Voldemort Is Closing In

In the spring of 1965, the beech tree in the garden of 12 Grimmauld Place had just sprouted tender green buds.

"Regulus!"

Sirius rushed out of the house, waving a toy sword in his hand.

"Look! I can make the sword glow!" Sirius concentrated, and a faint glimmer of silver light appeared at the tip of the sword. It lasted two seconds before going out.

He was five years old. His control over his magic had improved, but it was still unstable.

"Not bad." Regulus closed his book and gave him a perfunctory but earnest response.

Sirius stuck the sword into the dirt. "Let's go explore the Basement. Kreacher said there's a Biting Chest down there!"

"I'm reading." Regulus shook his head in refusal.

"What's so interesting about books?" Sirius leaned closer and glanced at the Bestiary. "They're all fake. Real Dragons are much bigger than this! Bellatrix said that important man has a Fire Dragon as a pet!"

Regulus looked up. "Which important man?"

"That one!" Sirius lowered his voice as though sharing a secret. "Bellatrix said he's gathering followers to restore the glory of the Pure-bloods. Dad said he's dangerous."

Regulus's heart skipped a beat. Voldemort, Tom Riddle—had he started this soon?

He swiftly calculated the timeline. In the original story, Voldemort's first rise had been in the early 1970s, but his recruitment and preparations must have begun much earlier.

1965... He should already have been operating in secret, using the slogan of Pure-blood revival to win the support of Ancient Families.

"What else did Bellatrix say?" Regulus asked.

"She said that important man has great power and can make people see miracles." Sirius sat down on the Stone Bench.

"Regulus, what are you thinking about?" Seeing him fall silent, Sirius poked his younger brother's shoulder.

"I was thinking..." Regulus looked at the book in his hands. "Knowledge is power. That important man must have read many books."

"No! He was born powerful!" Sirius retorted excitedly.

So naive, Regulus thought. All power had a source. Voldemort's Magical Talent, Horcrux research, and knowledge of the Dark Arts had all come from books, experiments, and plunder.

A sudden sense of urgency seized him. Regulus realized that time was running out.

Once Voldemort rose to power completely, all Pureblood families would be swept into it.

As one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Black family would inevitably have to choose a side. In the original story, most members of the Black family joined the Death Eaters, except Sirius and Andromeda.

And he himself, Regulus Black, would inevitably enter Voldemort's sights, especially if he displayed unusual talent—and he could not avoid displaying it.

He had to start preparing now.

That afternoon, Regulus carried three Children's Picture Books he had finished reading and knocked on the door to Orion's Study.

"Come in."

Orion sat behind an enormous mahogany desk, reviewing Wizengamot documents. He looked up at his younger son, somewhat surprised. "Regulus? What is it?"

"Father." Regulus placed the picture books at the corner of the desk. "I've finished these. I want to read real books."

Orion set down his quill. "Real books?"

"Books with words, knowledge, and Magic."

Walburga happened to enter with tea. Hearing this, she stopped in her tracks. "He's only four! Orion, don't indulge him. He should first study the Pureblood Family Etiquette Standards and learn how to uphold the family's glory."

"Glory needs strength to support it." Regulus spoke gently, yet with absolute resolve. "If I'm not strong enough, how can I protect the Black family's standing?"

Walburga froze. Coming from a four-year-old, those words felt both strange and unsettling.

Orion nodded. He agreed with Regulus. "Starting tomorrow, you may spend one hour in the Library each day. Kreacher will accompany you."

"Yes, Father." With that, Regulus left the Study.

He did not show much excitement or joy. This was only right; there was no reason a child who took the initiative to ask to study should be refused by his parents.

Walburga wanted to say something, but Orion raised a hand to stop her. "Walburga, our son needs a special education. Times are changing. That important man is gathering power. What the Black family needs is not merely an heir who understands etiquette."

"You know about that man too..." Thinking of The Dark Lord's growing influence, Walburga looked somewhat excited.

"The entire Wizarding World knows," Orion said heavily. "He is recruiting followers, tempting believers with power and forcing enemies with fear. The Lestrange family has already sided with him, the Malfoy family is watching, and the Black family will have to make a choice sooner or later."

At exactly ten the next morning, Kreacher led Regulus to a set of Double Wooden Doors at the end of the third floor.

The doors were made of dark black oak, inlaid with silver Constellation Patterns. There were no handles, only two symmetrical keyholes shaped like open Raven's Beaks.

"Two keys must be turned at the same time, young master." Kreacher pulled two Antique Keys from his apron pocket. One was silver white, with a sun carved into its handle; the other was pitch-black, with a moon carved into its handle.

The keys slid in and turned simultaneously.

Click.

The doors slid inward without making a sound.

Regulus's first impression upon entering the Library was one of oppression. The density of Magic here was astonishingly high.

Visible Silver Light Dust floated in the air. Bookshelves stretched from the floor to a ceiling ten meters high, and the upper books could only be reached with Moving Ladders—not even Magic would do.

The edges of every shelf were carved with different magical creatures. The bottom shelves featured Gnomes and Fairies, the middle shelves Centaurs and Merfolk, and the upper shelves Griffins and Fire Dragons.

A massive Astrolabe stood in the center of the room, an intricate brass mechanism simulating the movement of the Solar System, though it included several celestial bodies known only to wizards.

"The open section is on the left, young master," Kreacher whispered, as though afraid of waking something. "The Family Heritage Section is on the right and requires The Master's permission. Straight ahead is the Forbidden Section. Do not approach it."

Regulus went to the open section first.

He pulled out the Pureblood Family Genealogy and skimmed through it. He found that these families—Malfoy, Lestrange, Nott, Carrow...—would all become the core of the future Death Eaters.

Once these families collectively sided with Voldemort, half the power and resources of the UK Wizarding World would fall into his hands. And these families would inevitably side with Voldemort.

He had to possess power before then.

An hour later, Regulus walked toward the Family Heritage Section.

The bookshelves here were made of deep red mahogany, and every book had its own magical protective barrier. Kreacher followed nervously beside him. "Young master, this area requires permission..."

"I'm only looking at the titles."

Then he looked straight ahead, toward the Forbidden Section.

There were no bookshelves there, only an entire Black Iron Wall set within a Stone Archway. At the center of the wall was a barred gate, its iron bars as thick as a baby's arm. Through the gaps, he could see the profound darkness beyond.

The lock on the gate was a bronze skull. Its lower jaw could move, and the keyhole was in the skull's left eye socket.

Peering through the gaps in the bars, Regulus narrowed his eyes into the depths of the darkness. Bookshelves were faintly visible, and the gilded titles on their spines glimmered dimly in the dark:

<The Darkest Arts: Origins and Advanced Study of the Unforgivable Curses>

<Blood Curse Research: Bloodline Magic and Eternal Restraints>

<Necromantic Communication: Forbidden Rituals for Speaking with the Other Side>

Every title struck Regulus's heart like a heavy hammer.

Voldemort had definitely read these, and more besides. Horcruxes, Dark Arts, experiments on the soul... How much had he mastered?

I have to understand. At the very least, I need to know what methods he uses.

But he could not enter now. The time was wrong, and he lacked the authority.

He turned to Kreacher. "Time's up. Let's go."

Before leaving, Regulus gave the Forbidden Section one last look.

Back in his room, Regulus walked to the window and looked out at the street.

At night in London, Muggle cars came and went, their red and yellow lights woven densely together. The city already suffered from severe light pollution, and the true Starry sky could not be seen.

But Regulus knew it was there.

Voldemort and the war he would unleash, the Wizarding World's games of power, the glory and madness of Pureblood families—all of it was as insignificant as dust on the scale of the universe.

But Regulus was trapped within that dust.

He looked out the window, imagining the man who might still be studying the Dark Arts in the Albanian Forest or some Ancient Ruins: Tom Riddle, the future Voldemort.

Time was running out.