Orion recalled all the abnormalities from Regulus's childhood — magic awakening at ten months, full sentences by age one, an understanding of magic that left peers in the dust.
Reason told him: his son might very well be telling the truth.
"Right now — just how far can you go?" Orion asked.
Regulus didn't answer directly. He only said: "If Father wants to know, why not find out firsthand."
An odd glint passed through Orion's eyes. He stood. "Follow ."
A seemingly ordinary Black family portrait hung at the far wall of the study. Orion walked over and tapped the Sirius-star motif in its bottom-right corner with his wand.
The portrait slid smoothly aside, revealing a hidden stone door carved with intricate magical runes. Orion incanted; the runes blazed red, and the door ground open.
Beyond it lay the Black family's private training room — spacious, paved with hard black stone.
Rune-etched protective wards covered the walls. Training targets and implents were stacked in corners.
Regulus had been here a few tis as a small child, though back then Orion wouldn't allow him to train at full intensity.
"No need to hold back." Orion strode to the center, drawing his wand. The dark-green robe fanned behind him. "Treat it like a real wizard's duel."
Regulus drew his wand as well, fingers locking around the familiar grain. Inside his mind, the four-star model turned silently. Magic flowed along its orbital paths — steady, suffusing every limb.
"Begin." The word had barely left Orion's lips before his wand was up, a silent Disarming Charm arrowing at Regulus's chest like a bolt of lightning.
Regulus shifted — a half-step, a sway of the torso — and the spell hissed past. Simultaneously, his wand tapped the floor: an invisible Shield Charm materialized just in ti to absorb the Impedint Jinx Orion had sent on its heels.
He moved fast, weaving fluidly through the training room, evading Orion's barrage.
Orion's attacks were dense and precise. Disarming Charm, Impedint Jinx, Leg-Locker Curse, Full Body-Bind — one after another, no pause between them.
The magic radiated thick and concentrated — the product of years of accumulation.
As the thirteenth-generation head of the House of Black and a mber of the Wizengamot, his strength far exceeded the average adult wizard.
One did not hold a seat in the Wizengamot, did not keep the Blacks stable on the eve of upheaval, by being ordinary.
Regulus's defense was equally watertight.
Rather than deploying broad Shield Charms, he generated micro-shields at the precise point of impact — instantaneous, pinpoint interceptions calibrated to each spell's angle and velocity.
Sotis a sidelong roll. Sotis a near-teleportation stride. His agility and reaction speed owed everything to months of magic-guided physical conditioning.
Every motion — lean, efficient, zero waste.
"Good — but not enough." Orion's voice rang out, and the power behind his spells surged.
He flicked his wand; an entire section of stone wall cracked open, and massive boulders ca howling at Regulus.
Regulus's gaze sharpened. He chose not to tank them.
His wand swept fast: several simultaneous Blasting Curses blew the boulders to powder.
In the sa breath, water erupted through the air, sweeping up the dust and debris and reshaping into countless piercing projectiles that rocketed toward Orion.
Approval flickered in Orion's eyes — then his wand moved again. The projectiles were intercepted midair, engulfed in black fla, and consud in a blink.
He continued, this ti abandoning conventional spells.
The air in the training room turned viscous. Regulus felt an enormous pressure slam into him — invisible walls closing in.
A Dark-Magic-class Oppression Curse, acting directly on the body. The harder you struggled, the greater the force; fail to escape or counter it, and you would be crushed.
Regulus drew a deep breath. Magic erupted. The Permanent Shield Charm blazed outward from his skin, walling off the crushing force.
He transitioned to offense. His wand tapped: silent Disarming Charms lanced in from multiple angles.
At the sa ti, sharp stone spurs burst from the floor, blocking Orion's escape routes, their tips glowing faintly red — Blasting Curses attached.
Orion hadn't expected the sudden counterattack, nor its cunning design.
He swept his wand — a wide-area Shield Charm blood, catching the Disarrs — and pushed off with the balls of his feet, vaulting over the spurs.
As he landed, his wand tip flared black-crimson. A blatant Dark curse shot forth — silent-cast, terrifyingly fast.
Regulus had already predicted the trajectory. He threw himself backward — the curse grazed his shoulder and hamred the wall behind him, leaving a charred scar.
He rolled with the fall. His wand pointed at the floor beneath Orion; blue-white fla erupted, spreading instantly, driving Orion back.
The training room grew louder and more chaotic. Stone walls took hits; chips rained down.
The floor, ravaged by ice, fire, and stone alternately, was cratered and pitted.
Residual magic from colliding spells saturated the air, sending the temperature lurching between extres. The rune-wards pulsed repeatedly, absorbing the overflowing destructive force.
With every exchange, Orion was more astonished.
Regulus's raw magical power was still below his own, but the boy's control precision was far beyond normal. The sequencing of spells, the timing, the tactical execution — all of it was impossibly mature for a child.
His defense, in particular: it looked passive yet invariably blocked the critical strike, and he even exploited the environnt for counterattacks. That kind of combat awareness was sothing many adults never developed.
Orion stopped pulling punches. His wand accelerated. Dark and conventional magic alternated freely.
Oppression Curse. Severing Charm. Bone-Shattering Hex. Blasting Curse. Lightning Strike. Transfiguration. Spells wove into an attack net and descended on Regulus.
Regulus's breathing stayed even, his eyes clear.
His mind ran at full speed, computing trajectory and power for every incoming spell. Countless micro-shields spawned in front, behind, flanking — precision intercepts on every vector.
His body moved like the swiftest of swallows, threading through the web, occasionally striking back.
He could perceive the current of Orion's magic clearly — could predict the direction of the next spell. Every counter aid straight at a gap in Orion's form.
BANG.
A powerful Impedint Jinx caught Regulus's shoulder. He staggered only a few steps.
A hit like that would have had an ordinary wizard coughing blood; a lesser one might have dropped their wand and collapsed.
But the impact barely slowed Regulus. Riding the backward montum, his wand fired a suprely subtle silent curse that struck Orion's wand.
Orion's wand shuddered; his rhythm broke.
Regulus seized the opening. Magic surged to full output, and several spells launched simultaneously — each targeting a vital spot.
Orion's eyes narrowed. He retreated fast, throwing up a solid Shield Charm that caught everything.
But then he discovered that, at so unnoticed mont, stone tendrils had surged from the floor and locked around his ankles.
Transfiguration he hadn't detected at all!
Orion blinked — then let out a soft laugh. A tap of his wand and the tendrils crumbled to dust.
Yet that brief pause was enough. Regulus had already closed the distance, wand leveled at his father's chest.
At that instant, Orion's wand erupted in blinding white light — a Lumos Maxima that flooded the training room.
Regulus shut his eyes reflexively. When he opened them, Orion had circled behind him, wand resting lightly against the back of his neck.
"You lose." Orion's voice was calm, breathing steady. Handling the current Regulus still cost him little effort.
Regulus lowered his wand, face showing no frustration — only a trace of a smile. "I see the gap."
Orion withdrew his wand, voice brimming with feeling: "You have genuinely surprised . At eleven years old, to reach this level — many adult wizards would be no match for you."
He surveyed the wrecked training room. "Your magical control, combat awareness, and understanding of magic have all reached astonishing heights. This is nothing like what an eleven-year-old should be."
"This is only half a year's progress." Regulus turned, pocketing his wand, breathing noticeably heavy. "I haven't hit a ceiling yet. From here, it only grows."
Orion inhaled deeply, then nodded and clapped Regulus hard on the shoulder. He didn't press him on how exactly he'd achieved all this.
"I have to admit — your performance at Hogwarts was indeed restrained."
Then he added: "Very much so."
Regulus broke into a genuine smile.
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