youngest son standing there, he raised his eyebrows slightly.
"Regulus? What is it?"
Regulus walked forward and placed the picture books neatly on the corner of the desk.
"Father," he said calmly, "I've finished these. I want to read real books."
Orion leaned back in his chair.
"Real books?"
"Books with words," Regulus explained. "Books with knowledge… and magic."
At that moment the door opened again.
Walburga Black entered the room carrying a tray of tea. When she heard her son's request, she immediately frowned.
"He's only four years old, Orion," she said sharply. "Don't spoil him. He should first study the Pure-blood Family Etiquette Manual and learn how to properly uphold the family's honor."
Regulus turned to face her.
"Honor requires strength to support it," he said calmly. "If I am not strong enough, how can I protect the status of the Black family?"
The room fell silent.
Hearing such words from a four-year-old child felt strange—almost unsettling.
Walburga stared at him in surprise.
Orion, however, slowly nodded.
"Our son makes a reasonable argument."
He tapped his quill lightly against the desk.
"Starting tomorrow, you may spend one hour a day in the family library. Kreacher will accompany you."
"Yes, Father."
Regulus bowed his head slightly and turned to leave.
There was no excitement on his face.
No childish joy.
For him, this was simply the logical outcome of a reasonable request. There was no reason his parents would refuse access to knowledge.
Behind him, Walburga opened her mouth as if to protest.
But Orion raised a hand, stopping her.
"Walburga," he said quietly, "our son requires a special education."
"Times are changing."
He lowered his voice slightly.
"That Great Personage is gathering strength. The Black family needs more than an heir who merely understands etiquette."
Walburga's eyes brightened.
"You know about That Lord too…"
"The entire British wizarding world knows," Orion replied heavily. "He is recruiting supporters. Promising power to followers and threatening enemies with fear."
"The Lestrange family has already sided with him. The Malfoys are still observing the situation."
He paused before finishing.
"The Black family will eventually have to make a choice."
The next morning, at exactly ten o'clock, Kreacher led Regulus to the third floor.
At the end of the corridor stood a pair of enormous wooden doors.
They were carved from black oak and decorated with silver constellation patterns that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Instead of handles, the doors had two symmetrical keyholes shaped like open raven beaks.
"It requires two keys turned at the same time, Young Master," Kreacher whispered.
From his apron pocket he produced two antique keys.
One was silver-white with a tiny sun carved into the handle.
The other was jet-black with a crescent moon engraved on it.
The house-elf inserted both keys.
Click.
The doors opened silently.
The moment Regulus stepped inside, the first thing he felt was pressure.
The density of magic in the room was astonishing.
Fine particles of silver light drifted slowly through the air like floating dust. Towering bookshelves stretched from the floor all the way to the ten-meter ceiling.
A tall moving ladder slid quietly along the shelves. Even magic could not retrieve the highest books.
Every shelf was decorated with intricate carvings of magical creatures.
The lowest shelves showed goblins and fairies.
The middle shelves displayed centaurs and merpeople.
The highest shelves were crowned by gryphons and dragons.
In the center of the room stood a giant orrery—an elaborate brass mechanism that simulated the movement of the solar system.
But unlike a Muggle model, several additional celestial bodies orbited within the structure—mysterious planets known only to wizarding astronomers.
"The Open Section is on the left, Young Master," Kreacher whispered. "The Family Heritage Section is on the right. That area requires the Master's permission."
"And straight ahead…"
Kreacher hesitated.
"That is the Restricted Section. You must not approach it."
Regulus nodded and walked toward the Open Section.
He pulled out a thick genealogy book and flipped through it quickly.
Malfoy.
Lestrange.
Nott.
Carrow.
The names were all familiar.
In the future, these families would form the backbone of the Death Eaters.
If they all united under Voldemort's banner, half the wizarding world's wealth and influence would fall into his hands.
Regulus closed the book slowly.
He needed power before that day arrived.
After nearly an hour of reading, Regulus wandered toward the Family Heritage Section.
The bookshelves here were made from deep red mahogany, and every single book was surrounded by a faint magical barrier.
Kreacher followed nervously behind him.
"Young Master… permission is required."
"I'm only reading the titles."
Regulus nodded calmly.
But his gaze had already moved past the shelves.
Toward the far end of the library.
The Restricted Section.
There were no bookshelves visible there.
Instead, a black iron wall filled the stone archway. In its center stood a barred gate, the iron rods as thick as a baby's arm.
Beyond the bars stretched darkness.
The lock was shaped like a bronze skull.
Its jawbone moved slightly, and the keyhole sat in the skull's empty left eye socket.
Regulus stepped closer and squinted through the bars.
Faint outlines of shelves could be seen in the darkness.
Golden titles shimmered faintly on the spines of forbidden books.
The Darkest Arts: Origins and Advancement of the Unforgivable Curses
Blood Curse Studies: Bloodline Magic and Eternal Binding
Necromantic Communication: Forbidden Rituals for Conversing with the Other Side
Each title struck Regulus's mind like a hammer.
These were the types of books Voldemort must have studied.
Horcruxes.
Soul experiments.
Dark rituals.
How much knowledge had Tom Riddle already mastered?
Regulus clenched his fists slightly.
At the very least, he needed to understand the methods Voldemort was using.
But not now.
The timing was wrong.
His authority within the family was far too low.
Regulus turned away.
"Time's up," he said calmly. "Let's go."
Before leaving the library, he took one final glance toward the Restricted Section.
That night, Regulus stood beside the window in his bedroom.
Outside, the city of London glowed with restless activity. Muggle cars moved along the streets below, their red and yellow headlights weaving together in endless streams.
Urban light pollution covered the sky.
The real stars were invisible.
But Regulus knew they were still there.
Far above the clouds.
The coming war.
The struggles for power among wizarding families.
The ambitions and madness of the pure-blood elite.
Compared to the scale of the cosmos, it was all insignificant—mere dust.
But Regulus Black was currently trapped within that dust.
He stared silently into the night.
Somewhere out there, perhaps in the Albanian forests or within some forgotten ruin, Tom Riddle might already be studying forbidden magic.
Preparing.
Planning.
Becoming the Dark Lord known as Voldemort.
And time…
was running out.