Regulus let out a breathless, full-throated laugh from the depths of the shrubbery. He had to admit, as the adrenaline surged through his veins and made his fingertips tingle, this was undoubtedly the most exhilarating adventure he had experienced across two lifetimes.
Totally worth it.
Sure, the altitude was practically a joke compared to a modern military HALO jump, but the sheer, unadulterated thrill was infinitely greater. Why?
Because he hadn't brought a parachute!
Why hadn't he brought a parachute?
Because parachutes require a lack of faith.
(Though to be fair, faith is notoriously bad at resisting gravity. Young wizards, please do not try this at home.)
He wasn't completely suicidal, of course. He had a backup plan. Before attempting this stunt, he had ruthlessly drilled the Levitation Charm into his muscle memory—practicing it forehand, backhand, hanging upside down, and even underwater in the prefects' bathroom. If the System's 'blessing' had failed, he would have simply cast the spell on his own robes right before hitting the pavement.
But it hadn't failed. Now, brushing the last of the crushed, fragrant leaves from his emerald-trimmed robes, the usually diminutive, sprout-like Regulus felt ten feet tall. He felt cooler than Tom Cruise stepping out of an exploding helicopter.
"Regulus! Regulus Arcturus Black! How dare you! How dare you—Slytherin, Slytherin loses five points!"
The frantic, wheezing voice shattered his triumphant moment. Professor Horace Slughorn, looking remarkably like a panicked, overfed walrus, came tearing around the corner of the courtyard. In his sheer hysteria, the plump Potions Master had conjured a massive, utterly useless parachute that dragged across the grass behind him. He was so terrified he became the first Head of House in history to impulsively deduct points from his own student right in front of the other teachers.
"My goodness! Merlin's saggy left ear! How dare you! It's dreadful!" Slughorn blustered, clutching his chest as if his heart were about to give out. He honestly didn't know whether to severely reprimand the boy or drop to his knees and thank Merlin he wasn't scraping a Black heir off the cobblestones. One rebellious Sirius was enough to give him gray hairs; now even the quiet Regulus was catching the madness!
It was conclusive proof: Hogwarts was actively corrupting the youth.
Above them, the sharp whoosh of displaced air signaled the arrival of Madam Hooch. She plummeted from the sky on a sleek Nimbus 1000—summoned from Merlin-knew-where—executing a flawless, breakneck Wronski Feint before pulling up sharp. With a perfectly timed Cushioning Charm, she landed gracefully on the grass.
Perched effortlessly on her broomstick, the flight instructor's posture was undeniably badass, instantly commanding the solemn respect of every student in the courtyard, Regulus included.
At that exact moment, the undisputed idol of Hogwarts was also staring intently at him. Sirius stood frozen at the edge of the crowd, his aristocratic jaw slightly slack. He had never, in his wildest dreams, expected his introverted, shy, stubbornly silent, and frankly somewhat cowardly little brother to suddenly cut loose and pull off a stunt of this magnitude.
Could it be? Sirius's pretty, brilliant mind spun with sudden, strange theories. Was his previous timid demeanor just because he felt overshadowed by me at home? Has being at Hogwarts finally unlocked a brand-new, unhinged side of him?
In 1973, the student body didn't yet have a phrase for it, but "silent, yet completely psychotic when provoked" was practically a personality trait tailor-made for Regulus Black.
For a long moment, Sirius didn't know whether he should write to Walburga and demand she send Regulus a screaming Howler—just like the ones she constantly sent him—or if he should stride over, clap his brother on the shoulder, and proudly declare: Well done, kid. You take after me.
Strangely enough, amidst the sprawling chaos of the courtyard, not a single person bothered to ask the most obvious question: "Why on earth did you jump off the Astronomy Tower?" It was a testament to the Hogwarts faculty. Years of raising volatile, magically-charged teenagers had beaten a universal truth into them: young wizards doing inexplicably stupid things rarely needed a logical reason.
"Detention, young man! Detention in my office," Slughorn finally managed to gasp out, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket to mop his profusely sweating brow. "Starting tonight. Every night at six o'clock, for a week!" Thank goodness his brains aren't painting the sundial, thank goodness, Slughorn muttered under his breath.
"Okay, Professor," Regulus replied with an obedient nod, his dark eyes suddenly shining.
An entire week of one-on-one time with a senior Professor? That was practically a VIP tutoring session!
Slughorn paused, catching the genuine excitement radiating from the boy. He narrowed his watery eyes suspiciously. Then, for reasons he couldn't quite articulate, he glanced over at Sirius, who was still standing by the lake. These brothers aren't plotting some wicked, synchronized scheme, are they? Sirius, feeling the sudden weight of Slughorn's paranoid glare, blinked innocently and turned to Remus. Beside him, James also turned to Remus, both boys adopting perfectly synchronized masks of absolute ignorance, silently begging their sensible friend for a behavioral alibi.
Remus merely maintained a serene, placid expression. He was a master at looking utterly blameless. As expected of Remus, Sirius thought fondly.
The social impact of the 'Leap of Faith' was instantaneous and staggering.
"That's him—Regulus. Our Gryffindor Black's Slytherin brother."
On the way to Charms class that afternoon, Regulus walked with a light, purposeful stride. He calmly ignored the sea of pointing fingers, the hushed whispers, and the blatant stares, finally arriving at the heavy oak doors of the classroom.
Charms was one of his favorite subjects at Hogwarts, largely because Professor Flitwick was undeniably one of the most competent teachers in the castle.
"Hey, Black. How did you land down there without dying?"
Regulus paused. A Gryffindor boy with a mess of sandy hair—a 'little lion' who had never once spoken to him in two years—was staring at him with unvarnished curiosity.
Even the Gryffindors were actively initiating conversation with him?
These were not peaceful times. Outside these ancient walls, the Dark Lord was already treating magical Britain like his personal playground. Slytherin House was widely regarded as his unofficial Death Eater training camp, while Gryffindor was unequivocally the breeding ground for Dumbledore's little phoenixes. The ice between the two houses was typically thick, toxic, and dangerously difficult to break.
"Just like this," Regulus said smoothly. He raised his wand, stepping halfway into the corridor. "Wingardium Leviosa!" With a swish and a flick, a massive, rusted suit of armor standing by the classroom door suddenly lifted smoothly into the air. It hovered weightlessly for a second before Regulus gently, silently lowered it back onto its stone plinth.
"Be polite, young man," the armor mumbled vaguely, its metal visor clanking shut.
Regulus smoothly tucked his left hand behind his back and placed his right hand over his chest, offering the enchanted armor a shallow, elegant bow. He didn't offer another unnecessary word to the gawking Gryffindor, perfectly maintaining his new persona: the cool, reserved, and intensely capable young Black.
That flawless Levitation Charm wasn't just raw talent. It was the grueling result of him pestering Professor Flitwick for advanced theory, grinding the spell for ten days straight in the Room of Requirement, and practically casting it in his sleep inside the Slytherin dormitories.
"Wow... excellent!" the sandy-haired Gryffindor breathed, his eyes wide with solemn respect. He could barely get a teacup to hover for three seconds, yet Regulus, a boy his exact age, was effortlessly lifting a two-hundred-pound suit of armor without breaking a sweat. He clearly needed to spend more time in the library.
"Amazing control, Mr. Black!"
A cheerful voice squeaked from the doorway. Professor Filius Flitwick popped his head out of the Charms classroom, beaming brightly at the display of magic. "Slytherin House, add five points!"
"Thank you, Professor!"
A few minutes later, with both houses seated at their respective desks, the diminutive Professor Flitwick stood on his stack of thick books behind the podium. Looking out at the sea of young witches and wizards, and perhaps buoyed by the rapidly approaching summer holidays, the professor was in an exceptionally good mood.
"Today, we are learning a pair of spells with incredibly wide-ranging uses. Please open your copies of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 to the Unlocking Charm and the Locking Charm. Today, we are going to have a bit of a fun game!"
At the word 'game,' the ears of every lion and snake in the room visibly perked up.
"In front of each of you is a small wooden box," Flitwick explained, gesturing with his wand. "Students from Gryffindor, you will begin by practicing the Unlocking Charm, Alohomora. Students from Slytherin, you will primarily practice the Locking Charm, Colloportus."
Flitwick's eyes twinkled mischievously. "In the last ten minutes of class, you will pair up across houses. We shall see whose Locking Charm is more resilient, or whose Unlocking Charm is more piercing! In our next class, you will switch roles."
The professor smiled warmly, completely unbothered by the fact that pitting the houses directly against each other in a magical tug-of-war was practically throwing fuel on the inter-house rivalry fire.
Regulus's eyes lit up. Now this is interesting! Inciting healthy, practical competition among students—Professor Flitwick truly was a master educator.
The clever design instantly ignited the enthusiasm of the entire class. The air filled with the sharp scent of ozone and the relentless chanting of incantations as students practiced with fiercely scrunched faces. Flitwick was quickly swarmed by a crowd of eager students asking for micro-adjustments to their wand movements. The academic atmosphere was unprecedentedly high.
Sitting at his desk, Regulus picked up his assigned wooden box, running his thumbs over the brass latch. A brilliant, devious idea began to form in his mind.
His assigned partner for the exercise turned out to be the very same Gryffindor from the corridor: David Goger. From what Regulus could remember of the boy, he possessed a nearly fatal amount of curiosity.
"Black, seriously, how did you practice your Levitation Charm so well?" Goger asked, completely ignoring his own textbook. "Are there any secret tricks?"
"The wand gestures must be impeccably accurate and decisive," Regulus replied thoughtfully, pausing to summarize the grueling hours he'd spent in the Room of Requirement. "But more importantly—you must construct a perfect prediction in your mind of what is about to happen. Your understanding of the object's physical state must be clear, and your projection of the magical outcome must be absolute."
Goger nodded slowly, looking only half-convinced he understood the heavy magical theory. "Then... what's the heaviest thing you've actually managed to levitate?"
"I've pushed it to about one hundred and fifty pounds," Regulus said mildly, adjusting his grip on his wand. "Also, just call me Regulus."
By the time the final ten minutes of class rolled around, David Goger—who had spent the majority of the lesson gossiping instead of practicing—naturally failed to pry open the box Regulus had locked.
However, David's dejection evaporated almost immediately. He quickly realized it wasn't just his own lack of skill; no one in the entire classroom could open the box Regulus had sealed. A small crowd had gathered around their desk, various Gryffindors sweating as they aggressively jabbed their wands at the stubborn wood, shouting "Alohomora!" until they were hoarse.
Finally, intrigued by the commotion, Professor Flitwick waddled over to their table. With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, the Charms Master cast a flawless, silent Unlocking Charm.
Click. The brass lock on the front of the box visibly popped open, clearly reacting to the master-level spell. Yet, the lid remained completely, utterly immovable.
"Huh?" Flitwick muttered. He reached out and picked up the small wooden box, his bushy eyebrows shooting up as he immediately noticed the abnormal weight of the object. It was easily five times heavier than the others on the desks.
This is...
"A wonderful piece of Transfiguration!" Professor Flitwick cried out, his voice squeaking with genuine delight. He waved his wand in a sharp arc, casting a precise Severing Charm that neatly sliced the entire box directly in half to show the stunned students.
The hollow interior of the box had completely vanished, cleanly transfigured into one solid, impenetrable block of wood. The lock on the outside had indeed been perfectly opened by his Alohomora... but the box itself was a solid piece of timber, impossible to pry apart.
This Little Black is quite interesting, Flitwick thought admiringly.
At dinnertime, the vast Great Hall at Hogwarts was filled with the tantalizing aroma of roasted meats, fresh-baked bread, and the warm, comforting scent of pumpkin juice. Thousands of enchanted candles floated high in the air, casting a soft, golden glow that illuminated the four long House tables. At this hour, the massive teachers' table at the far end remained entirely empty.
Accompanied by a small, curious entourage of Slytherin first- and second-years, Regulus strode toward his usual dining spot at the very end of the emerald-draped table. Suddenly, he froze.
At a highly prominent position, leaning casually against the Gryffindor table and practically commanding the attention of half the Hall, stood Sirius. His bright silver eyes were locked directly on Regulus.
Even a gaggle of third-year Ravenclaw girls were furiously whispering behind their hands, throwing not-so-subtle glances in the young Gryffindor's direction. Regulus couldn't help but sigh softly as he met his brother's gaze. If sheer, staggering good looks equaled justice... then Sirius was undoubtedly the living embodiment of righteousness. To Sirius's utter shock, Regulus—who hadn't willingly spoken a single word to him since the explosive Christmas holidays—abruptly changed his trajectory. He began walking straight toward the red-and-gold table.
The young Slytherins trailing Regulus hesitated instantly, exchanging nervous looks, and firmly chose not to follow him into enemy territory. A sudden, tense hush fell over the immediate area, the surrounding tables quieting down slightly as students eagerly watched the interaction.
The two Black brothers had grown up inseparable. As children, Sirius had constantly teased Regulus, playfully mocking his 'cowardly, painfully shy little brother' while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. When they had first arrived at Hogwarts, the deep rift in their relationship hadn't been entirely formed.
But then came the suffocating pressure from their fanatical pureblood parents, the bitter, deeply entrenched disagreements between their respective Houses, and their fundamental inability to see eye-to-eye on nearly every major social issue. It had rapidly led them to practically stop acknowledging each other's existence within the castle walls.
Sirius possessed overwhelming, reckless pride, and Regulus clung tightly to his quiet, cold reserve. The tragic, inevitable result was a drift so profound it felt like an ocean stood between them.
This was the very first time Regulus had actively sought him out to converse at Hogwarts. Try as he might to maintain a cool exterior, Sirius couldn't suppress the sudden, painful jolt of anticipation that shot through his chest.
Regulus stopped a few feet away, looking steadily up at the Hogwarts school idol before him. This was a person who cherished his personal freedom above everything else in the world, yet would ultimately abandon it all in the future to desperately protect his godson and his friends. Such tragic, noble stories were inevitably beloved by readers. But looking at the dazzling, painfully young, favored son of heaven standing before him... the weight of his canon destiny was simply far too heavy to ignore.
"Brother."
It was a thousand unspoken words, the heavy, chaotic emotions of two entire lifetimes, condensed into one simple, earth-shattering word.
Sirius stared at him. He abruptly felt that the Regulus standing before him was inexplicably off. His dark eyes were so deeply peaceful, so unnervingly serene, that it made Sirius intensely uneasy.
But at the very same time, it felt as though something precious, something he had mourned the loss of long ago, had suddenly and miraculously returned.
"Regu... you—be careful next time," Sirius finally managed to blurt out, his voice uncharacteristically thick. He didn't even believe the lame words as they left his mouth. The moment the sentence hung in the air, he caught the distinct expression of suppressed, exasperated laughter twitching at the corners of Regulus's mouth.
"Hey, mate, did you actually use a backhand Levitation Charm on the way down? What did it feel like falling off the bloody tower?!"
James Potter violently shoved his way into the conversation, entirely incapable of hiding his aggressive eagerness to replicate the stunt. He enthusiastically clapped his hands together. "Oh—hey, uh, Regulus, right? I know you know me by proxy, but let me officially introduce myself again. I'm James. James Potter."
"Remus Lupin," the quiet, scarred boy beside him added softly with a polite, measured nod.
"Regulus Black. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Regulus extended his hand, deliberately, formally shaking hands with both of them one by one.
Sirius watched the ridiculously stiff, impeccably polite exchange. Ah. Yep. He was still his impossibly serious, ridiculously old-fashioned little brother. A small, genuine smile finally broke through the tension, slowly spreading across the corner of Sirius's mouth.