November 3, 1959.
The delivery room at 12 Grimmauld Place was thick with tension, the air heavy and close.
Walburga Black lay on the four-poster bed, sweat soaking through her long hair.
Three witches skilled in healing magic stood around her, their robes embroidered with the Black family crest.
In the fireplace, a deep indigo flame burned. The color of a family ritual.
"Push, madam," Elma, the chief healer.
When the clock struck its eleventh chime past midnight, a baby's cry tore through the silence.
Orion Black stood at the bedside, his expression solemn.
He wore dark green robes, the Black family brooch pinned at his collar. At thirty, he was already the thirteenth Head of House.
Walburga smiled weakly. "Let me hold him."
The baby was placed in her arms. She lowered her gaze to the wrinkled little face, her fingers brushing the dark down of hair on his forehead, the kind that would one day curl stubbornly no matter how it was cut.
"His name?" Orion asked.
Walburga answered without hesitation. "Sirius. The brightest star in the night sky. A guide that never loses its way. He will lead the Black family to new glory."
The portraits on the walls nodded in quiet approval. A female ancestor in a Victorian high collar spoke softly, "A good name. But remember, even the brightest star can be hidden by a storm."
"Welcome to the Black family, Sirius," Orion whispered as he bent close. "May you be worthy of the name."
…
The nursery at 12 Grimmauld Place occupied the east wing of the third floor. Deep green carpet covered the floor, and animated tapestries lined the walls, each one depicting the triumphs of Black ancestors.
One had tamed a Peruvian Vipertooth. Another had defended Gringotts during a goblin rebellion.
Another portrait looked down at the room with arrogant satisfaction. He had once served as Minister of Magic, though only for four months before being forced to resign.
One afternoon, when Sirius was ten months old, Walburga was entertaining her sister Druella Black in the adjoining room. Kreacher stood by the cradle, his long fingers smoothing the silk bedding.
Sirius pulled himself up by the railing, wobbling on unsteady legs that could not support him for long. Still, he stood there, gray eyes fixed on a silver bell toy lying on the carpet three feet away.
He reached out.
The bell rolled toward him by half an inch.
Kreacher sucked in a sharp breath, then immediately began slamming his head against the nearest table leg. "Bad Kreacher! Didn't notice the young master's magic awakening! Bad! Bad!"
Walburga burst into the room, her face radiant. "He stood up! At ten months! Orion, did you see?"
Orion paused in the doorway, something conflicted flickering across his face. "Too early. His magic is awakening too early."
"It's talent," Walburga said, scooping Sirius into her arms and pressing kiss after kiss to his cheeks. "My little Sirius, you were born for greatness."
From that day on, pure-blood education began.
Every afternoon, Walburga would sit with Sirius before the family tapestry that covered an entire wall, woven in gold and silver thread with a thousand years of Black lineage.
Some branches were scorched black, names burned away like ugly scars.
"Look here," Walburga said, pointing to the top. "This is our first ancestor. He laid the foundation of our family."
By the time Sirius turned one, he could already speak in full sentences. One afternoon, he pointed at a charred name on the tapestry and asked, "What happened there?"
Walburga's expression darkened. "That was your great-aunt Cedrella. She committed an unforgivable mistake. She married blood traitors. Her name was burned away and erased from the family. Never make such a mistake, Sirius."
…
January 15, 1961.
The winter of 1961 was especially harsh. Snow blanketed London's streets, and thin ice formed along the edges of the Thames. Inside 12 Grimmauld Place, protective magic kept the rooms warm as spring.
Walburga's second labor was far more difficult than the first.
The pain began just after midnight on January 14 and lasted a full sixteen hours.
At three in the morning on January 15, her screams reached their peak.
Then came a baby's cry, softer than Sirius's had been, shorter, almost restrained.
Orion stepped forward at once. "His name?"
Walburga looked down at the unusually quiet child in her arms. He stared back with the Black family's signature gray eyes, calm as he took in the world around him.
"Regulus," she said softly. "The heart of Leo. The second-brightest star in the sky. Unassuming, but essential. Steadfast. Loyal. Eternal."
Orion added the middle name himself. "Regulus Arcturus Black."
Walburga placed Regulus in the cradle and almost immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
Orion stood between the two cradles.
On the left, two-year-old Sirius slept deeply, one hand stretched through the bars, clutching his favorite silver bell.
On the right, newborn Regulus lay quietly awake, his gaze fixed on the cradle opposite him.
As if sensing something even in his sleep, Sirius shifted, turning toward his younger brother.
Regulus's eyes followed him.
That was Sirius. The boy who would one day betray the family for his beliefs and die beyond the veil. His brother.
Deep in his soul, an adult consciousness from another world let out a silent sigh.
Then, with an infant's undeveloped mind, he struggled to form his first clear thought.
I won't repeat Regulus's tragedy. I'll walk a different path.
Outside the window, the London night sky was unusually clear.
Winter constellations stood sharp and bright. Orion hung high in the south, Taurus gleamed in the east, and between them shone the brightest star of the night, Sirius.
Not far from it, Regulus flickered quietly in Leo, dimmer, but unwavering.
…
On Sirius's second birthday, Walburga held a small celebration in the garden.
Only close Black relatives were invited, but the event was lavish all the same. House-elves used magic to make roses bloom in winter. Silver cutlery lifted itself into neat arrangements. Even the garden fountain had been temporarily enchanted to spray lemon juice, simply because Sirius liked sour things.
During the party, Regulus sat on Walburga's lap.
He wore an elegant dark green velvet infant outfit, a tiny silver brooch pinned at the collar. He wasn't looking at anyone, his gaze fixed on the distance.
"What is he staring at?" Walburga followed her son's line of sight to the garden wall, thick with ancient vines. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
"Probably the light on the leaves," Druella guessed. "Sunlight on dew. It sparkles."
But where Regulus was looking, a nest of Bowtruckles hid deep among the vines. The tiny creatures were invisible to ordinary people, and even most wizards would never notice them.
Yet whenever they moved, the surrounding magic stirred, faint as a breath.
Regulus could feel it.
From Druella and Walburga's conversation, he guessed they could not.
After that, Walburga hesitated for a long time. One afternoon, she finally asked Orion, her voice uncertain, "Do you think… Regulus is a bit slow to react?"
At a year and three months old, Sirius could already run through the house and speak in full sentences.
Regulus, by contrast, was unusually quiet. He rarely made noise and responded slowly to outside stimuli.
Orion set down the Daily Prophet and went to the nursery, Walburga following close behind.
Regulus sat on the carpet with a magical picture book spread open before him. It was Fantastic Magical Creatures, meant for children three and older. A Hippogriff beat its wings on the page. A Diricawl vanished and reappeared without warning.
Orion watched for ten minutes.
Then he crouched down in front of his son, meeting his eyes, and said to Walburga, "Look at his eyes."
Walburga knelt as well, studying Regulus's gaze, but saw nothing unusual.
"He isn't slow," Orion continued. "He's listening. Watching. Learning. Observing. He's just quiet."
As if to prove the point, Regulus lifted his head and, for the first time, looked directly at his father.
Gray eyes met gray eyes.
Walburga didn't fully understand, but she let out a quiet breath of relief. She trusted her husband's judgment.
Her son was not slow.