August 31, 1971. The atmosphere at the dinner table of 12 Grimmauld Place was heavy.
Tomorrow, Sirius would leave for Hogwarts. Walburga had been preparing for a week.
"Remember," she said for the tenth time. "You represent the House of Black. Once on the train, sit in the Slytherin compartment. Do not associate with those-"
Sirius's voice wasn't loud. "I won't go to Slytherin."
Walburga's knife and fork froze in mid-air. "What did you say?"
"I won't go to Slytherin," Sirius repeated, staring at the roast lamb on his plate. "I'm going to Gryffindor."
Silence descended upon the table.
Even the ancestral portraits on the walls ceased their whispers. Phineas Nigellus stared wide-eyed from his frame, mouth agape like a dehydrated fish.
Orion slowly set down his wine glass. "The Sorting Hat considers the student's wishes, but it also considers bloodline and traits. The Black family has been in Slytherin for five hundred years."
"Then I'll break that streak," Sirius said stubbornly. "I don't want to spend seven years with a bunch of venomous snakes."
"Venomous snakes?" Walburga's voice began to tremble. "That is where your family has been for generations! That is glory!"
"That is a cage!" Sirius's voice rose suddenly in agitation. "I don't need Black family glory! I just need to be myself!"
He turned to Regulus. His ten-year-old brother's expression was calm as he cut a piece of steak and put it in his mouth.
"And you?" Sirius asked. "You'll go to Slytherin, right? Be their perfect heir. Study hard, behave well, and wait for the day you take over this rotting family."
Regulus looked up at him. "I will go where I fit best."
"Fit?" Sirius laughed. "There is only one place fit for a Black, the Slytherin dungeons, with those lunatics obsessed with pure-blood glory. Have a nice time, brother."
He turned and left the dining room.
Walburga slumped in her chair, her face a mask of displeasure. Orion remained expressionless, but his magic was surging.
Regulus finished the food on his plate.
He knew what would happen. In the original story, Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, becoming the first non-Slytherin Black.
He also knew that starting tomorrow, many things would begin to change.
The evening of September 1st. An owl brought a letter from Hogwarts.
Walburga's hands shook as she tore open the envelope. She scanned the parchment quickly. Her face went from pale to ashen, her lips quivered, and then her eyes rolled back as she collapsed backward.
Orion caught her, taking the letter at the same time.
It read: "Sirius Black has been sorted into Gryffindor House."
That night, the atmosphere at 12 Grimmauld Place was akin to mourning.
But Regulus knew this was only the beginning.
From the next day on, Walburga shifted all her attention to him.
"You must be ten times better than him," she said at breakfast. "No, a hundred times! You must prove that the Black bloodline has not degenerated. Prove that the true heir is here."
Regulus simply nodded without speaking.
This was exactly what he had hoped for, though the cost was Sirius's departure, eventually leaving this home entirely. He didn't feel particularly happy about that.
But this was the best arrangement.
He gained new privileges: unlimited access to the library, permission to borrow certain books from the Family Heritage Section, and even the ability to browse some lower-risk experimental notes under supervision.
After Sirius left home, the manor became much quieter. Regulus spent four hours a day in the library, two hours in the attic, and the rest of the time dealing with his mother's lessons and his father's occasional examinations.
The practice of magical circulation over the past two years had brought about substantial changes.
His magical capacity had been increasing slowly but steadily, like digging out a spoonful of earth from a well every day; over time, the well deepened.
This was a task of patience. Every night before sleep, Regulus practiced his magical circulation.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and sensed his magic.
Then he imagined the magic flowing from his limbs to his chest, then back to his limbs, beginning the cycle.
Gradually, he no longer needed to consciously imagine it. The magic seemed to gain its own consciousness, flowing naturally along the opened pathways.
Like a river finding its channel.
Furthermore, he could now make several feathers draw multiple perfect circles in the air with a trajectory error of less than a millimeter.
Or he could maintain complex ripple patterns on the surface of a glass of water for a long time without them dissipating.
This was the synchronization of magic and will, a transformation in control precision.
Finally, there was recovery speed.
Previously, high-intensity practice required long rest periods. Now, by guiding the magic to circulate within his body, he could accelerate its natural recovery.
Just as stretching after exercise promotes blood circulation, magic had its own circulatory system.
From the autumn of 1971 to the spring of 1972, three cousins successively had in-depth interactions with Regulus.
Bellatrix visited Grimmauld Place more frequently. At twenty, she had completely become an early follower of Voldemort, her eyes burning with a fervent fanaticism.
"The world is sick, Regulus," she told him in the garden one afternoon. "Filthy Muggle blood pollutes magic. Half-bloods dilute ancient power. The Ministry is held by cowards. We need a cleansing."
"A cleansing?" Regulus watched as she slashed her hand through the air, like an invisible blade.
"To remove the impurities." Bella smiled, but the smile sent chills down one's spine. "That Lord will lead us. He has power, vision, and determination.
"When he takes power, pure-blood families will stand at the top once more. We don't need equality; we want true rule."
"Rule whom?" Regulus looked at his cousin Bella, knowing she would gradually descend into madness until she became the image of Voldemort.
But he could not stop this process, nor did he intend to.
"Everyone!" Bella's words were full of excitement. "Muggles, half-bloods, Mudbloods, they will find their places."
Narcissa's attitude was different. At sixteen, she was a sixth-year at Hogwarts and a Slytherin prefect. She was pragmatic and shrewd.
"Bella has her path," Narcissa told Regulus privately during a family gathering. "But you must walk your own. Slytherin is not just about fanaticism; we also have wisdom."
"Wisdom?"
"Weighing things." Narcissa gently poked her cake with a silver fork. "Knowing when to advance and when to retreat. Knowing who is useful and who is dangerous. Knowing what to say and what to hide."
She imparted several practical tips: "Always have three excuses ready. For example, if caught out of bed at night, you need three different reasons for different people.
"To a professor, say: 'I got lost in the library.' To a prefect, say: 'I lost a pet.' To a friend, tell the truth, but ensure the friend is reliable."
"Never let anyone know you completely. Even with your best friend, keep at least one secret. Secrets are leverage, and also armor."
"In Slytherin, value is more important than friendship. What can you provide? Knowledge? Resources? Protection? Figure out your value, then find people who need that value."
Regulus listened intently. Narcissa's words were cold, but real and useful.
Andromeda visited the least, but Regulus cared about her the most. Among the three cousins, she was the kindest to him.
At seventeen, she was still a seventh-year at Hogwarts, known throughout the school as an anomaly.
She never participated in the pure-blood cliques, instead often discussing magical creatures with half-bloods and Muggle-borns, for which she was frequently scolded by Bella for tainting her bloodline.
Her visits to Grimmauld Place grew fewer and fewer. Walburga did not welcome her because her thinking was "problematic."
On a rainy day in March 1972, Andromeda found Regulus in his room.
"I'm leaving," she said straightforwardly.
"Where to?"
"Leaving Britain." Andromeda sat on the chair by the window, rain tracing long lines down the glass. "To marry Ted. He is a Muggle-born. You know what that means."
Regulus nodded. It meant being disowned, her name burned off the tapestry, the family no longer acknowledging her.
"Are you afraid?" he asked.
"Yes," Andromeda said honestly. "Afraid of losing my family, afraid of being ostracized, afraid of the uncertainty of the future. But I'm more afraid of staying here and slowly becoming someone I don't recognize."
She looked at Regulus. "I know you are different from Sirius. You are clever, rational, and understand compromise.
"But don't let compromise turn into surrender. Don't let this family swallow you. You have your own heart. Remember it."
Regulus was silent for a long time, then said, "Thank you."
"Take care." Andromeda stood up, walked to the door, and looked back. "And... if one day you need help, real help, you can find me. I'll be in France."
Another Black was leaving.