November 3, 1959.
Inside the birthing room at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the air was thick with tension and solemnity.
Walburga Black lay on the four-poster bed, her long hair soaked with sweat.
Three Witches skilled in healing magic surrounded the bed, their robes embroidered with the crest of the House of Black: twin stars and Sirius.
A deep indigo family ritual flame burned in the fireplace.
"Push, madam," whispered Elma, the head Witch, her yew wand tracing gentle arcs in the air.
As the midnight clock struck eleven, a baby's cry pierced the silence.
Orion Black stood by the bed, his face solemn.
He wore deep green robes, a family brooch pinned to his collar—a Sirius star inlaid with Black diamond. At thirty years old, he was already the thirteenth head of the family.
Walburga smiled weakly: "Let me hold him."
The baby was placed in her arms. She looked down at the wrinkled little face, her fingers gently stroking the Black natal hair on his forehead, destined to become unruly curls.
"His name?" Orion asked.
Walburga answered without hesitation: "Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky, an unfailing navigator. He will lead the Black Family to new glory."
The portraits on the wall nodded in agreement. A female ancestor in a Victorian high collar softly said, "A good name, but remember, even the brightest star can be obscured by storms."
"Welcome to the House of Black, Sirius," Orion leaned down and whispered. "May you live up to your name."
...The nursery at Number 12, Grimmauld Place was located on the third floor, east wing. The room was carpeted in deep green, and the walls were adorned with animated magical tapestries depicting the glorious achievements of Black ancestors.
One ancestor tamed a Peruvian Vipertooth, another defended Gringotts during the Goblin Rebellions.
And another, depicted in the painting, arrogantly looked down at the room; he had served as Minister for Magic, though he was forced to resign after only four months.
One afternoon when Sirius was ten months old, Walburga was entertaining her sister, Druella Black, in the next room. Kreacher stood by the cradle, his slender fingers tidying the silk bedding.
Sirius pulled himself up, wobbly, holding onto the railing. His little legs weren't strong enough to support him for long, but he stood there, his grey eyes fixed on a silver bell toy on the carpet three feet away.
He reached out, and the silver bell rolled half an inch towards him.
Kreacher gasped, then began banging his head against the nearest table leg: "Bad Kreacher! Didn't notice the young master's magic awakening! Bad! Bad!"
When Walburga rushed into the room, her face was beaming with joy: "He stood up! Only ten months old! Orion, did you see him?"
Orion stood in the doorway, a complex expression fleeting across his face: "Too early, the magic awakening is also premature."
"This is talent!" Walburga picked up her son and showered his cheek with kisses: "My Sirius, you were born for great things."
From that day on, the pure-blood education began.
Every afternoon, Walburga would sit with Sirius in front of the family tapestry, which covered an entire wall, depicting a thousand years of the Black Family's lineage in gold and silver threads.
Some branches were scorched, marks of those who had been disowned, like ugly scars.
"Look here," Walburga pointed to the top of the tapestry, "This is our first ancestor, Linfred Black, a twelfth-century Healer who laid the foundation of the family."
When Sirius was one year old, he could already speak in full sentences. One afternoon, he pointed to a scorched name on the tapestry and asked, "What happened there?"
Walburga's face darkened: "That was your great-aunt Cedrella. She made an unforgivable mistake, marrying a Muggle, so her name was burned off, erased from the family. Never make such a mistake, Sirius."
...January 15, 1961.
The winter of 1961 was exceptionally cold. The streets of London were covered in snow, and the edges of the River Thames were thinly iced, but at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, protective magic kept the indoors warm as spring.
Walburga's second childbirth was more difficult than the first.
From midnight on January 14th, labor pains lasted a full sixteen hours.
At three o'clock in the morning on January 15th, Walburga's screams reached their peak.
Immediately after, a baby's cry sounded, lighter and briefer than Sirius's cry.
Orion quickly stepped forward and asked Walburga: "His name?"
Walburga looked at the unusually quiet child in her arms. He opened the signature grey eyes of the Black Family, calmly observing everything around him.
"Regulus," she whispered, "the heart of Leo, the second brightest star in the sky—unassuming, yet indispensable; steadfast, loyal, eternal."
Orion added his middle name: "Regulus Artalus Black."
Walburga placed Regulus in the cradle and almost immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
Orion stood between the two cradles. To his left, two-year-old Sirius was sound asleep in his own cradle, one hand stretched out over the railing, grasping his favorite silver bell toy.
To his right, newborn Regulus lay quietly, his eyes open, watching Sirius in the opposite cradle.
And Sirius, in his sleep, seemed to sense something, rolling over to face his brother.
Regulus shifted his gaze. There lay a two-year-old boy, Sirius, the man who, in the original story, betrayed his family for his beliefs and ultimately died behind the veil—his elder brother.
Deep within his soul, the adult soul from another world sighed silently.
Then, with his undeveloped infant brain, he struggled to form his first clear thought:
"I will not repeat Regulus's tragedy. I will walk a different path."
Outside the window, the London night sky was unusually clear.
Winter constellations were clearly visible: orion hung high in the south, Taurus shone in the east, and between them was the brightest star in the night sky, Sirius.
Not far from it, Regulus, the star of Leo, shimmered quietly, slightly dimmer, but steadfast... On Sirius's second birthday, Walburga held a small celebration in the garden.
Although only close relatives of the Black Family were invited, the event was still grand. House-elves used magic to make roses bloom in winter, silver cutlery flew into place automatically, and even the garden fountain temporarily spouted lemon juice, just because Sirius liked sour flavors.
At the feast, Regulus was sitting on Walburga's lap.
He wore an exquisite dark green velvet infant suit with a small silver brooch pinned to his collar. He wasn't looking at anyone, just staring into the distance.
"What is he looking at?" Walburga followed her son's gaze; it was the garden wall, covered in ancient vines, nothing special.
"Perhaps he's looking at the sparkle on the vines," Druella guessed. "The sunlight on the dew, it's very pretty."
But Regulus was actually looking in the direction of a nest of Bowtruckles, tiny creatures hidden deep within the vines, invisible to ordinary people, and even to Wizards.
However, whenever a Bowtruckle moved, there was a minute disturbance in the surrounding magic.
Regulus could feel it, but based on Druella's and Walburga's conversation, he guessed they might not have noticed.
Afterward, Walburga hesitated for a long time, finally asking Orion one afternoon with some trepidation: "Is Regulus... a bit slow to react?"
Regulus was one year and three months old then. Sirius, at the same age, was already running around the house and speaking in full sentences.
Regulus, however, was always unusually quiet, rarely made a sound, and reacted slowly to external stimuli.
Orion put down his copy of The Daily Prophet and walked into the nursery, with Walburga following.
Regulus was sitting on the carpet, an enchanted picture book open before him. It was 'Magical Beasts in Motion,' meant for children three and older, where Hippogriffs in the book flapped their wings and Diricawls suddenly disappeared and reappeared.
Orion observed for ten minutes.
Then he walked over, crouched down to his son's eye level, and said to Walburga: "Look at his eyes, Walburga."
Walburga also crouched down and looked into Regulus's eyes but couldn't see anything unusual.
Orion continued: "He's not slow to react; he's listening, watching, learning, and observing at the same time. He's just a bit quiet."
As if to confirm his words, Regulus looked up, actively meeting his father's gaze for the first time.
Grey eyes met grey eyes.
Walburga was bewildered but quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She trusted her husband's judgment; her son was not slow to react.