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In the spring of 1965, in the garden of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the beech tree had just pushed out tender green buds.
"Regulus!"
Sirius rushed out of the house, waving a toy sword in his hand.
"Look! I can make the sword glow!" Sirius focused hard. A faint point of silvery light flickered at the tip of the blade, lasting for two seconds before going out.
He was five years old now; his control over magic had improved, but it was still unstable.
"Not bad." Regulus closed his book and offered a serious sounding reply that was mostly polite acknowledgement.
Sirius stabbed the sword into the dirt. "Let's go exploring in the basement! Kreacher says there are boxes down there that bite!"
"I'm reading." Regulus shook his head and refused.
"What's so interesting about books?" Sirius leaned in and glanced at the illustrated guide. "They're all fake. Real dragons are way bigger than this! Cousin Bella says That important person keeps a fire dragon as a pet!"
Regulus looked up and asked, "Which important person?"
"That one!" Sirius lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret. "Bella says he's gathering Followers and wants to restore the glory of pure-bloods. Dad says he's a dangerous individual."
Regulus's heart skipped a beat. Voldemort, Tom Riddle—was he starting already?
He quickly ran through the timeline in his head. In the original story, Voldemort's first rise happened in the early 1970s, but the early recruitment and groundwork would have begun much earlier.
1965…!
He must already be operating in secret, using the slogan of pure-blood revival to draw in the support of ancientfamilies.
"What else did Bella say?" Regulus asked.
"She said that important person has incredible power and can make people witness miracles." Sirius sat down on the stone bench.
"Regulus, what are you thinking about?" Sirius poked his brother's shoulder when he saw him fall silent.
"I'm thinking…" Regulus looked down at the book in his hands. "Knowledge is power. That important person must have read a lot of books."
"That's not it at all! He's powerful by nature!" Sirius refuted him excitedly.
Naive, Regulus thought. Every kind of power has a source. Voldemort's magical talent, his research into Horcruxes, his mastery of Dark Magic; all of it came from books, from experiments, and from plunder.
A sense of urgency suddenly swept over him. Regulus realized that there was not much time left.
Once Voldemort rose in full force, every pure-blood family would be dragged in.
The House of Black, as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, would inevitably be forced to take a side. In the original work, most members of the Black family joined the Death Eaters, except Sirius and Andromeda.
And he himself, Regulus Black, would inevitably enter Voldemort's line of sight, especially if he displayed exceptional talent, and he could not possibly avoid doing so.
He had to start preparing now.
That afternoon, Regulus hugged three finished children's picture books to his chest and knocked on the door of Orion's study.
"Come in."
Orion sat behind the enormous mahogany desk, reviewing Wizengamot documents. He looked up when he saw his younger son, a hint of surprise crossing his face. "Regulus? What is it?"
"Father," Regulus said as he placed the picture books on the corner of the desk. "I've finished these. I want to read real books."
Orion set down his quill and asked, "Real books?"
"Books with words, with knowledge, and with magic."
Walburga happened to walk in to deliver tea, and she stopped short when she heard that. "He's only four years old! Orion, don't indulge him. He should be learning The Code of Pure Blood Family Etiquette first, learning how to uphold the family's Honour."
"Honour needs strength to support it," Regulus replied. His tone was gentle, yet unshakably firm. "If I'm not strong enough, how can I protect the Black family's standing?"
Walburga was stunned. Hearing such words from a four-year-old felt unsettling, strange in a way that stirred unease.
Orion nodded, agreeing with Regulus. "Starting tomorrow, you may spend one hour a day in the library. Kreacher will accompany you."
"Yes, Father." Having said that, Regulus left the study.
He did not show any particular excitement or joy; this was only as it should be. There was no sense in a child asking to study and being refused by his parents.
Walburga opened her mouth to say something, but Orion raised a hand to stop her. "Walburga, our son needs a Special education. Times are changing. That important person is gathering strength, and the Black family needs more than an Heir who only understands etiquette."
"You know about that person too…" Walburga's expression grew somewhat animated as she thought of the person's rising influence.
"The entire British Wizarding world knows," Orion said, his voice heavy and measured. "He is recruiting followers, luring believers with power and forcing enemies into submission through fear. The Lestrange family has already gone over to him, the Malfoys are watching and waiting, and the Blacks will have to make a choice sooner or later."
At exactly ten o'clock the next morning, Kreacher led Regulus to a pair of double wooden doors at the far end of the third floor.
The doors were made of deep black oak, inlaid with silver constellations. There were no handles, only two symmetrical keyholes shaped like the open beaks of ravens.
"Two keys must be turned at the same time, young master," Kreacher said, pulling two antique keys from the pocket of his apron. One was silver-white, its handle carved with a Sun. The other was pitch black, with the Moon carved on the handle.
The keys slid in and turned simultaneously.
Click—!
The doors slid inward without making a sound.
The moment Regulus stepped into the library, the first thing he felt was Oppression; the density of magic here was astonishing.
The air was filled with visible motes of silvery light. Bookshelves stretched from the floor all the way up to a ceiling ten-metres-high. To reach the upper shelves, one needed a moving ladder; magic would not work.
The edge of every tier of shelves was carved with different magical creatures. The lowest level showed Goblins and Fairies. The middle-held Centaurs and Merfolk. The highest was carved with Griffins and fire Dragons.
At the centre of the room stood a massive Orrery. A complex brass mechanism that simulated the movement of the solar system, except it included several additional celestial bodies known only to wizards.
"The open section is on the left, young master," Kreacher whispered, as if afraid of waking something. "The Family Inheritance Section is on the right side and requires the master's permission. Straight ahead is the Restricted Section: Do not go near it."
Regulus walked toward the open section first.
He pulled out a volume on pure-blood family lineages and skimmed it at a glance: Malfoy, Lestrange, Nott, Carrow. Every one of them would become the core strength of the future Death Eaters.
Once these families collectively sided with Voldemort, half of the British wizarding world's power and resources would fall into his hands. And these families would inevitably turn to Voldemort.
He had to possess power before that happened.
An hour later, Regulus walked toward the family inheritance section.
The bookshelves here were made of deep red mahogany, and every book was wrapped in its own magical protective field. Kreacher followed anxiously at his side. "Young master, this area requires permission…"
"I'm just looking at the titles."
Then he looked straight ahead, toward the restricted section.
There were no bookshelves there. Instead, a solid wall of black iron was embedded into a stone archway. At its center stood a barred gate. The iron bars were as thick as a baby's arm, and through the gaps one could glimpse a profound, swallowing darkness beyond.
The lock on the gate was a bronze skull with a movable jawbone, and the keyhole lay within the skull's left eye socket.
Peering through the gaps in the bars, Regulus narrowed his eyes and looked into the depths of the darkness. Faint outlines of shelves could be seen, and the gilt titles on the spines glimmered softly in the gloom.
"Darkest Arts: The Origins and Advanced Applications of the Unforgivable Curses."
"Blood Curse Studies: Bloodline Magic and Eternal Bindings."
"Necromantic Communion: Forbidden Rituals for Conversingwith the Beyond."
Each book title struck Regulus's heart like a Heavy Hammer.
Voldemort had certainly read these. More than these, even. Horcruxes, Dark Magic, experiments on the soul… how much had he truly mastered?
I have to understand. At the very least, I need to know what methods he is using.
But he could not go in now. The timing was wrong, and his authority was not enough.
He turned to Kreacher and said, "Time's up. Let's go."
Before leaving, Regulus cast one last look at the restricted section.
…
Back in his own room, Regulus walked to the window and looked out at the street below.
It was night in London. Muggle cars streamed past in both directions, red and yellow lights weaving together in dense patterns. Urban light pollution was already severe, and the true starry sky could not be seen.
But Regulus knew the stars were still there.
Voldemort and the war he would instigate. The power games of the wizarding world, the honour and madness of the pure-blood families. All of it, measured against the scale of the universe, was as insignificant as dust.
Yet Regulus was currently trapped within this dust.
He looked out of the window and imagined the man who might even now be studying Dark Magic in the forests of Albania or within some ancient ruin: Tom Riddle, the future Lord Voldemort.
Time was running out.
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[CHAPTER END]