Spring, 1965. In the garden of 12 Grimmauld Place, the beech tree had just put forth fresh, tender green shoots.
"Regulus!"
Sirius rushed out of the house, brandishing a toy sword in his hand.
"Look! I can make the sword glow!" Sirius concentrated, and a faint silver light emerged from the tip of the sword. It lasted for two seconds before flickering out.
He was five years old. His control over his magic had improved, but it was still unstable.
"Not bad," Regulus said, closing his book with a tone of serious perfunctoriness.
Sirius thrust the sword into the soil. "Let's go explore the basement! Kreacher says there are boxes down there that bite!"
"I am reading," Regulus said, shaking his head in refusal.
"What's so good about books?" Sirius leaned in, glancing at the illustrated encyclopedia. "It's all fake. Real dragons are much bigger than this! Cousin Bella says that 'Important Figure' has a fire dragon as a pet!"
Regulus looked up. "Which 'Important Figure'?"
"You know, that one!" Sirius lowered his voice, as if sharing a secret. "Bella says he is gathering followers to restore the glory of the pure-bloods. Father says he is a dangerous element."
Regulus's heart skipped a beat. Voldemort. Tom Riddle. Is it starting this soon?
He quickly calculated the timeline. In the original story, Voldemort's first rise to power occurred in the early 1970s, but the recruitment and laying of groundwork must have happened earlier.
1965... He must already be operating in secret, using the slogan of pure-blood restoration to attract the support of ancient families.
"What else did Bella say?" Regulus asked.
"She said that Important Figure has great power and can show people miracles." Sirius sat down on a stone bench.
"Regulus, what are you thinking about?" Seeing his brother fall silent, Sirius poked him on the shoulder.
"I was thinking..." Regulus looked at the book in his hands. "Knowledge is power. That Important Figure must have read a lot of books."
"No way! He was born strong!" Sirius retorted excitedly.
Naive, Regulus thought. All power has a source. Voldemort's magical talent, his research into Horcruxes, his knowledge of the Dark Arts, it was all gained from books, from experiments, and from plunder.
A sudden sense of urgency washed over him. Regulus realized that time was running out.
Once Voldemort rose to full power, all pure-blood families would be swept up in the tide.
As one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the House of Black would inevitably have to pick a side. In the original story, most members of the Black family joined the Death Eaters, with the exception of Sirius and Andromeda.
And he, Regulus Black, would inevitably come to Voldemort's attention—especially if he displayed exceptional talent. And he could not not display it.
He had to start preparing now.
That afternoon, holding three finished children's picture books, Regulus knocked on the door of Orion's study.
"Enter."
Orion sat behind a massive mahogany desk, reviewing Wizengamot documents. He looked up and was somewhat surprised to see his youngest son. "Regulus? What is it?"
"Father," Regulus placed the picture books on the corner of the desk. "I have finished these. I want to read real books."
Orion set down his quill. "Real books?"
"Books with words, with knowledge, with magic."
Walburga happened to walk in with tea at that moment. Hearing this, she stopped. "He is only four! Orion, do not indulge him. He should learn the Etiquette of Pure-Blood Families first and understand how to maintain the family glory."
"Glory requires power to support it," Regulus said. His tone was gentle, yet incomparably firm. "If I am not powerful enough, how can I maintain the status of the House of Black?"
Walburga was stunned. Coming from a four-year-old, these words felt somewhat eerie, yet unsettlingly poignant.
Orion nodded. He agreed with Regulus. "Starting tomorrow, you may spend one hour each day in the library. Kreacher will accompany you."
"Yes, Father." With that, Regulus withdrew from the study.
He did not show any excitement or delight. This was merely what was necessary; there was no logic in parents refusing a child who actively sought to learn.
Walburga wanted to say something, but Orion raised a hand to stop her. "Walburga, our son needs a special education. The times are changing. That 'Important Figure' is gathering power. The House of Black needs more than just an heir who understands manners."
"You know of him too..." Walburga's expression turned somewhat feverish at the thought of that man's influence.
"The entire magical world knows," Orion said, his voice heavy. "He is recruiting supporters, tempting believers with power, and coercing enemies with fear. The Lestranges have already turned to him. The Malfoys are watching and waiting. The House of Black will have to make a choice sooner or later."
The next morning at 10:00 AM sharp, Kreacher led Regulus to the double wooden doors at the end of the third-floor corridor.
The doors were dark black oak, inlaid with silver constellations. There were no handles, only two symmetrical keyholes shaped like the open beaks of ravens.
"It requires two keys turned simultaneously, Young Master." Kreacher pulled two antique keys from his apron pocket, one silver-white with a sun carved on the handle, the other jet-black with a moon.
The keys were inserted and turned at the same time.
Click.
The doors slid inward without making a sound.
Regulus's first sensation upon stepping into the library was pressure. The density of magic here was astonishingly high.
Silver motes of light, visible to the naked eye, floated in the air. The bookshelves extended from the floor to the ten-meter-high ceiling; reaching the upper books required a moving ladder, as Summoning Charms would not work here.
The edges of every shelf were carved with different magical creatures: gnomes and fairies on the bottom, centaurs and merpeople in the middle, griffins and dragons at the top.
In the center of the room stood a massive orrery, a complex mechanism of brass simulating the solar system, but with several additional celestial bodies known only to wizards.
"The Open Section is on the left, Young Master," Kreacher whispered, as if afraid of waking something up. "The right is the Family Heritage Section; it requires the Master's permission. Directly ahead is the Restricted Section. Do not go near it."
Regulus walked to the Open Section first.
He pulled out a genealogy of pure-blood families and scanned it at a glance. He found the names: Malfoy, Lestrange, Nott, Carrow... all the future mainstays of the Death Eaters.
Once these families collectively sided with Voldemort, half the power and resources of the British magical world would fall into his hands. And these families would inevitably side with him.
I must possess power before that happens.
An hour later, Regulus walked toward the Family Heritage Section.
The shelves here were dark red mahogany. Every book had an individual magical protective shield. Kreacher followed nervously at his side. "Young Master, permission is needed here..."
"I am only looking at the titles."
Then, he looked straight ahead. The Restricted Section.
There were no bookshelves there, but rather a solid wall of black iron set within a stone arch. In the center of the wall was a barred gate, the iron bars as thick as a baby's arm. Through the gaps, one could see the deep darkness behind it.
The lock on the gate was a bronze skull; the jaw was movable, and the keyhole was located in the skull's left eye socket.
Squinting through the gaps in the bars into the depths of the darkness, Regulus could faintly make out shelves. The gold-stamped titles on the spines shimmered dimly in the dark:
The Darkest Arts: Origins and Advancement of the Unforgivable Curses
Blood Curse Studies: Blood Magic and Eternal Bindings
Necromancy: Taboo Rituals for Communing with the Beyond
Every title felt like a heavy hammer striking Regulus's heart.
Voldemort had certainly read these. Perhaps even more than these. Horcruxes, Dark Magic, soul experiments... how much had he mastered?
I must understand them. At the very least, I need to know what methods he is using.
But he couldn't go in there now. The timing was wrong, and his authority was insufficient.
He turned to Kreacher. "Time is up. Let us go."
Before leaving, Regulus took one last look at the Restricted Section.
Back in his room, Regulus walked to the window and looked out at the street.
It was night in London. Muggle cars drove back and forth, their red and yellow lights weaving a dense fabric. By this time, severe urban light pollution already existed; the true starry sky was invisible.
But Regulus knew the stars were there.
Voldemort and the war he would launch, the power games of the magical world, the glory and madness of the pure-blood families, on a cosmic scale, all of this was as insignificant as dust.
But right now, Regulus was trapped in this dust.
He looked out the window, imagining the man who might currently be in the forests of Albania or some ancient ruin researching Dark Magic, Tom Riddle, the future Voldemort.
Time was running out.