**September 1, 1972 - 10:47 AM**
Regulus Black stood before the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross Station.
He was eleven years old, tall and slender, wearing a dark green robe that was pressed to perfection. The Black family crest, a silver brooch, was pinned to his collar. His black hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck, and his grey eyes surveyed the bustling Muggle station with the detached calm of a coroner at a crime scene.
In his left hand, he gripped the handle of a brand-new dragon-skin trunk—Walburga had insisted on the most expensive model. In his right, he held a cage containing a snowy owl.
The owl was quiet. Unlike the other restless birds hooting around the station, she simply watched the world through amber eyes, turning her head with slow, deliberate movements.
Regulus took a deep breath.
Beyond this brick wall lay the world he had read about for a decade. The theory was about to become practice.
He stepped forward. The sensation was like walking through warm mist. The noise hit him first.
A cacophony of screeching owls, disgruntled cats, and the frantic shouts of parents giving last-minute instructions. Steam billowed from the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express, rolling over the platform in thick white clouds.
Students surged toward the carriage doors like a colorful tide.
Regulus stood still, letting the crowd flow around him. He scanned the platform.
He saw them almost immediately.
The Potters. Charles and Euphemia Potter stood near the front of the train, smiling the gentle, indulgent smiles of parents who loved their child without condition.
Surrounding them were four boys.
James Potter was at the center. His hair was a disaster zone, his glasses were crooked, and he was currently demonstrating a Quidditch move with exaggerated arm gestures.
Remus Lupin stood next to him, skinny and clutching a battered suitcase, smiling shyly. Peter Pettigrew hovered half a step behind, his eyes darting around nervously.
And leaning against a pillar was Sirius Black.
At thirteen, he had shot up in height. His shoulders were broader, losing the softness of childhood. He wore faded Muggle jeans—the ones Walburga had tried to burn—and a plain shirt under a Gryffindor robe that had been aggressively modified. The silver trim was dyed gold, and lions were embroidered on the cuffs.
James said something funny. Sirius threw his head back and laughed—a real, chest-deep laugh that Regulus had never heard inside Grimmauld Place.
Then James looked up. He saw Regulus standing twenty feet away, an island of green in the crowd.
The laughter died.
James didn't look away. He stared, his expression shifting from joy to something sharper.
"Hey!" James shouted, his voice cutting through the steam. "Look who it is! The Black family's little viper has come to inspect the nest!"
Heads turned.
Sirius's smile vanished. He placed a hand on James's shoulder—a gentle, restraining weight. James shut his mouth immediately.
Sirius didn't say anything to Regulus. He didn't nod. He just looked at his brother for a second, shook his head, and turned to board the train.
James followed, casting one last hostile glare over his shoulder.
Regulus picked up his trunk. *James Potter,* he thought dismissively. *Loud. Emotional. Irrelevant.*
He walked toward the middle of the train.
The interior of the Express was a testament to the Undetectable Extension Charm. The corridor was wide, carpeted in deep red plush.
Regulus walked past the third carriage. The door was open.
Inside, James was standing on a seat, trying to stick a Chocolate Frog card to the ceiling. Peter was cheering him on. Remus was reading a battered copy of *A History of Magic* by the window.
Sirius sat opposite Remus, his feet propped up on the empty seat. He was tossing a Golden Snitch into the air and catching it. *Up. Down. Up. Down.*
Sirius looked up as Regulus passed. Their eyes met through the open door.
Grey met grey.
Then Sirius looked back down at the Snitch, as if Regulus were a ghost he refused to acknowledge.
Regulus kept walking.
Near the seventh carriage, he passed two second-years huddled in conversation.
A girl with dark red hair and bright green eyes—Lily Evans. She wore a simple, clean black robe. Beside her was a boy with greasy hair, sallow skin, and robes that were clearly second-hand. Severus Snape.
Snape was leaning in close, his hands moving rapidly as he explained something. Lily was listening intently.
Snape looked up. He saw Regulus. He saw the dragon-skin trunk. He saw the expensive cut of the robes.
His thin lips tightened. A flash of defensive hostility crossed his face—the look of a boy who expected the world to mock him.
Regulus ignored it and walked on.
He found an empty compartment in the ninth carriage.
He stowed his trunk, placed the owl cage under the seat, and took out his notebook. He found the page he had been working on the night before: *Ancient Runic Variants and Mana Efficiency.*
He took out a quill, dipped it in ink, and began to write.
The train jolted into motion. The London suburbs slid past the window, giving way to rolling green fields under a low, grey sky.
*Bang.*
The compartment door was yanked open. It hit the wall with a dull thud.
Regulus finished drawing a complex curve before looking up.
He didn't need to look. He knew who it was.
"Well, well," James Potter said, leaning in the doorway. "Look who it is. The Black family prince, studying Dark Arts all by himself?"
Regulus didn't react. He looked at James with mild curiosity, as if observing a noisy insect.
James stepped inside. Remus hovered in the corridor, looking uncomfortable. Peter peeked out from behind James's elbow.
"I'm talking to you," James snapped, stepping closer. "I heard about you. I heard you bully Sirius at home. Pretending to be the perfect son while he takes the heat?"
"James," Remus murmured. "Don't do this."
"Don't do what?" James straightened up, his hand drifting toward his wand pocket. "I'm just asking a question."
Regulus almost smiled. *Bully Sirius?* That was a creative interpretation of their childhood.
"James!"
Sirius appeared in the corridor, pushing past Remus. He looked out of breath.
"I told you to leave it alone," Sirius said, grabbing James's arm.
"I'm just looking!" James shook him off. "He's not going to eat anyone. Are you, snake-boy?"
Just then, footsteps approached from the other direction.
Lily Evans and Severus Snape.
Snape looked into the compartment, taking in the scene. A sneer curled his lip. "How charming. Potter bullying the first years now? Running out of targets your own size?"
James whipped around. "Shut it, Snivellus."
He saw Lily standing there and scowled. "And you too, Evans. Here to save the day again?"
Snape's face darkened instantly. His hand flew to his wand.
"Severus, don't!" Lily cried, grabbing his arm.
But James was faster.
" *Expelliarmus!* "
A jet of red light shot from James's wand, aimed point-blank at Snape's chest.
In the narrow confines of the carriage, at a distance of less than ten feet, it should have been impossible to miss.
Regulus's wand slid into his left hand.
He didn't shout. He didn't lunge. He simply flicked his wrist—a casual, minimal movement, like brushing away a fly.
The spell stopped.
It froze in mid-air.
The red jet of light hung there, suspended like a glowing ribbon. One end was still connected to James's wand tip; the other hovered inches from Snape's chest.
It pulsed, trapped in a stasis field.
The silence in the carriage was instant and absolute.
James stared at the frozen spell, his mouth opening. Sirius froze. Snape blinked, looking from the red light to the boy sitting calmly by the window.
Regulus lowered his wand slightly, looking bored.
"Noise," Regulus said softly. "Too much noise."