November 3, 1959.
Inside the birthing chamber at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the air was thick with tension and solemn anticipation.
Walburga Black lay on a grand four-poster bed, her long dark hair damp with sweat and clinging to her temples. Three witches skilled in healing magic surrounded her, their robes embroidered with the ancient crest of the House of Black—twin stars and Sirius.
In the fireplace, a deep indigo ritual flame burned steadily, its glow reflecting across the ornate room.
"Push, madam," whispered Elma, the head witch, her yew wand tracing gentle arcs in the air as she guided the magic.
Moments later, as the midnight clock struck eleven, the silence was broken by the sharp cry of a newborn child.
Orion Black stood beside the bed, his face composed yet solemn.
He wore deep green robes, and a family brooch was pinned to his collar—a Sirius star set with a Black diamond. At only thirty years old, he was already the thirteenth head of the noble House of Black.
Walburga smiled weakly.
"Let me hold him."
The newborn baby was gently placed in her arms. She gazed down at the wrinkled little face, her fingers softly brushing the dark natal hair on his forehead—hair destined to grow into wild curls.
"His name?" Orion asked quietly.
Walburga did not hesitate.
"Sirius. The brightest star in the night sky, an unfailing navigator. He will lead the Black Family to new glory."
The portraits hanging along the walls nodded in approval.
A female ancestor wearing a stiff Victorian high collar spoke softly from her frame.
"A good name. But remember— even the brightest star may be obscured by storms."
Orion leaned closer and whispered to the infant.
"Welcome to the House of Black, Sirius. May you live up to your name."
The nursery at Number 12, Grimmauld Place was located on the third floor in the east wing.
The room was carpeted in deep green, and the walls were decorated with animated magical tapestries depicting the great achievements of Black ancestors across the centuries.
One ancestor was shown taming a Peruvian Vipertooth dragon.
Another defended Gringotts during the Goblin Rebellions.
A third stared arrogantly from his portrait; he had once served as Minister for Magic, though he had been forced to resign after only four months in office.
One afternoon, when Sirius was ten months old, Walburga was entertaining her sister Druella Black in the adjacent room.
Kreacher, the house-elf, stood beside the cradle, carefully smoothing the silk bedding.
Inside the crib, Sirius pulled himself upright, wobbling slightly as he gripped the wooden railing. His legs were still too weak to support him properly, but his grey eyes were fixed on something across the carpet.
A silver bell toy lay about three feet away.
He stretched out his tiny hand.
The bell rolled half an inch toward him.
Kreacher froze.
Then the house-elf suddenly began banging his head against the nearest table leg.
"Bad Kreacher! Bad Kreacher! Kreacher didn't notice the young master's magic awakening! Bad Kreacher! Bad!"
The noise brought Walburga rushing into the room.
But instead of anger, her face lit up with pure delight.
"He stood up! Only ten months old! Orion, did you see him?"
Orion appeared in the doorway. For a moment, a complicated expression crossed his face.
"Too early," he murmured. "His magic has awakened prematurely."
"This is talent!" Walburga exclaimed proudly.
She lifted Sirius into her arms and showered his cheek with kisses.
"My Sirius… you were born for greatness."
From that day forward, Sirius's pure-blood education began.
Every afternoon Walburga would sit with him in front of the great family tapestry that covered an entire wall of the house.
The tapestry displayed over a thousand years of Black lineage, woven in shimmering threads of gold and silver.
Yet several branches of the family tree were scorched black.
Burned away.
Like ugly scars.
"Look here," Walburga would say, pointing toward the very top of the tapestry.
"This is our first ancestor, Linfred Black. A healer from the twelfth century who laid the foundation of our family."
By the time Sirius turned one year old, he could already speak in complete sentences.
One afternoon he pointed toward one of the scorched names.
"What happened there?"
Walburga's expression darkened.
"That was your great-aunt Cedrella," she said coldly. "She committed an unforgivable mistake. She married a Muggle."
Her name had been burned from the family tapestry.
"Never make such a mistake, Sirius."
January 15, 1961.
The winter of that year was especially harsh.
The streets of London were buried under snow, and thin ice had formed along the edges of the River Thames.
Yet inside Number 12, Grimmauld Place, protective enchantments kept the house warm as spring.
Walburga's second childbirth proved far more difficult than the first.
Her labor pains began at midnight on January 14th and continued for sixteen exhausting hours.
At three o'clock in the morning on January 15th, her cries reached their peak.
Moments later, a baby's cry echoed through the room.
This cry was lighter than Sirius's had been—quieter, almost reserved.
Orion quickly stepped forward.
"His name?"
Walburga looked down at the child resting in her arms.
The newborn opened the characteristic grey eyes of the Black family and calmly observed the world around him.
"Regulus," she whispered.
"The heart of Leo. The second brightest star in the constellation. Unassuming, yet indispensable. Steadfast. Loyal. Eternal."
Orion nodded thoughtfully.
"Regulus Artalus Black."
Exhausted beyond measure, Walburga placed the baby gently into a cradle and fell asleep almost immediately.
Orion remained standing between the two cradles.
On his left lay two-year-old Sirius, sleeping soundly, one small hand stretched over the railing as he clutched his favorite silver bell toy.
On his right lay the newborn Regulus.
But Regulus was not sleeping.
His eyes were open.
He was quietly watching the other cradle.
Watching Sirius.
As if sensing something, Sirius rolled over in his sleep until he was facing his younger brother.
Regulus shifted his gaze.
There lay Sirius Black—the boy who, in the original story, would one day betray his family for his beliefs and ultimately die beyond the Veil.
His older brother.
Deep within this fragile infant body, an adult soul from another world sighed silently.
Using his undeveloped brain, he struggled to form a single clear thought.
I will not repeat Regulus's tragedy.
This time… I will walk a different path.
Outside the window, the London night sky was unusually clear.
Winter constellations glittered brightly overhead.
Orion hung high in the southern sky.
Taurus shone in the east.
And between them burned the brightest star in the heavens—
Sirius.
Not far away, another star shimmered quietly.
Regulus.
The star of Leo.
Slightly dimmer, yet steadfast.
On Sirius's second birthday, Walburga hosted a small celebration in the garden.
Although only close members of the Black family were invited, the event was still extravagant.
House-elves used magic to force roses to bloom despite the winter cold.
Silver cutlery floated through the air, arranging itself neatly upon the tables.
Even the fountain in the garden temporarily spouted lemon juice—simply because Sirius enjoyed sour flavors.
During the feast, Regulus sat quietly on Walburga's lap.
He wore an elegant dark-green velvet infant suit with a small silver brooch pinned neatly to his collar.
Unlike the other children, he showed little interest in the celebration.
Instead, he stared silently into the distance.
"What is he looking at?" Walburga wondered, following her son's gaze.
All she saw was the garden wall, covered in thick, ancient vines.
Nothing remarkable.
"Perhaps he's watching the sunlight on the vines," Druella suggested. "The dew sparkling there is quite beautiful."
But Regulus was not looking at the vines.
Hidden deep within them was a nest of Bowtruckles—tiny magical creatures that were nearly impossible to see.
Even most wizards would overlook them.
However, whenever a Bowtruckle moved, it caused a faint ripple in the surrounding magic.
Regulus could sense those subtle disturbances.
Judging from Walburga and Druella's conversation, however, neither of them had noticed anything unusual.
Later that afternoon, Walburga finally voiced a worry she had been holding back.
She approached Orion hesitantly.
"Do you think Regulus is… a little slow?"
At that time, Regulus was already one year and three months old.
At the same age, Sirius had been running through the house and speaking in full sentences.
Regulus, on the other hand, was quiet.
Almost unnaturally quiet.
He rarely cried.
Rarely spoke.
And he often seemed slow to react to the world around him.
Orion folded his copy of The Daily Prophet and stood.
"Let's take a look."
They entered the nursery together.
Regulus sat on the carpet with an enchanted picture book open before him.
The book was titled Magical Beasts in Motion—a children's book normally meant for children at least three years old.
Inside the pages, hippogriffs flapped their wings while Diricawls vanished and reappeared in bursts of magical smoke.
Orion observed silently.
Ten minutes passed.
Then he walked forward and crouched beside his son.
"Look at his eyes, Walburga."
She knelt beside him and stared into Regulus's grey eyes.
"I don't see anything unusual."
Orion shook his head slightly.
"He isn't slow," Orion said calmly.
"He's listening, watching, learning, and observing… all at the same time."
"He's simply quiet."
As if responding to his father's words, Regulus lifted his head and met Orion's gaze for the very first time.
Grey eyes met grey eyes.
Walburga remained confused, yet she slowly let out a relieved breath.
If Orion believed there was nothing wrong, then she trusted his judgment.
Her son was not slow.
He was simply… different.