Mid-summer brought oppressive heat to Black Manor—magical cooling charms barely maintaining tolerable conditions within ancient stone walls never designed for such extreme weather. The unusual temperature seemed an appropriate metaphor for the mounting pressure surrounding our household, with Death Eater recruitment interests intensifying alongside the rising mercury.
In my study, I carefully unfolded another coded letter from Lily, her neat handwriting disguised beneath layers of encryption charms that had become second nature to our correspondence.
"Three more disappearances in Manchester last week," I read after decoding her message. "The Prophet reported them as 'relocations for work opportunities,' but Dad's hospital colleague says their homes were found in disarray. The Ministry continues to deny any pattern."
I sighed, setting down the parchment and gazing out the window at the unnaturally still gardens. The timeline continued accelerating beyond my memories—covert operations that shouldn't have begun for months already underway, creating an atmosphere of simmering tension beneath the summer's tranquil surface.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in," I called, quickly concealing Lily's letter beneath a stack of innocuous schoolbooks.
Regulus appeared in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. At eleven, he still maintained the slight build of childhood, though his eyes held the sharp intelligence that had always distinguished him.
"Can I ask you something?" he said, closing the door carefully behind him.
"Of course. What's on your mind?"
He took a seat in the armchair opposite my desk, his posture perfect even in private—a testament to our mother's relentless etiquette training. "Bella's coming again tomorrow."
It wasn't a question, but I understood his concern. "I know. Mother informed me this morning."
"She keeps asking questions about my friends at school." His voice remained steady, but his fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against the chair's arm. "About what I think of my classmates who aren't pure-blood. She tries to make it sound casual, but it's... not."
I nodded, choosing my words carefully. "What have you told her?"
"That I focus on my studies more than social categorization." A hint of a smile crossed his face. "I used those exact words—sounded just like you. She didn't like it."
I couldn't help but grin. "I imagine not. Bella never appreciated academic deflection."
"She got that look—you know the one." He mimicked a tight-lipped smile that didn't reach the eyes. "Then she started talking about how I'll need to make 'appropriate choices' soon. That childhood is shorter for some than others."
The implied threat in Bellatrix's words sent a chill through me despite the room's warmth. The acceleration was worse than I'd feared—in my original timeline, Regulus hadn't been actively recruited until his fifth year at Hogwarts.
"What do you think she meant by that?" I asked, watching him carefully.
Regulus met my gaze directly. "She wants me to join them. The ones who attacked Hogwarts." His voice dropped nearly to a whisper. "The Death Eaters."
The bluntness of his assessment startled me. I'd deliberately avoided naming the organization in our discussions, maintaining plausible deniability in our conversations while still steering him away from their ideology.
"What makes you say that?"
"I'm eleven, not stupid," he replied with a flash of the Black family sharpness. "The whispered conversations that stop when I enter the room. The way certain visitors look at me—like I'm being measured. And the way you've been teaching me things that seem oddly specific for 'general magical foundation.'" He raised an eyebrow. "Shield charms aren't standard first-year material, are they?"
I leaned back in my chair, reassessing my brother. His perceptiveness exceeded my expectations—another deviation from my memories, where Regulus had remained politically naive far longer.
"No, they're not," I admitted. "You're right—there's more happening than most adults are willing to discuss with children. But you've noticed anyway, which proves you're as observant as I thought."
"So what do I do about Bella?" he asked, practical as ever.
"Keep doing exactly what you've been doing," I said. "Academic deflection, as you put it, is perfect. Show interest in magical theory, not political application. She'll push harder, but maintaining that boundary is crucial."
"She's scary sometimes," he admitted quietly. "When she thinks no one's watching. Her eyes go... empty."
I crossed the room to sit beside him, abandoning the desk's protective barrier. "Listen carefully, Reg. You're right to be cautious around her. If you ever feel truly unsafe—not just uncomfortable, but unsafe—come find me immediately. Don't worry about being polite or proper. Just leave and find me or Mother or Father."
He nodded solemnly. "Is that why you've been teaching me those specific defensive spells?"
"Yes," I answered honestly. "Knowledge is protection. The more you understand about magic's defensive applications, the safer you'll be."
"Will you show me something new before she comes tomorrow?" he asked. "Something that might be useful?"
I considered for a moment, then nodded. "Get your wand. We'll use the east wing study—it has stronger privacy wards."
The next day brought Bellatrix's scheduled visit, announced this time due to our family's insistence on proper protocols after her previous unannounced appearance. I found her in the garden with Regulus, observing as he practiced a basic charm under our mother's watchful eye.
"Cousin," Bellatrix greeted me with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You've been neglecting your family duties. Three social gatherings without the heir's presence—people are beginning to talk."
"Academic commitments require consistent attention," I replied, taking a seat on the stone bench beside Mother. "Even during summer."
"Books and theories," she scoffed, twirling her wand between her fingers. "They only take you so far. Real magical advancement comes through practical experience with the right mentors." Her eyes gleamed with a fervor I remembered all too well. "The kind not found in classrooms."
"Different paths suit different wizards," Mother interjected smoothly. "Corvus has always benefited from scholarly foundation before practical application."
Bellatrix's gaze lingered on me, calculating. "Perhaps. Though some opportunities don't wait for academic schedules." She turned to Regulus. "Your levitation charm has improved significantly. Perhaps we should try something more... interesting."
"Regulus is progressing excellently through the structured program we've established," I interjected. "Proper sequencing prevents the formation of bad habits that might limit advanced applications later."
"Always the cautious one," Bellatrix laughed, though the sound held little humor. "Some talents flourish best when challenged beyond comfortable boundaries." She leaned toward Regulus. "Don't you ever get bored with these elementary exercises?"
Before Regulus could answer, a house-elf appeared with a soft pop. "Master and young masters," Kreacher announced with a deep bow, "Master Orion requests your presence in his study. An urgent owl has arrived from the Ministry."
Mother rose gracefully. "Please excuse us, Bellatrix. Family matters require attention."
The interruption, perfectly timed, allowed us to extract Regulus from Bellatrix's attention without obvious rejection. As we moved toward the house, I caught Father's eye through the study window—no Ministry owl had arrived. The family alliance to protect Regulus was functioning with impressive coordination.
"The pressure is intensifying," Father observed later that evening once Bellatrix had departed. We gathered in his study, windows open to catch the slight evening breeze. "Not just regarding Regulus, but throughout our circles. Choices are being forced that many would prefer to delay."
"The traditional neutral position is becoming untenable," Mother agreed, her voice cool but her eyes troubled. "The Greengrasses attempted to maintain distance at the Rosiers' gathering last week. Their treatment was... instructive."
"What happened?" I asked.
"Nothing obvious," she replied. "No direct confrontation. Just sudden business difficulties, canceled contracts, and their daughter mysteriously removed from consideration for a prestigious apprenticeship."
"Social isolation followed by economic pressure," Father elaborated. "Effective tactics against families hoping to weather the storm through non-commitment."
I considered this information carefully. "And our family's position?"
My parents exchanged glances—that silent communication that had developed through decades of marriage.
"Precarious," Father finally answered. "Our history and standing provide temporary insulation, but not indefinite protection without demonstrated commitment."
"Which we've been delaying through your academic focus and Regulus's age," Mother added. "But such excuses have limited durability."
This frank discussion represented another significant deviation from my memories—in the original timeline, my parents had never openly acknowledged the pressure tactics or their own reluctance. Their apparent hesitation about fully committing to Voldemort's cause created potential opportunity for intervention I hadn't anticipated.
"What are your concerns regarding full alignment?" I asked carefully.
Father's expression remained impassive, but his voice lowered slightly. "Methods that exceed necessary parameters for achieving legitimate objectives. Ideology is one matter—implementation approaches quite another."
"The targeting of children is particularly troubling," Mother added with uncharacteristic directness. "Recruitment ages dropping with each passing month."
I studied them both, seeing the genuine concern beneath their aristocratic reserve. "You don't want Regulus involved."
"He's a child," Mother said simply. "Regardless of his potential or intelligence."
"There are ways to navigate these waters that protect family while maintaining appropriate standing," I suggested. "Strategic positioning rather than blind commitment or outright refusal."
Father raised an eyebrow. "You speak with unexpected sophistication for your age."
"I observe carefully," I replied. "And I read extensively on historical political movements. They follow predictable patterns."
"And what pattern do you see developing?" he asked.
"Escalation toward conflict with decreasing tolerance for neutrality," I answered honestly. "With factions demanding increasingly explicit demonstrations of loyalty. But rushed movements often overextend, creating vulnerability through impatience."
Mother's lips curved in the slightest smile. "You've been paying closer attention than we realized."
"I'm a Black," I replied simply. "Observation and strategy are in our blood."
The following week brought uncomfortable news via Sirius's latest coded letter. His family situation had deteriorated significantly from what I remembered—his parents' pressure intensifying beyond the original timeline.
"Mother threatened to disown me yesterday," his message read after decryption. "Said my 'continued defiance' reflects poorly on the family during 'critical alignment periods.' Father actually intervened—first time he's ever contradicted her regarding my punishment. Something's changed in their dynamics, but I can't figure out what."
This acceleration threatened Sirius's safety far earlier than his original sixth-year departure from Grimmauld Place. I needed to establish contingency plans for potential premature escape requirements.
I composed a carefully worded response: "Family tensions often peak during uncertain periods. Exercise caution without unnecessary provocation. If emergency accommodation becomes necessary, coordinate through our mutual four-legged friend. His family maintains excellent security protocols with significant spatial resources."
The coded reference to James Potter and his family's extensive property would provide Sirius with backup options should his situation deteriorate beyond sustainable levels. The Potters had taken him in during the original timeline; they would likely do so again if necessary.
My correspondence with resistance-aligned contacts revealed similarly accelerating patterns across multiple fronts—government positions gradually filling with suspected sympathizers, business regulations shifting to favor traditionally aligned families, and subtle changes in enforcement priorities regarding magical integration policies.
"Dad says the International Magical Cooperation Department has been completely restructured," James reported. "All the officials who previously maintained strong Muggle government relationships have been transferred to obscure posts. The new department head comes from a family with known sympathies."
These systematic changes represented sophisticated political maneuvering beyond mere terrorist activities—Voldemort's organization demonstrating strategic depth I hadn't fully appreciated during my original lifetime. The institutional transformation was proceeding more efficiently than I had remembered, suggesting improved tactical coordination.
August brought increased tensions both within the wizarding community and our household. The Daily Prophet began subtle shifts in reporting terminology—"Muggle-born" gradually replaced with "Muggle-raised magical individuals" in a seemingly benign linguistic adjustment that nevertheless reinforced the concept of outsider status.
"Language transforms perception before policy changes," I observed to Father during our morning reading. "Subtle redefinition preceding regulatory adjustment."
He nodded, folding the newspaper precisely. "An astute observation. Narrative control precedes social restructuring in most significant transformations." He studied me thoughtfully. "Your perspective continues to demonstrate uncommon maturity."
"I've had excellent examples," I replied. "Both in what to emulate and what to avoid."
The approaching return to Hogwarts brought practical considerations regarding safety protocols beyond standard educational preparation. The previous term's attack demonstrated vulnerability despite supposed protective enchantments, creating legitimate security concerns beyond merely theoretical risks.
Diagon Alley's atmosphere during our school shopping expedition reflected the changing climate—increased Magical Law Enforcement presence, shopkeepers eyeing customers with heightened suspicion, and families moving in tight clusters rather than casual browsing patterns. Conversations hushed when strangers approached, and even children seemed subdued compared to normal pre-term excitement.
"Keep your wand accessible," Father murmured as we entered Flourish and Blotts. "Without obvious display."
The bookshop, normally crowded with excited students, maintained unusually orderly queues with significant personal space between family groups. I noticed several parents positioned with clear sightlines to exits while their children selected textbooks—tactical positioning beneath casual shopping appearance.
"Corvus!"
I turned to see Lily approaching, her parents following with the slightly bewildered expression common to Muggles navigating magical environments. The social complexities of this encounter in current circumstances weren't lost on me—a pure-blood heir publicly acknowledging a Muggle-born witch while accompanied by his traditionally-minded family presented potential complications.
"Lily," I greeted her with a measured smile, making a decision. "How was your summer?"
"Productive but concerning," she replied with characteristic directness. "The reading list you suggested was particularly illuminating." She turned to my parents with perfect poise. "You must be Mr. and Mrs. Black. I'm Lily Evans, a classmate of Corvus. We've been corresponding about theoretical charm applications all summer."
Mother's expression remained neutral, but I caught the slight arch of her eyebrow—impressed despite herself by Lily's composure. "Indeed? Corvus mentioned a study partnership but neglected to provide details regarding the participants."
"My daughter's top of her year in Charms," Mr. Evans interjected with obvious paternal pride. "Though all this magical theory is beyond me, I'm afraid."
The potential awkwardness of the moment hung in the air—a Muggle addressing wizarding aristocracy as equals in increasingly polarized times. Father surprised me with his response.
"Academic excellence merits recognition regardless of background," he stated with formal courtesy. "Talent represents magical heritage's most significant expression beyond merely genealogical considerations."
The diplomatic phrasing maintained appropriate pure-blood positioning while acknowledging Lily's abilities without overt blood-status reference—a masterful navigation of complex social waters that respected multiple audiences simultaneously.
"That's very kind," Mrs. Evans responded with genuine appreciation. "We're still learning about this world our daughter belongs to."
"Perhaps we could continue our discussion of Arithmantic influences on charm stability later," Lily suggested, reading the complex social currents with impressive awareness. "I've developed some interesting hypotheses since my last letter."
"I look forward to it," I replied. "The practical applications of your theoretical framework showed significant promise."
As Lily departed with her parents, I noticed several pure-blood families watching our interaction with calculated assessment—evaluating our family's positioning through social association patterns rather than merely stated allegiances. Father's hand rested briefly on my shoulder.
"Interesting choice of academic association," he observed neutrally.
"Talent recognizes talent," I replied, echoing his earlier diplomatic framework. "And knowledge transcends arbitrary categorization when pursuing magical excellence."
The subtle approval in his nod confirmed his continuing evolution beyond simplistic ideological alignment—recognizing complexity within traditionally straightforward pure-blood positioning. This development represented valuable potential regarding future critical decision points beyond immediate family protection considerations.
The final week before term brought increased security announcements regarding Hogwarts—enhanced protective enchantments, additional staff appointments with defensive expertise, and modified visitation protocols restricting parental access beyond formally scheduled events. These measures confirmed institutional recognition regarding potential targeting beyond isolated incident classification, though public statements maintained routine safety enhancement framing rather than explicit threat acknowledgment.
Our final family dinner before departure maintained perfect formal etiquette while addressing practical security considerations beneath social conversation appearance—communication protocols during term, appropriate response measures for various contingencies, and even emergency extraction arrangements should institutional protection prove insufficient.
"Regular correspondence maintains appropriate family connection," Mother instructed over dessert. "Weekly reports regarding academic progress and social developments provide necessary contextual understanding beyond merely educational assessment."
Translation: Send coded information about significant developments and potential security concerns embedded within normal family communication.
"Of course," I agreed. "Though occasionally academic demands might delay prompt communication during particularly intensive examination periods."
Father nodded. "Educational priorities occasionally necessitate adjusted communication scheduling. Though significant developments merit immediate notification regardless of academic obligations."
Our carefully structured conversation established operational protocols without explicit security discussion—maintaining appropriate deniability while ensuring necessary communication channels for potential emergency response coordination beyond standard parental involvement regarding merely educational matters.
Later that evening, I found Regulus in the library, ostensibly packing final reference materials while clearly awaiting private conversation opportunity.
"Nervous about tomorrow?" I asked, taking a seat beside him.
He shook his head. "Not about Hogwarts itself. I'm actually looking forward to that part." His voice lowered. "It's everything else happening around it that concerns me."
"Understandable," I acknowledged. "The environment extends beyond merely educational considerations."
"Will it be dangerous?" he asked directly.
I considered various reassuring deflections before choosing honesty. "Potentially. Though Hogwarts maintains significant protective measures despite previous security failures."
He nodded, accepting this assessment without childish protest or unnecessary fear. "What should I do? Practically speaking."
"Observe carefully before forming associations," I advised. "House placement provides initial structure but shouldn't determine relationships exclusively. Identify individuals demonstrating independent thinking rather than merely repeating received dogma."
"Like you did with the Evans girl today," he observed perceptively.
"Precisely. Talent and character merit recognition beyond merely traditional categorization." I leaned closer. "And maintain regular communication with me regardless of house placement or social expectations. Family connection transcends institutional divisions."
"Even if I'm not in Slytherin?" he asked quietly.
The question surprised me—in my memories, Regulus had never questioned his inevitable Slytherin sorting. This uncertainty represented another significant deviation suggesting greater independent thinking than his original trajectory had demonstrated.
"Especially then," I assured him. "The hat considers personal qualities beyond merely family tradition. Whatever house recognizes your core attributes becomes the right placement regardless of historical patterns."
Relief visibly washed over him. "Mother would be disappointed."
"Perhaps initially," I acknowledged. "But true family connection transcends merely institutional categorization. Your development as a wizard and person matters more than which dormitory contains your bed."
His smile contained genuine gratitude beyond merely polite acknowledgment. "Thank you. For everything this summer—the lessons, the conversations. I understand more than I did before."
"That's all I could hope for," I replied honestly. "Understanding creates choice beyond merely received direction."
As Regulus departed for final packing preparations, I considered tomorrow's return to Hogwarts with mixed emotions—educational continuation amid increasingly dangerous external developments, institutional protection despite demonstrated vulnerability, and continuing timeline acceleration beyond original historical progression regardless of intervention attempts.
The crystalline chamber in The Serpent's Fang hummed faintly against my arm—sentience developing beyond merely instrumental function, connection deepening through continued blood-bond integration regardless of conventional wandlore limitations concerning consciousness transference beyond standard wielder-instrument interaction parameters.
"We're returning to where it began," I murmured to the artifact. "Though under dramatically different circumstances than originally experienced."
The faint silver glow pulsing within crystalline structure suggested acknowledgment beyond merely coincidental magical manifestation—consciousness responsiveness rather than merely enchantment activation regardless of conventional explanation limitations concerning artifact sentience development beyond standard magical object classification.
Storm clouds gathered on the horizon as night fell—literal weather mirroring metaphorical developments with appropriate atmospheric symbolism regardless of mere coincidental alignment. The approaching term would bring increasing challenges beyond merely educational progression requirements, necessitating sophisticated navigation between competing pressures regardless of institutional protection limitations.
The heir to House Black prepared for return to Hogwarts, but with perspectives and preparations vastly different from conventional student considerations—timeline modification requirements, critical relationship development beyond merely social connection establishment, and fundamental intervention preparation regarding approaching conflict regardless of institutional educational framework limitations.
Lightning illuminated the ancient family crest mounted above my bedroom door—The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Toujours Pur. Always Pure. The motto contained unintended irony given current circumstances—purity of purpose rather than merely blood status representing genuine family legacy beyond merely genealogical consideration regardless of traditional interpretation limitations.
Tomorrow would bring return to Hogwarts amid gathering storms—both literal weather and metaphorical developments creating challenging environment beyond standard educational considerations. The accelerating timeline created both increased pressure and potential intervention opportunities regardless of original historical pattern limitations.
The game continued with higher stakes than previously established—family protection, timeline modification, and fundamental conflict navigation creating complex strategic requirements beyond merely academic progression regardless of institutional educational framework limitations.