Walburga started comparing again, stacking Regulus up against every pure-blood heir she'd ever heard of. No matter how many names she ran through, she always landed in the same place. Her Regulus was the best of them all.
Regulus kept his head down and went on eating the lamb chop on his plate, already a little cool. Orion picked his knife and fork back up and cut into his roast potatoes.
Neither of them offered anything deeper.
Verdant Magic. The experiments with spatial shifting. The progress on star guided meditation. What Regulus had been absorbing from the Restricted Section, including the darker knowledge tucked into those shelves. The strategies they'd been building in the quiet, for Voldemort and the Death Eaters that were gathering in his shadow.
Walburga didn't need to know any of that. She couldn't know. It wasn't her world to worry about, and it wasn't a field she should ever step into.
But what Orion had just said was more than enough to keep her glowing for months. It would carry her through tea parties, dinners, and every social gathering she attended, letting her drop hints with a smile and watch other women's faces tighten.
She'd become an object of envy. More families would angle for alliances and marriages with the Blacks. More resources would drift their way, simply because people liked the look of Regulus's future.
That was what they needed.
"Then… what about after he graduates?" Walburga asked, her voice bright with yearning. "How far can he go? The Ministry of Magic? The Wizengamot? Or like Dumbledore…"
Regulus nearly choked on the sheer audacity of it. You really just said that out loud.
Dumbledore? Even he didn't allow himself dreams that ridiculous.
Not yet.
Someday, maybe.
Orion went quiet for a few seconds, genuinely wrong-footed. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the century. If he lived into the next one…
Orion's eyes slid, almost without meaning to, toward Regulus. If Dumbledore really lived into the next century, it wasn't guaranteed who would end up standing taller.
"At the rate he's progressing," Orion said at last, meeting Walburga's eager stare with a thoughtful calm, "after graduation, he should reach the level of an elite Auror."
Even in the most extreme, worst-case scenario, even if Regulus somehow lost every spark of instinct and brilliance he had, it was still the safest estimate.
What Orion didn't say was that if Regulus kept moving at this pace, he wouldn't need to wait until graduation at all.
By the end of third year, he'd likely surpass most working Aurors.
And by seventeen… Orion didn't let himself finish that thought. He didn't want to imagine it too clearly, because it started to look like the kind of talent people compared to a young Dumbledore, or even Grindelwald.
But he could never say any of that to Walburga.
She'd leap to her feet and dance right there, then spend tomorrow telling everyone she knew that her son would be head of the Auror Office by second year.
It would shove Regulus straight into the spotlight, drawing attention he didn't need, and jealousy he couldn't afford. Possibly outright hostility.
Worse, it might pull Voldemort's gaze in a sharper, more direct way. Not a distant feeler, not an invitation passed through others. Voldemort himself, stepping in personally, making an offer that was hard to refuse.
That would be real trouble.
"An elite Auror…" Walburga echoed, savoring the words like they were sweet on her tongue, her smile blazing as if she'd just downed an entire bottle of Felix Felicis.
"Good. Good! The Black family is finally going to produce a true pillar of the wizarding world. Let's see who dares claim we've got no future now!"
She launched straight into daydreams, carrying Regulus from the Ministry of Magic all the way to the minister's chair.
The Blacks rising again to the top of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
12 Grimmauld Place bustling with visitors, pure-blood families lining up to flatter and fawn, eager to curry favor.
Regulus listened quietly. He nodded now and then, but his mind had already drifted elsewhere.
Which plant should he try tomorrow for Verdant Magic?
Mandrake was still too risky, but maybe Venomous Tentacula. Or Devil's Snare, if he prepared properly.
Spatial shifting cost too much. He needed a way to reduce the drain, or it would never be usable in a real fight.
His Occlumency model, that labyrinth built from star paths, was nearly complete, but he still needed to test its defenses a few more times.
And there were those books in the Restricted Section about passive magic. He needed to find time to skim and copy a few more…
The road ahead was long. There was still far too much to learn.
One dinner wasn't enough to sort through every plan and preparation he needed.
But at least one thing was certain. He was moving forward on this path step by step, and every step felt solid under his feet.
Outside the window, the snow kept falling, layer after layer settling over London's streets and rooftops. It muffled the noise of Muggles, and it muffled the secrets of wizards too.
Inside 12 Grimmauld Place, the fire in the hearth burned hot. The flames threw dancing shadows across the dining room walls while the family sat around their long table.
A mother lost in visions of glory, wrapped up in the future she'd woven for herself.
A father weighing reality like a set of scales, calculating risks and rewards with every breath.
A son plotting his own road, thinking about how to grow stronger, how to go farther.
Such a warm, lovely Black family.
---
A few days before the holiday ended, Orion set down the Daily Prophet at breakfast.
"Come with me today," he said, cutting off a piece of fried egg as he looked at Regulus. "We're going to check on the family businesses."
Regulus lifted his head. He was spreading butter over bread, and something in his chest shifted with interest. He didn't speak. He just watched his father, waiting.
Orion took a sip of coffee before continuing. "You're going to take over the Black family someday. You can't spend your whole life only at Hogwarts and Grimmauld Place. There are things you should see."
Regulus nodded, took a bite of the buttered bread, chewed, swallowed, then said simply, "All right."
This wasn't wasted time. The Black family's businesses were going to be his one day anyway. Learning them now meant getting familiar with what already belonged to him.
And going out with Orion meant seeing more of the wizarding world than he ever could from a school castle and a London townhouse.
After breakfast, Regulus went upstairs and changed into a dark robe. He slid his wand into the inner pocket, then pinned the Black family brooch neatly to his chest.
When he came down again, Orion was already waiting in the entry hall. He held a rolled parchment covered in cramped writing.
"First, the shops in Diagon Alley." Orion unfurled the parchment and glanced over it.
"Then the potion workshop in the Scottish Highlands, the alchemy workshop in Wales, the herb gardens in Cornwall, the magical creature breeding grounds in Ireland, and finally Knockturn Alley."
As Orion spoke, Regulus understood immediately. By the time they finished, they'd have crossed half the British Isles.
"For the far locations, we'll use Portkeys," Orion said, rolling the parchment back up. "You can't Apparate somewhere you've never been."
They stepped to the center of the hall. Orion extended his left hand, and Regulus placed his own on top.
The familiar crushing pull hit, and a few seconds later they were standing in a quiet side alley off Diagon Alley, with the dark, grim wall of the Knockturn Alley entrance behind them.
The Black family owned three shops in Diagon Alley.
The first was a potion shop, set in the middle stretch of the street. The sign above the door read: Silvermoon Apothecary.
It wasn't large, but the location was excellent. The display window was packed with potion bottles in unsettling colors, each one labeled neatly.
Skelegro, Pepperup Potion, Baruffio's Brain Elixir, Draught of Living Death, Elixir to Induce Euphoria…
All common stock. Regulus couldn't help wondering if the family also had a potion shop in Knockturn Alley, selling the sort of things Diagon Alley wouldn't touch.
A thin, tall wizard was organizing supplies behind the counter. The second he spotted Orion, he straightened like he'd been yanked by a string.
"Mr. Black," he said, respectful.
"Marcus." Orion dipped his head with restrained acknowledgment. "I reviewed this month's turnover. Up seven percent from last month."
"Yes." Marcus smiled, clearly pleased. "The new sleep aid is selling well. A lot of parents have been coming in to buy it."
Orion walked the shop, checking expiration labels on the shelves and asking several questions about suppliers.
Marcus answered each one clearly, without hesitation. He knew the business inside and out.
Regulus followed quietly, studying the layout, the product placement, the way customers came and went.
The shop might be small, but it carried everything, from basic boils-cure potions all the way up to expensive Felix Felicis. Every label sat straight. Every bottle looked freshly wiped, spotless.
"Marcus's grandfather worked for the Black family businesses too," Orion told Regulus after they left. "His father managed the Wales herb gardens. Now it's his turn. There are many families like that."
The second shop was an alchemical goods store in the northern end of Diagon Alley, its sign painted with a cauldron crossed with a wand.
Inside, the items were a jumble of everything. Cauldrons that stirred themselves. Potion racks that held a steady temperature. Hourglasses that chimed the time. Wand attachments that amplified spell power.
The owner was a short, stout witch with hair pulled so tight it looked painful. When she saw Orion, her eyes lit up.
"Orion, you finally showed up!" she boomed. "That last batch of self-stirring cauldrons had an issue. The stirring rod turns three times and then quits. They need reworking."
Orion's brow tightened. "Which workshop produced them?"
"The Wales one. I've told them three times. Every time they swear they've fixed it, and every time they send the same rubbish."
She planted her hands on her hips. "You need to rein them in. Keep this up and the shop's name will take a hit."
Orion pulled a small notebook from his pocket and jotted a few lines. "I'm going to Wales this afternoon. I'll look at it myself."