Paths That Never Cross

The first school year was about to end, with only one day left before the Christmas holiday.

Regulus closed his eyes, letting his consciousness sink deep within.

Star-track Guidance Meditation had become the foundation of his daily life, as natural as breathing.

Nearly half a year of growth had unfolded around this meditation technique. His body and soul had undergone synchronized refinement through the movement of the Star Orbit.

Magic Power was no longer merely energy flowing through him, but a whole deeply bound to his bones, flesh, blood, spirit, and will.

The Magic Power circulation that had once required deliberate guidance had now become instinct. Every breath nourished his body with Magic Power, subtly toughening his bone density and muscle fibers.

Even without a Shield Charm, ordinary spells could hardly harm him at his core. This was the natural result of his body, as a vessel, resonating with his Magic Power and soul.

The transformation of his soul was even more apparent.

The three layers of Legilimency barriers no longer needed to be consciously maintained. The Star Orbit Model itself had become the strongest defense.

The four-star synchronized Orion model rotated steadily in his mind, Betelgeuse's dark red and the Belt Stars' silver-white forming a miniature cosmic vista.

It not only tempered his will, but also refined his spirit. The disturbances of the outside world and the Emotional Fluctuations of others could hardly shake his mind.

His body was the foundation, his soul the core, and Magic Power the bridge. Guided by the Star Orbit, the three evolved toward a more perfect state.

But lighting the fifth star had failed.

The target had been Bellatrix in Orion. The failure had not come from complicated mathematical deductions or massive calculations, but purely from the barriers of Magic.

When he tried to integrate it, the Star Orbit Model in his consciousness shook violently. The stable balance of the four stars broke apart, and the backflow of Magic Power made his temples throb, forcing him to stop meditating.

But failure was not without benefits. The process of trying itself was a form of refinement.

To accommodate Bellatrix's integration, he had been forced to raise the precision of his Magic Power control by another level. His mental resilience had also grown stronger through repeated collapse and reconstruction.

The Four-Star Model became increasingly stable during the process, and the compatibility between his Magic Power and soul quietly deepened. This kind of growth, testing the edge of his limits, was immensely rewarding.

Regulus opened his eyes just as the giant squid swam past outside the window, its enormous shadow briefly falling across his face.

He stood and headed for the Corridor leading to Gryffindor Tower.

Their meeting place was beside the One-Eyed Witch Statue on the third floor. Few people passed through here, and when Regulus arrived, Sirius was already waiting.

He leaned against the wall, both hands tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans. His Gryffindor robes of gold and red were casually draped over his shoulders, revealing the dark Muggle shirt underneath.

Without James, Remus, and the others around him, much of his flamboyant, unruly energy had faded. There was less rebellion in his gray eyes now, replaced by a complicated gloom.

When he saw Regulus approaching, he straightened slightly. His gaze fell on the cracks in the stone floor, while his fingers unconsciously picked at the patterns on the wall.

"A letter came from home," Regulus said first, his voice calm and devoid of extra emotion.

Sirius's shoulders shrank almost imperceptibly, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

Of course he had received letters from home. Those heavy Parchment sheets were filled with his mother Walburga's fury and accusations.

Every line questioned why he had betrayed the family, why he had chosen Gryffindor, and why he kept company with Muggle-borns.

There had also been letters from his father Orion. They contained no harsh words, but they alluded subtly to the family's future and the Black family's responsibilities. Those weighty expectations only made him resist more fiercely.

He had not replied to a single one. At Hogwarts, he had found a circle that belonged to him.

James's warmth, Remus's gentleness, Peter's compliance—these things made him feel as though he had escaped the suffocating atmosphere of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Sirius thrived in Gryffindor. He had friends, adventures, and freedom.

But the sensitivity and stubbornness of the Black family had never vanished from his bones.

The word family remained a corner of his heart he did not want to touch, like a tiny thorn that occasionally ached faintly.

"They hope you'll come home for Christmas," Regulus added, his gaze settling on Sirius's face.

Sirius was silent for a long time. Dust from the cracks between the stones fell in soft streams as he scraped at them.

He lifted his head, his gray eyes meeting Regulus's. Resistance and confusion churned within them, along with a trace of wavering he had not even noticed himself.

He wanted to say, "I'm not going back," but when the words reached his lips, they turned into a quiet question, his voice trembling slightly. "Go back? To be with those people?

"Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott, Carrow... Voldemort's lapdogs?"

His brows drew tightly together. His nostrils flared once, and clear disgust showed on his face.

"You're going, aren't you?" Sirius stared at him, anger and disappointment in his eyes, along with a tiny hint of what might have been concern.

"You'll put on formal robes, raise a glass, and laugh and chat with those Death Eaters, won't you?"

He had received letters from Cousin Bellatrix as well. Her fanatical words, her worship of Voldemort, her obsession with Pure-bloods' Glory—all of it made him feel suffocated.

He knew the Black family would eventually have to make a choice, and that choice was the path he despised most: using bloodline to divide people into superior and inferior, using violence to maintain order.

That was not Glory at all. It was nothing but rotten shackles!

Regulus fell silent for a moment. Winter sunlight filtered through the high Corridor windows, falling over him and casting a long shadow across the floor.

Looking at the undisguised resistance in Sirius's eyes, he knew Sirius was destined never to turn back.

But he did not need to persuade him, nor did he want to. Some roads had to be walked alone, and some convictions had to be upheld alone.

His very existence was a signpost pushing Sirius toward another path. Only by allowing Sirius to completely sever himself from the Black family's old road could he protect himself in the storms to come.

"Yes." Regulus nodded in confirmation, without the slightest hesitation.

Sirius looked as though he had expected it, yet as though the words had still stabbed him.

His breathing paused for a beat. The trace of mocking amusement at the corner of his mouth vanished completely, replaced by an almost weary numbness.

He stepped back half a pace and leaned against the wall again, lowering his head slightly as black hair fell over his eyes.

"I'm not going back. That isn't my home."

"I know." Regulus's voice did not rise or fall. "I'm only conveying the family's wishes."

"Regulus." Sirius suddenly looked up at him, his tone fierce. "Are you really going to take that path? Stand with those Madmen? Put on those damned Black Robes and wear those damned masks?

"You're so smart. You're nothing like them. You can see exactly what they're doing—killing, persecuting, ruling everything through fear!"

Regulus looked at Sirius, the boy a year and a half older than him, stripped at this moment of all his flamboyant shell and revealing the edges within that had not yet fully hardened.

"I'm taking the Black family's path." Regulus avoided the heart of the question, his tone still flat. "Just as you're taking Gryffindor's path. We simply made different choices."

"That isn't the Black family's path. It's the path of destruction!" Sirius raised his voice slightly, urgency coloring his words as he stepped forward.

"You think those people will tolerate the Black family? They only want obedient dogs! Once you're no longer useful, they'll throw you away like trash!"

Regulus watched him grow agitated but did not respond.

He knew Sirius was telling the truth, but so be it. This was the best arrangement.

Regulus reached out and gently patted Sirius on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself."

With that, he turned and left. His Dark Green robes left an afterimage in the Corridor, and he did not look back.

Behind him, Sirius stood frozen in place. He frowned, the anger in his heart inexplicably mixed with a tangled confusion.

Why? Regulus clearly understood everything. He could clearly see those people's madness, so why was he still charging headfirst into it?

Regulus was not a fool. On the contrary, he had been clever since childhood, even shrewd. That was precisely why Sirius found it even harder to understand now.

Could he not see that the Black family was leaping into a fire pit?

Could he not see that the so-called Glory of Pure-bloods was merely a pretext Voldemort used to win people over?

Was it for the family's inheritance rights?

But Regulus had never seemed like someone who cared about such things.

Had their mother's Pureblood Theory brainwashed him?

But even as a child, he had dared to question their mother's views.

Sirius suddenly realized that his understanding of Regulus had always remained at the level of surface labels: smart, strange, quiet.

He did not know what Regulus thought about late at night, what he saw when he stared at the starry sky, or what purpose he truly carried in choosing this path.

He only knew that from this moment onward, he and Regulus had truly stepped onto two roads that would never cross again.