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3 November 1959.
Inside the birthing room at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the air was filled with tension and solemn weight.
Walburga Black lay upon a four-poster bed, sweat soaking through her long dark hair and clinging to her temples.
Three witches skilled in healing magic stood around the bed. Their robes were embroidered with the crest of the House of Black, the Twin Stars and the Great Dog, symbols of ancient pride and lineage.
In the fireplace burned the family's ritual flame, a deep, somber indigo that cast heavy shadows across the room.
"Push, my lady," said the lead witch, Elma, in a low voice. The yew wand in her hand traced gentle arcs through the air, weaving calming magic into the space.
When the midnight bell struck its eleventh chime, the cry of an infant shattered the silence.
Orion Black stood beside the bed, his expression grave and controlled.
He wore deep green robes, the collar fastened with the family brooch, a Sirius set with black diamond. At thirty years of age, he was already the thirteenth head of the Black family.
Walburga smiled weakly. "Let me hold him."
The infant was placed in her arms. She lowered her gaze to that wrinkled little face, her fingers brushing gently over the dark tuft of hair on his forehead, hair that was clearly destined to grow into stubborn, unruly curls.
"His name?" Orion asked.
Walburga answered without the slightest hesitation. "Sirius! The brightest star in the night sky, the navigator that never loses its way. He will guide the House of Black toward a new age of glory."
The portraits on the walls nodded in agreement one after another. One female ancestor, dressed in a high Victorian collar, whispered softly, "A fine name. But remember, even the brightest star can be hidden by storm clouds."
"Welcome to the House of Black, Sirius," Orion murmured as he leaned closer. "May you prove worthy of the name you bear."
...
The nursery at Number 12, Grimmauld Place lay in the east wing of the third floor. The room was carpeted in dark green, and the walls were hung with enchanted tapestries that moved gently, depicting the glorious deeds of Black ancestor's past.
One showed an ancestor taming a Peruvian Vipertooth dragon. Another depicted the defense of Gringotts during a Goblin rebellion.
There was also one figure who gazed down at the room with arrogant disdain from his portrait. This ancestor 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 adjoining room. Kreacher stood beside the cradle, using his long thin fingers to straighten the silk bedding with meticulous care.
Sirius gripped the railing and slowly, unsteadily, pulled himself upright. His small legs were not yet strong enough to support him for long, but he stood there all the same, grey eyes fixed intently on a silver bell toy lying on the carpet three feet away.
He stretched out his hand, and the silver bell rolled toward him by half an inch.
Kreacher sucked in a sharp breath, then immediately 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 alight with uncontrollable joy. "He stood up! Only ten months old! Orion, did you see it?"
Orion stood in the doorway, a trace of complicated emotion crossing his face. "Too early," he said quietly. "His magic has awakened too early."
"This is talent!" Walburga scooped her son up and planted a flurry of kisses on his cheeks. "My little Sirius, you were born to do great things."
From that day on, pure-blood education began!
Every afternoon, Walburga would hold Sirius in her arms and sit before the family tapestry. It covered an entire wall, embroidered in gold and silver thread with a thousand years of the Black family lineage.
Some branches were scorched and blackened, marks left by those who had been struck from the family, like ugly scars burned into the cloth.
"Look here," Walburga said, pointing to the top of the tapestry. "This is our first ancestor, Linfred Black, a healer of the twelfth century. He laid the foundation of our family."
By the time Sirius was one year old, he could already speak in complete sentences. One afternoon, he pointed at a burned-out name on the tapestry and asked, "There… what happened?"
Walburga's expression darkened. "That was your first cousin once removed, Cedrella. She committed an unforgivable mistake and married a Muggle. So her name was burned off and erased from the family. Never make such a mistake, Sirius."
...
15 January 1961.
The winter of 1961 was especially harsh. London's streets were buried under snow, and thin ice formed along the edges of the Thames. Yet inside Number 12, Grimmauld Place, protective charms kept the rooms warm as spring.
Walburga's second labour was far more difficult than the first.
The pains began at midnight on the 14th of January and continued for a full sixteen hours.
At three o'clock in the morning on January 15th, Walburga's screams reached their peak.
Immediately after, the cry of an infant rang out, lighter and shorter than Sirius's cry had been.
Orion stepped forward quickly and asked Walburga, "His name?"
Walburga looked down at the unusually quiet child in her arms. He lay there with the signature grey eyes of the House of Black wide open, calmly observing everything around him.
"Regulus," she said softly. "The heart of Leo, the second brightest star in the sky. Not flamboyant, yet indispensable. Steadfast, loyal, eternal."
Orion added his middle name. "Regulus Arcturus Black."
Walburga placed Regulus into the cradle and almost immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.
Orion stood between the two cradles. On the left, two-year-old Sirius slept soundly in his own, one hand reaching through the bars, clutching the silver bell toy he loved most.
On the right, the newborn Regulus lay quietly. But his eyes were open, watching Sirius in the opposite cradle.
And Sirius, lost in sleep, seemed to sense something. He shifted slightly and turned toward his younger brother.
Regulus's moved his eyes. There lay a two-year-old boy, Sirius, the brother who in the original story would one day betray the family for his beliefs and would eventually die beyond the Veil.
Deep within his soul, an adult consciousness from another world let out a silent sigh.
Then, with a brain still undeveloped and bound to an infant's body, 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.
The winter constellations stood out sharply: Orion hung high in the southern sky, Taurus shone in the east, and between them blazed the brightest fixed star in the night, Sirius.
Not far from it, the star Regulus in Leo flickered quietly, a little dimmer, yet steady and unyielding.
...
On the day Sirius turned two, Walburga held a small celebration in the garden.
Although only close relatives of the House of Black were invited, the occasion was still lavish. House-elves used magic to make roses bloom in the heart of winter. Silver cutlery flew up to arrange itself automatically, and even the garden fountain was temporarily altered to spray lemon juice, simply because Sirius liked sour flavours.
During the gathering, Regulus sat on Walburga's lap.
He wore an exquisitely tailored dark green velvet infant outfit, with a tiny silver brooch pinned at the collar. He did not look at anyone present; his gaze fixed instead on something in the distance.
"What is he looking at?" Walburga followed her son's line of sight. It led to the garden wall, covered in ancient vines, nothing particularly noteworthy.
"Perhaps the sparkle on the leaves," Druella guessed. "The sunlight hitting the dew is quite pretty when it sparkles."
But in truth, where Regulus was looking, there was a nest of Bowtruckles hidden deep among the vines. The little creatures were concealed so well that ordinary people could not see them at all, and even most witches and wizards would miss them.
Yet whenever a Bowtruckle moved, the surrounding magic shifted ever so slightly.
Regulus could feel it. From the exchange between Druella and Walburga, he guessed they could not.
After that, Walburga hesitated for a long time. Finally, one afternoon, she asked Orion with visible uncertainty, "Is Regulus… a little slow to react?"
At that time, Regulus was one year and three months old. Sirius, at the same age, had already been running around the house and speaking in complete sentences.
But Regulus was always unusually quiet. He rarely made a sound, and his responses to the world around him were slow and subdued.
Orion set aside his copy of the Daily Prophet and walked into the nursery, Walburga following close behind.
Regulus was currently sitting on the carpet with a magical picture book spread open in front of him. It was Fantastic Creatures That Move, meant for children three and up. Inside, a Hippogriff flapped its wings, and a Diricawl vanished and reappeared without warning.
Orion observed him for ten minutes.
Then he stepped forward, crouched down so he was level with his son, and said to Walburga, "Look at his eyes, Walburga."
Walburga crouched as well and looked into Regulus's eyes, yet she could see nothing unusual.
"He isn't slow to react," Orion continued. "He is listening, watching, learning. At the same time, he is observing. He is simply quiet."
As if to prove his words, Regulus lifted his head and, for the first time, looked at his father of his own accord.
Grey eyes met grey eyes.
Walburga didn't fully understand, yet she quietly let out a breath of relief. She trusted her husband's judgement; her son was not slow.
...
...
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