đ 20+ chapters ahead on Patreon
In the autumn of 1962, Regulus was one and a half years old, and Sirius was three.
The nursery on Sirius's side had already descended into complete chaos. Parts of toy brooms were scattered across the floor, alongside magical spinning tops that bit anyone who touched it, and a box of goblin made metal puzzle pieces dumped open and half assembled.
Regulus's corner, on the other hand, was always tidy; on a dark blue rug lay several picture books, neatly stacked, and a motionless stuffed Kneazle. It used to move, once, until Sirius had broken it during play.
That afternoon, Kreacher was using magic to clean the windows, but his ears were pricked toward the two young masters, and the corner of his eye never left them.
Because Sirius had just brought back a miniature broom from Orion's study. It was a scaled down model of a real broomstick, a teaching tool used to demonstrate the principles behind Flight charms.
"Watch this, Regulus!" Sirius shouted loudly to grab his brother's attention. "This is a broomstick! A real wizard's broomstick! I can make it float!"
He set the broom down on the rug, took two steps back, and drew in a deep breath. His little face began to redden with effort.
"Up!" he yelled, lifting both hands upward as if physically pushing the air.
The broom twitched slightly, one end rose to about a five-degree angle, then dropped back to the rug.
"Up! Up!" Sirius tried again twice. This time the broom rolled half a turn on the spot but still did not lift off.
Kreacher held his breath; he knew the broom had been placed under a restriction charm. Only someone who understood the Levitation spell and could imagine weight disappearing would be able to activate it.
This was a tool Orion used to test the children's magical comprehension. Sirius thought he had stolen it, but that had been Orion's intention all along.
Sirius very clearly did not understand.
"Why isn't it working?" he snapped angrily, kicking the rug. "Father can make it fly!"
It was then that Regulus moved.
He pushed himself up from the rug, moving a little faster than usual, toddled over to the broom, and sat down beside it with a soft thump.
Sirius looked at him and curled his lips in boredom. "You want to try too? You can't even talk yet."
Regulus ignored him and did not respond. He simply raised his right index finger and held it hovering above the broom.
Then his fingertip pressed gently downward.
The broom rose slowly into the air. When it reached the level of Regulus's eyes, it stopped and hovered there, perfectly still.
Sirius's mouth dropped open involuntarily, and the rag Kreacher was controlling slipped from his grasp and dropped to the floor.
As Regulus's finger pressed down again, the broom descended just as slowly, settling back into its original position without being off by even the slightest bit.
Sirius stammered, "Y-you how did youâŠ"
He could not understand what was happening at all. Why could his little brother do something he himself could not?
Regulus turned his head. In a childish but clear voice, he spoke his first complete sentence in his life: "Think, then do."
"Think what?" Sirius asked instinctively.
"Think it's light," Regulus said, pointing at the broom. "Don't think it's heavy."
"But it is heavy!"
"Think it isn't."
"How is that even possible?"
Regulus tilted his head, as if trying to work out how to explain it. Then he patted the rug beside him and said to Sirius, "Sit."
Sirius obediently sat down, completely ignoring the fact that his little brother had just spoken so clearly the moment he opened his mouth.
Regulus picked up a fallen leaf that had drifted in through the window and placed it in his palm. "It's light," he said.
"Right�"
"Think it's heavy."
Sirius stared at the leaf, trying hard to imagine it as heavy as a stone.
But nothing happened!
"That's not it," Regulus said, as if he knew exactly how Sirius was thinking. "It's not imagining it being heavy like something else. It's forgetting that it's light. When you forget that, then it's heavy."
Sirius frowned. That was far too abstract; he had never thought like that before. He scratched his head, his face full of confusion.
Regulus swayed as he stood up and wandered back to his own corner, leaving Sirius alone to wrestle with his thoughts.
He had already finished his lesson. It was just that this kind of understanding came far too early for a three-and-a-half-year-old Sirius.
But Regulus was different. When it came to comprehension and insight, age had never been a limit for him.
After dinner, Orion summoned Kreacher to the study.
"That teaching broom," Orion asked from behind his desk, his brows drawn together. "Regulus made it levitate?"
"Yes y-yes, Master," Kreacher replied nervously, twisting his tea towel. "Young Master Regulus made it fly. About a foot. Very steady."
"He spoke?"
"He said a few sentences." Kreacher repeated what Regulus had said to Sirius word for word.
When he finished, Orion fell silent for a long time. The ancestral portraits lining the study walls pretended to look elsewhere, but every single ear was straining to listen.
"From now on," Orion finally said, "whatever Regulus wants to do, as long as it isn't dangerous, let him do it. But watch him, record everything. Report to me every day before dinner."
"Yes, Master!"
...
December 1963. Number 12, Grimmauld Place was being prepared for Christmas.
Sirius Black had turned four just over a month ago and was firmly in the age where he believed he was the center of the universe.
He stood in the middle of the sitting room, hands on his hips, declaring to a half-decorated Christmas tree, "I'm going to make the bells ring by themselves!"
Walburga leaned out from the second floor. "Sirius, stop causing trouble. Kreacher, hang the silver baubles higher. They were too low last year; Andromeda nearly hit her head."
"Yes, Mistress." Kreacher extended his long thin fingers, guiding the silver ornaments a little higher.
Regulus sat on the thick rug by the fireplace, so quiet he might as well have been a potted fern tucked into the corner.
The soul from another world had lived in this body for three years now. He had long since accepted reality; this was a magical world, and he was Regulus Black, the tragic character in the original story who died young.
But he had no intention of replaying that tragedy. He had greater goals. The stars, the universe, realms the original story had never even brushed against.
As for Sirius?
Let him be, Regulus thought. In the end, he would become a champion of justice anyway, a hero who stood against Voldemort.
As long as I am alive, the resources of the House of Black are my springboard. There's no need to compete with a four-year-old child.
"Regulus! Watch this!" Sirius's voice dragged him back to reality.
Sirius took a deep breath, staring hard at a golden bell near the top of the tree. Once again, he puffed his little face red with effort, both hands reaching out as if trying to grab something in midair.
Magic began to surgeâŠ
"Move," Sirius shouted.
Regulus's perception of magic was exceptionally keen, as if he possessed an extra sense. He could see Sirius's magic swelling and churning, and he could tell it was about to spiral out of control.
BANGâ!!
The entire Christmas tree began to shake violently.
The star at the top came loose and dropped straight onto Kreacher's head. Candy canes clacked into one another, and glass ornaments rang with sharp, chiming sounds.
A string of magical fairy lights near the top of the tree, the kind that changed colours on their own, suddenly began flashing wildly, so fast it looked like a seizure.
"Stop it! Stop it!" Walburga charged down the stairs.
But it was too late.
Sirius had frightened himself with his own magic. He wanted to stop, but he could not. Panic spread across his young face as he flailed his arms helplessly, and that only made the flow of magic even more unstable.
BOOOMâ!!
The three floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side of the sitting room exploded at the same time.
Shards of glass blasted outward. Fortunately, they struck the protective charms and slowed to a halt, suspended in midair. Otherwise, the entire street outside would have been caught in it.
The chandelier swung wildly overhead. Crystal pendants smashed into one another, screeching with an ear-splitting clatter.
"Aaaaaah!!!"
The portraits screamed in unison, with Phineas Nigellus yelled the loudest of all. "Savages! The Blacks truly have fallen!"
Walburga raised her wand, and a powerful Calming spell struck Sirius.
He staggered backward a few steps and collapsed onto the floor, staring blankly at his own hands.
Walburga's expression was a sight to beholdâfirst came anger, then something far stronger: Pride!
"Plenty of magic," she said, her tone oddly twisted. "Wrong direction, though. Next time, aim it at something useless. Like those ugly vases your father collects."
Sirius blinked, not quit understanding. He had been sure he was about to be scolded.
Regulus closed his book.
This was the trouble with wizard children. He let out a quiet sigh. Magic rose and fell with emotion, like a pressure cooker without a safety valve, ready to explode at any moment.
Kreacher began cleaning up the aftermath. Walburga gave Sirius a complicated look, then turned and went back upstairs.
Sirius sat on the rug, looking at his hands, then at the broken windows, and finally at Regulus.
"I did it," he said softly.
Regulus nodded. "Impressive."
...
...
đ€âš Radahn_x | Patreon âšđ€
đ Early chapters available now
đ Extra content already unlocked
đ https://patreon.com/Radahn_x
[CHAPTER END]