Voldemort is Approaching

In the spring of 1965, in the garden of 12 Grimmauld Place, the Beech Tree had just put out 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 bit of Silver Light appeared at the tip of the sword, lasting two seconds before going out.

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

"Not bad." Regulus closed his book and gave him a serious, perfunctory answer.

Sirius stabbed the sword into the mud. "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 over and glanced at the Bestiary. "It's all fake. Real dragons are much bigger than this! Bellatrix said that great man has Fire Dragons as pets!"

Regulus looked up and asked, "Which great man?"

"You know, that one!" Sirius lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. "Bellatrix said he's gathering followers and wants to restore the Glory of pure blood. Father said he's a dangerous man."

Regulus's heart skipped a beat. Voldemort. Tom Riddle. Had it begun this soon?

He quickly calculated the timeline. In the original story, Voldemort's first rise had been in the early 1970s, but the recruitment and groundwork in the early stages should have started even earlier.

1965... He should already have been acting in secret, using the slogan of pure-blood revival to draw support from Ancient Families.

"What else did Bellatrix say?" Regulus asked.

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

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

"Thinking..." Regulus looked at the book in his hands. "Knowledge is power. That great man must have read many books."

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

Naive, Regulus thought. All power had a source. Voldemort's Magical Talent, his research into Horcruxes, his knowledge of the Dark Arts—all of it had come from books, from experiments, from plunder.

A sudden sense of urgency swept over him. Regulus realized that there was not much time left.

Once Voldemort fully rose to power, every pure-blood family would be dragged in.

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 had joined the Death Eaters, except for Sirius and Andromeda.

And he himself, Regulus Black, would inevitably enter Voldemort's sights—especially if he displayed abnormal talent. And there was no way he could avoid displaying it.

He had to start preparing now.

That afternoon, Regulus carried three finished Children's Picture Books and knocked on the door of Orion's study.

"Come in."

Orion was sitting behind the enormous Mahogany Desk, reviewing Wizengamot documents. He lifted his eyes and saw his younger son, looking somewhat surprised. "Regulus? What is it?"

"Father," Regulus said, placing the picture books on the corner of the desk. "I've finished these. I want to read real books."

Orion set down his Quill and asked, "Real books?"

"Books with words, with knowledge, with magic."

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

"Glory needs strength to support it," Regulus said gently, yet with absolute firmness. "If I am not strong enough, how can I uphold the Black family's position?"

Walburga froze. Hearing those words from a four-year-old child felt a little eerie, and also a little unsettling.

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

"Yes, Father." With that, Regulus withdrew from the study.

He did not show any excitement or delight. This was only as it should be. There was no reason for parents to refuse a child who had taken the initiative to ask to learn.

Walburga seemed about to say something, but Orion raised a hand to stop her. "Walburga, our son needs a special education. The times are changing. The Dark Lord is gathering power. What the Black family needs is not merely an heir who understands etiquette."

"You know about that one too..." Thinking of The Dark Lord's momentum, Walburga's expression grew somewhat excited.

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

At exactly ten o'clock the next morning, Kreacher brought Regulus to the Double Wooden Door at the end of the third floor.

The door was made of deep black oak, inlaid with silver Constellation Patterns. It had no handle, only two symmetrical keyholes shaped like two open Raven's Beaks.

"The two keys must be turned at the same time, little master," Kreacher said. From the pocket of his apron, he took out two Antique Keys, one Silver White with a sun carved on the grip, the other pitch-black with a moon carved on the grip.

The keys were inserted and turned at the same time.

Click.

The door slid inward without making the slightest sound.

The first thing Regulus felt when he stepped into the Library was pressure. The density of magic here was astonishingly high.

Visible Silver Light Dust floated in the air. Bookshelves stretched from the floor to the ten-meter-high ceiling, and a Moving Ladder was needed to reach the books on the upper levels. Even magic would not do.

The edges of each tier of shelves were carved with different magical creatures. The bottom level had Gnomes and Fairies, the middle level had Centaurs and Merfolk, and the upper level had Griffins and Fire Dragons.

In the center of the room stood a huge Astrolabe, a complex brass mechanism that simulated the movement of the solar system, though with a few extra celestial bodies that only wizards knew about.

"The open area is on the left, Young Master," Kreacher whispered, as if afraid of waking something. "On the right is the Family Heritage Section. It requires the master's permission. Straight ahead is the Forbidden Section. Do not go near it."

Regulus walked toward the open area first.

He pulled out Pureblood Family Genealogy and skimmed it, discovering that these families—Malfoy, Lestrange, Nott, Carrow... they were all the future backbone of the Death Eaters.

Once these families collectively turned to Voldemort, half the power and resources of the UK Wizarding World would fall into his hands, and these families were certain to turn to Voldemort.

He had to possess power before that happened.

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

The bookshelves here were dark-red mahogany, and every book had its own magical protective barrier. Kreacher followed nervously at his side. "Young Master, this place requires permission..."

"I'm only looking at the titles."

Then he looked straight ahead, at the Forbidden Section.

There were no bookshelves there, but an entire Black Iron Wall, embedded in a Stone Archway. At the center of the wall was a barred gate, its iron bars as thick as an infant's arm. Through the gaps, he could see the deep darkness behind it.

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

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

Darkest Arts: The Origins and Advancement of the Unforgivable Curses

Research on Blood Curses: Bloodline Magic and Eternal Restraints

Necromantic Communication: Forbidden Rituals for Speaking with the Other Shore

Every book title was like a heavy hammer striking Regulus's heart.

Voldemort had definitely read these. Perhaps even more than these. Horcruxes, Dark Arts, soul experiments... how much had he mastered?

I have to understand. At the very least, I need to know what methods he's using.

But he could not go in now. The timing was wrong, and he did not have enough authority.

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

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

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

London at night. Muggle cars came and went, their red and yellow headlights woven together in dense streams. By now, the city's light pollution was already severe, and the true starry sky could not be seen.

But Regulus knew the starry sky was there.

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

But Regulus was trapped in that dust now.

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

There was not much time left.