Chapter 3: The First Cry of magic
Four months later, March 1964.
Walburga hosted a tea party, nominally a spring gathering for the women of the family. In truth, it was her preferred method of showing off her sons' progress to her sisters without having to call it boasting.
Thirteen year old Bellatrix arrived first.
She wore a dark green velvet dress, her hair combed with near aggressive perfection, and her gaze was so sharp it felt as though she was inspecting the room for flaws in the plaster.
"I heard you blew up the living room," she said, walking straight to Sirius.
Sirius lifted his chin.
"I can control my magic now!"
Nine year old Andromeda and eight year old Narcissa followed their mother, Druella, inside. Andromeda offered Regulus a gentle smile. Narcissa, meanwhile, examined the living room's new decorations as if she suspected they were lying about their value.
The tea party began.
The adults spoke about the usual dull topics with the solemnity of people convinced boredom was a virtue: personnel changes at the Ministry of Magic, an engagement in some pure blood family, and how the other party's blood was not pure enough, but their vaults were deep enough to make the matter negotiable.
The children sat at a smaller table, a miniature set of cutlery laid out with fussy precision.
Sirius could hardly stay in his seat. He wanted, desperately, to show off something new.
Regulus, on the other hand, was busy with a question that had been turning in his mind for days.
Why did Transfiguration require imagining a specific form? What would happen if he wanted to change the state of matter without deciding on a shape at all?
"Watch this," Sirius announced, fixing his stare on his silver spoon.
Magic surged.
The spoon began to bend.
For a moment it was almost elegant, a smooth, deliberate curve.
Sirius thrilled at the result. He pushed harder, thinking, just a bit more, and it will look even better.
More magic poured out. The spoon bent too far.
He knew at once it was a mistake. He flicked a glance at Bella to see whether she had noticed.
That single glance was enough.
His control wavered.
The magic flow snapped loose like a flood breaking through a dam, rushing toward the entire set of cutlery.
Regulus felt the fluctuation before anyone else reacted. He looked up just in time to see the silverware on the small table begin to change colour. The silver white washed away, replaced by a fleshy pink. Ringed patterns surfaced along the metal as if the objects were growing skin.
They turned into earthworms.
Twelve fat, fleshy pink earthworms writhed across the tablecloth.
The adults had already noticed the disturbance. Walburga's face went from red to white in a blink.
Druella lowered her teacup with stiff control.
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, covered her mouth in feigned surprise, and produced a theatrical little gasp.
"Ah."
Sirius froze. He stared at what he had made, lips trembling.
"I…" He opened his mouth, then shut it again, too embarrassed to force the words out.
Walburga's hand moved toward her wand.
Regulus saw fury in her eyes, not only anger at the ruined tea party, but the humiliation of losing face in front of her sisters.
Trouble, Regulus thought.
If she lost her temper, the afternoon would end sourly. Sirius would be punished. Walburga would complain about it for three days. And Regulus would be forced to listen.
He stood, walked to the small table, and looked down at the pile of squirming creatures.
To be fair, the Transfiguration was thorough, he noted inwardly.
Then his mind shifted into its familiar, cold focus.
Analyse the structure first.
The Transfiguration had not erased the material base. It had reorganised it. The silver was still there, the arrangement simply rewritten.
And if the silver was still there, then the metal should still carry a kind of memory of its last stable form. The key was to find the last stable imprint before the transformation completed and collapse the change back onto it.
Regulus raised his hand, palm down, hovering about ten centimetres above the earthworms, and began to output magic.
Unlike most witches and wizards, he did not rely on emotion driven casting. He relied on calculation.
His control could reach a microscopic precision that felt almost unnatural. His thoughts built models, mapped the flow, adjusted the output, tuned the frequency like an instrument.
It was as if a supercomputer sat behind his eyes, quietly doing arithmetic while everyone else argued with the world until it obeyed.
Once, he had joked to himself that perhaps this was the one benefit a transmigrator ever got.
Silver light bloomed inside the earthworms.
They stopped wriggling.
One by one, they floated up and arranged themselves into a perfect hexagon in midair.
A stable hexagon, he thought. Optimal distribution.
Bellatrix leaned forward, eyes widening.
Narcissa covered her mouth.
Andromeda whispered, "Merlin…"
The reversal began.
The earthworms contracted and stretched, their forms shivering as if reality itself was deciding what story to tell. A silvery lustre pushed through the pink.
Ten seconds later, the cutlery returned, restored to its original shapes, floating in the air with silver light sliding over polished surfaces.
Regulus's fingers twitched.
The pieces moved along the shortest paths, avoiding every obstacle, and settled back into their precise places as though nothing had happened.
Spoon. Fork. Knife. Teacup. Saucer. Small plate.
All perfectly placed.
Only one remained imperfect.
The spoon Sirius had bent was still creased. The metal had been strained, the structure fatigued.
Regulus extended his index finger and lightly touched the crease.
Rearranging the crystal structure required local heating to recrystallisation temperature without crossing the melting point. Regulus simulated thermal effect with magic and adjusted the frequency until it resonated with the silver's internal arrangement.
The crease softened.
Then it vanished, as if time was being pulled backward through the metal.
Five seconds later, the spoon was flawless.
Regulus withdrew his hand and sat down again. He picked up the biscuit he had left unfinished and continued eating, expressionless throughout.
No one needed to see that he was enjoying this.
Inside, he was quietly pleased.
As expected of me.
"Merlin's beard!" Druella burst out, nearly dropping her teacup.
Bellatrix stood, strode to the small table, and picked up the spoon. She turned it over, held it to the light, tapped it with her fingernail, and listened to the clean metallic ring.
Then she looked at Regulus. Her stare carried real shock.
"You… how did you do that?"
Regulus chewed his biscuit and answered vaguely.
"They wanted to change back."
"What?"
"The cutlery wanted to look like cutlery again." He shrugged, small and solemn. "I just helped a little."
The explanation was laughably childish.
Coming from a three year old, it sounded almost reasonable.
Of course I know how I did it, Regulus thought, but I can do it and still not explain it.
Wizards did incredible things by instinct, talent, and a kind of stubborn intuition. At his age, if he could do it and lecture on the principles, it would be far too much. It would not impress people. It would frighten them.
Narcissa leaned toward Andromeda and whispered, "He looks so relaxed."
Andromeda nodded, worry flickering behind her eyes.
Walburga's expression shifted quickly: shock, confusion, then a wild surge of joy that she forced down with sheer will. The mistress of the House of Black did not lose composure in front of outsiders.
She lifted her teacup, took a measured sip, and said, as calmly as she could manage, "Regulus has a special intuition for Transfiguration."
Druella gave a dry laugh that sounded forced.
"Special? Walburga, this is a miracle. He is only three. What was Orion doing at three? He was still smearing jam on the house elf."
Eyes drifted toward Regulus again and again.
Regulus simply ate his biscuit as if nothing had happened.
Sirius kept his head down.
Regulus glanced at him and understood at once.
His brother's pride had taken a hit.
When the tea party ended, Druella left with her daughters, and the house fell back into family silence.
Walburga finally let herself show it. She swept Regulus up into her arms.
"My genius!"
Her voice vibrated with triumph as she spoke into his ear.
"I knew it. The future of the Black family!"
Over her shoulder, Regulus saw Sirius at the living room door, one hand gripping the frame.
It was hard to believe a four year old could wear an expression that complex: shock, hurt, confusion, and something that looked uncomfortably like jealousy.
Double the trouble, Regulus thought.
A child did not understand necessity. He only understood that his younger brother had stolen the moment.
Sirius turned and ran, his footsteps pounding up the stairs.
Walburga set Regulus down and frowned toward the stairwell.
"He is throwing a tantrum again." She looked back at Regulus, voice softening into approval. "Do not mind him. You did the right thing."
He is only four, Regulus thought, but did not say it.
After all, he himself was only three.
That night, Orion knocked on Regulus's door. He had only just returned home. As a member of the Wizengamot, he often worked late.
"I heard about what happened today," Orion said, taking a seat across from Regulus. "Exquisite skill."
Then, without softening the question, he asked, "How did you do it?"
Regulus thought for three seconds and chose an answer that fit his age.
"I do not know. I just… saw how it should be done."
"Saw?" Orion looked genuinely puzzled. It was not the answer he expected.
"I saw the earthworms' original appearance," Regulus said, careful with each word, "so I let them change back."
Orion studied him in silence, thoughtful.
It could be talent. Rare, but not unheard of.
Sirius's magic was strong, but uncontrolled, tangled with emotion and instability.
Regulus's performance was something else entirely: precision, restraint, a careful hand on the reins.
"An interesting explanation," Orion said at last. "Remember this. In front of others, do not show too much. Genius invites jealousy. It also invites fear."
Regulus nodded, then nudged the conversation where it mattered.
"Cousin Bella seemed very excited."
Orion's brow furrowed.
"Bella…" He paused, choosing his words with care. "She is obsessed with power. And that rising great figure is obsessed with power as well. Be careful not to be targeted."
Regulus nodded again.
He knew exactly who Orion meant.
Tom Riddle.
The future Lord Voldemort.