In the late autumn of 1968, the beech tree in the courtyard of Number 12, Grimmauld Place shed its final leaf.
A cold wind swept through the narrow London street, rattling the iron railings outside the old Black family home. The branches of the tree stood bare and skeletal against the grey sky, as if mirroring the slow fracture growing inside the ancient house.
Regulus Black was seven years old.
During the past year, his magical guidance exercises had produced remarkable results. His physical strength had grown steadily, his body was noticeably more resilient, and his perception of magic had become far sharper than before. He could now sense fluctuations in magical energy around him—something most wizards could not do until their Hogwarts years.
His control over magic had also improved. Even without a wand, he could guide small bursts of power with surprising precision.
Meanwhile, his older brother Sirius had turned eight.
And Sirius's rebellion had entered a completely new stage.
At first, it had only been childish resistance—talking back to their mother, refusing to follow certain rules, or quietly ignoring the family traditions that Walburga held sacred.
But now it had evolved into something deliberate.
When Walburga ordered Sirius to recite the Black family tree, he would deliberately mispronounce names or skip entire branches.
When she forced him to practice aristocratic etiquette, he would secretly turn teacups into croaking frogs or make the silverware twitch like insects.
When she demanded he wear formal robes during dinner, he would rip at the stiff collars the moment she turned away.
It was no longer accidental misbehavior.
It was systematic defiance.
One evening during dinner, Sirius had even openly questioned the pure-blood ideology of the Black family.
Walburga had nearly exploded with rage.
Although Regulus had intervened at the time, attempting to calm the situation and redirect the conversation, Sirius had interpreted it differently. In his eyes, Regulus wasn't mediating.
He was submitting.
To Sirius, his younger brother's calm behavior looked like nothing more than shameless obedience to their parents.
Since that day, the distance between them had only grown wider.
Their conversations became rare.
Sometimes Regulus would meet Sirius in the hallway late at night. For a moment their eyes would meet, and Sirius's expression would be complicated—anger, confusion, resentment, and beneath it all, something that looked painfully close to disappointment.
Regulus understood that look.
Sirius believed he had betrayed him.
And in some ways… he was right.
On the first weekend of December, the Malfoy family paid a visit.
Everyone in the house understood the real reason for the meeting.
Abraxas Malfoy had not come merely for tea.
He had come as a representative.
A representative of Lord Voldemort.
His purpose was simple—to determine the stance of the House of Black.
Abraxas Malfoy was fifty-five years old. Despite his age, his appearance remained elegant and well maintained. His long silver-grey hair was neatly tied behind his head, and his pale face carried the calm confidence of an aristocrat who had never known hardship.
He wore dark green robes embroidered with delicate silver snake patterns along the cuffs. In one hand he held an ebony cane topped with a polished black-green opal that shimmered faintly in the firelight.
"Walburga, you look well," he said smoothly.
His voice carried the faint oily politeness of someone who rarely revealed his true thoughts.
"Orion, it has been some time. Is your work at the Wizengamot proceeding smoothly?"
Orion Black sat at the head of the long dining table. His posture was perfectly straight, his expression calm.
"As it always does," Orion replied evenly. "And what has occupied Mr. Malfoy's attention lately?"
Abraxas lifted his teacup and blew lightly across the surface.
"I have been thinking about the future," he said.
"The future of the wizarding world… and our place within it."
Lucius Malfoy had not accompanied his father.
Regulus suspected the boy was being prepared for more important responsibilities—perhaps even a formal introduction to Voldemort's inner circle.
"That Lord holds the House of Black in the highest regard," Abraxas continued.
He set down his teacup carefully.
"He believes that among the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Black family possesses one of the oldest, purest, and most steadfast bloodlines."
"Steadfast?" Orion asked quietly.
"In preserving tradition," Abraxas replied.
"Many families are wavering. The Potter family openly associates with Muggle-borns. The Weasley family has practically become synonymous with blood traitors. Even the Longbottom family, though pure-blooded, lacks the strength to stand firm."
He paused.
"Only the House of Black has remained unwavering."
"That Lord believes such a family deserves a leading role in the new order."
Walburga leaned forward slightly.
"Does That Lord… have a specific plan?"
Abraxas's eyes gleamed.
"Revival."
"The wizarding world has grown weak. The Ministry of Magic is bloated with incompetence. The Wizengamot has lost its authority. Magical education has become diluted."
He spoke calmly, but his words carried quiet conviction.
"That Lord intends to purge the weak elements within the Ministry, restore the authority of ancient institutions, and rebuild a stronger magical society."
He paused before continuing.
"Most importantly, the dominance of pure-blood wizards will be restored. The wizarding world will return to its proper order."
"Ambitious," Orion said.
"It is not ambition," Abraxas corrected gently.
"It is vision."
"That Lord possesses power, knowledge, and the determination to reshape reality itself."
He folded his hands together.
"And he is not alone."
"The Lestrange family has pledged support. The Nott family as well. The Carrow family too."
"Support him in what exactly?"
The question came suddenly.
Everyone turned.
Sirius was standing at the far end of the table, his grey eyes burning with anger.
Walburga frowned immediately.
"Sirius, when adults are speaking—"
"I'm asking a real question," Sirius interrupted.
He stared directly at Abraxas.
"Support him in doing what? Killing people? Hunting Muggle-borns? Or turning everyone into his slaves?"
"Sirius!" Walburga's voice rose sharply.
But Abraxas raised one hand, stopping her.
His expression remained perfectly calm.
"Young people should ask questions," he said mildly.
"What That Lord seeks to create is not tyranny."
"It is order."
He leaned back slightly.
"In the new order, everyone will have their place. Pure-blood wizards will naturally lead. Half-bloods and Muggle-borns may serve according to their abilities."
"And Muggles?" Sirius demanded.
"They must be managed," Abraxas replied simply.
"Managed?" Sirius repeated in disbelief.
"On what basis do you decide who rules and who serves?"
Abraxas answered as though the matter were obvious.
"Power."
"A thousand years of magical heritage."
"And the choice of magic itself."
"The magic of pure-blood families is stronger, more stable. That is simply a fact."
"I don't believe—"
Abraxas interrupted him gently.
"What you believe is irrelevant."
"The world does not change its rules because of the opinions of an eight-year-old boy."
His voice remained polite, but the underlying meaning was unmistakable.
"When you are older, perhaps you will understand. When you see how Muggles fear magic… how they persecute it… and how pure-blood families have slowly lost their rightful place."
"And if I never understand?" Sirius asked stubbornly.
Abraxas smiled faintly.
"Then you will have two choices."
"Accept that you do not understand… and follow the rules."
"Or be excluded by them."
The threat hung in the air like ice.
Sirius's face paled slightly, but he refused to look away.
At that moment, Regulus spoke.
"Mr. Malfoy is correct."
His voice was calm and steady.
"Order requires power to maintain it. If pure-blood wizards truly possess stronger magical talent, then their leadership could create a more stable wizarding society."
Silence filled the room.
Walburga's eyes shone with pride.
Orion remained expressionless.
But Sirius stared at Regulus as if seeing him for the first time.
Shock.
Disbelief.
And finally… deep disappointment.
"You think that too?" Sirius asked quietly.
Regulus met his brother's gaze.
"I'm simply stating a logical possibility."
"If pure-blood magic is stronger, leadership would follow naturally."
Sirius's hands clenched.
He looked ready to explode with anger.
But Walburga stood abruptly.
"Sirius. Go to your room. Now."
For a moment Sirius did not move.
His gaze moved slowly across the room—his mother, his father, Abraxas…
And finally Regulus.
Then he turned and walked out.
After Sirius left, the tension in the room slowly eased.
Abraxas calmly lifted his teacup again.
"The future of the wizarding world will not be limited to Britain," he continued.
"Europe, America, even Asia. That Lord's influence is expanding rapidly."
"Families that support him will have the opportunity to participate in rebuilding the magical order on a global scale."
He smiled faintly.
"Resources. Knowledge. Power."
"Far beyond what the Ministry of Magic could ever offer."
Regulus nearly rolled his eyes internally.
Voldemort wanted to conquer the entire world.
Yet in the end he would fail to control even Britain.
Orion finally spoke after a long silence.
"We will need time to consider."
Abraxas rose to his feet.
"Of course."
"That Lord never forces loyalty."
"There will be a gathering in Wiltshire next month. Several families will attend to exchange ideas."
"If the House of Black is interested, I would be happy to extend an invitation."
Walburga looked at her husband eagerly.
Orion gave a small nod.
"We will consider it."
After the Malfoys departed, Walburga immediately turned toward Orion.
"We must attend," she insisted.
"Abraxas is right. This is our opportunity. The House of Black should stand at the forefront of the new era."
Orion rubbed his temple wearily.
"Walburga… we must be cautious."
"It all sounds impressive, but what will the cost be?"
"When he speaks of purging weak elements… some of those people might be our allies."
"Or even family."
"Andromeda is no longer family," Walburga said coldly.
Orion sighed.
"And Sirius?"
"If his rebellion continues—"
"Then let him go!" Walburga snapped.
"The House of Black does not need a rebellious heir."
Her eyes turned toward Regulus.
"We still have him."
Her gaze burned with fierce pride.
"You spoke beautifully today. Calm, logical, dignified."
"That is how the heir of the House of Black should behave."
Regulus lowered his head silently.
He gave no response.
Later that night, in the attic laboratory, Regulus sat alone in darkness.
He did not light a lamp.
The events of the afternoon replayed in his mind.
Abraxas Malfoy's words had revealed several important truths.
Voldemort's influence had already spread beyond Britain.
He was tempting pure-blood families with promises of power and a new world order.
And his method for achieving that future included a single word.
"Purging."
A polite word.
A gentle word.
But Regulus knew its true meaning.
Violence.
Bloodshed.
War.
No one in this house knew what the future truly held.
No one except him.
Voldemort would rise.
And Voldemort would fall.
But that fall would come only after years of chaos and countless deaths.
If he wanted to change anything…
If he wanted to survive what was coming…
Regulus Black would need power.
Real power.
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