𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒

𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃 in the sterile confines of St. Mungo's Hospital, a place that felt more like a gilded cage than a sanctuary. The sharp scent of antiseptic hung heavily in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of potions brewing somewhere out of sight. It was a scent that clung to him, an unwelcome reminder of his current imprisonment. The walls, painted a calming shade of pale green, only served to irritate him further, their intended tranquility a mockery of his turbulent mind.

Ever since the world learned of his recovery, Regulus found himself the reluctant focus of a media frenzy. Reporters lingered like vultures, their relentless attempts to penetrate the hospital's defenses forcing him into a more secure ward. The intrusion was suffocating, each day marked by the omnipresent buzz of curiosity and the insatiable hunger for a glimpse of the one who managed to vanquish Gellert Grindelwald.

Regulus was cynical about the accolades that awaited him. An Order of Merlin, First Class, they said, among other international honors for his deeds. It was almost laughable. The idea that Regulus Black, the second son often overshadowed by others in his family, would achieve such renown was an irony not lost on him. Yet, despite the recognition, he found no joy in it. Instead, a hollow bitterness festered within, a testament to the complex and conflicting emotions that churned beneath his composed exterior. He was a paradox of pride and resentment, ambitious yet disdainful of the very laurels he was to receive. 

The hospital room felt stifling, the air thick with unspoken tension. His belongings, remained out of reach, including Grindelwald's wand apparently. The wand had yielded its loyalty to him, an acknowledgment of his power, yet it lay useless until the healers deemed him fit to wield magic again. The irony was bitter; two wands at his disposal, and yet he was rendered powerless.

Regulus's mind was a labyrinth, shadowed and intricate, each thought a thread in a tapestry woven with ambition and darkness. His mastery over the magical arts of the mind had always been a source of pride, tools of his cunning and intelligence, yet now they offered little solace. The mental barriers he had so carefully constructed felt fragile, threatened by the encroaching madness that tainted his blood.

The healers came and went, their presence a blur of white robes and concerned murmurs. Regulus tolerated them with a dignified patience, his pride refusing to let them see the turmoil within. He was a Black, after all, and with that name came expectations that he would not betray, even in his most vulnerable moments.

Yet beneath the sophisticated façade, a storm raged. Regulus knew he was on the brink, the precipice of madness yawning before him, and it was only his formidable will that kept him from tumbling over the edge.

The hospital was a place of healing, yet for Regulus, it was a battleground. Here, he fought not only for his health but for his very soul, grappling with the shadows that sought to claim him.

As the days passed, the media's interest showed no signs of waning, their obsession a constant reminder of the world outside his prison. Yet Regulus remained resolute, he would not be undone by mere reporters.

In the quiet moments, when the hospital fell silent and the world seemed to pause, Regulus allowed himself a brief moment of reflection. The past was a vast, uncharted territory, and though it loomed with uncertainty, he will face it with the same pride that had carried him this far.

Regulus sighed as the doors to his room creaked open. He steeled himself for yet another tiresome encounter with healers, nurses, or perhaps government officials eager to bask in the glory of his recent victory. Instead, a figure stepped inside that caught him entirely off guard, it was his grandfather.  

Time travel was a peculiar thing, Regulus mused, allowing him to interact with a vibrant, much younger version of his grandfather, now playing the role of his father for the sake of their elaborate cover story. Arcturus carried himself with the same regal bearing that Regulus had always admired, his presence commanding and assured.

"Regulus.” Arcturus began, his voice smooth and steady. “We have a situation to discuss."

Regulus gestured for him to take a seat, the air between them heavy with unspoken tension. "I assume this isn't just a social visit.” Regulus replied, his tone laced with irony.

Arcturus settled into the chair beside the bed, his expression grave. "It's about the House of Black. Your presence here, and particularly the heirship ring, has complicated matters."

“How so?" He asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Your cover story as a bastard born out of wedlock doesn't sit well with the fact that you possess the heirship ring." Arcturus explained. "Orion, my son—your father—doesn't have it, and people are beginning to ask questions."

Regulus raised an eyebrow, his mind racing. "So, the bastard son has the heirship ring while the legitimate son does not. I can see how that might raise some eyebrows."

Arcturus leaned forward, his gaze piercing. "Precisely. We can't claim you were named heir after defeating Grindelwald, as you had it on before the duel. It leaves us in a difficult position."

Regulus considered this, the gears of his mind turning with relentless precision. "And what do you propose we do about it?"

Arcturus hesitated, a rare occurrence that spoke volumes. "We could say the ring chose you over Orion, that some ancient magic recognized merit over birthright."

"Ah, the allure of ancient magic. It's always been a convenient explanation, hasn't it?" Regulus let out a short, humorless laugh. "You think the House of Black will accept a bastard as heir? Not to mention the other noble houses would never allow it."

Arcturus sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It's a long shot, I know. But we need to find a solution that preserves the family's reputation."

Regulus shifted in his bed, the sheets rustling softly. "And what if I simply returned the ring to Orion? Would that solve the issue?"

Arcturus shook his head. "The moment you appeared in this time with the ring, it set off a chain of events we cannot easily undo. The ring's magic is powerful and binding."

Regulus pondered this, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The heirship ring was not just a symbo, it was a binding magical contract, one that could not be easily dismissed. 

"What if we altered the story?" Regulus suggested. "Perhaps the ring recognized something in me—a force or power that was necessary for the times. We could claim it’s meant to be temporary, just until I’ve fulfilled this role."

Arcturus nodded slowly, weighing the option. "It could work, but it would require careful handling. The idea that the ring could temporarily choose an heir based on necessity rather than bloodline might be palatable to some."

"But not all.”  Regulus finished, his voice tinged with skepticism.

"No, not all.” Arcturus admitted. "But it might buy us time to find a more permanent solution."

Regulus leaned back against the pillows, exhaustion creeping into his bones. "And what of Orion? How does he feel about all this?"

Arcturus's expression softened, a rare glimpse of vulnerability. "He’s... conflicted. Orion has always been proud, much like all of us. The idea that he would be passed over, even temporarily, is difficult for him."

Regulus felt a pang of sympathy for the father he barely knew in this timeline. "I suppose he has every right to be upset."

"Perhaps.” Arcturus conceded. "But the House of Black's reputation is paramount. His feelings are a necessary sacrifice.”

Silence settled between them, heavy with the weight of history and expectation. Regulus's mind churned with possibilities, each more precarious than the last. The path ahead was fraught with peril, but he had never been one to shy away from a challenge.

Finally, Regulus spoke, his voice firm and resolute. "We'll proceed with the story of the ring choosing me temporarily. But we must be cautious, and ready to adapt should it not be enough."

Arcturus nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. "Agreed. We’ll navigate this together."

Regulus allowed himself a small, rare smile, one that spoke of both determination and defiance. "Then let us begin."

As Arcturus rose to leave, Regulus felt a renewed sense of purpose. The challenges before him were daunting, but he was a Black—proud, ambitious, and bowed to none. He would not be undone by the complexities of time or the machinations of fate. 

The door closed softly behind Arcturus, leaving Regulus alone once more in the quiet of his hospital room. Though now, the silence felt less like a prison and more like a canvas, waiting for the brushstrokes of his next move in the intricate game.

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐌𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐓 Slytherin dormitory, Orion paced back and forth, his face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. His footfalls echoed off the stone walls, a rhythmic counterpoint to his tirade.

"It's absurd!" Orion exclaimed, his voice a mixture of outrage and disbelief. "A bastard usurping my place as heir to the House of Black! Who cares if he defeated Grindelwald? I should be the one wearing the ring, not him!"

Abraxas, lounging on his bed with a book in hand, glanced up with a look of irritation. "Orion, must you shout? Some of us are trying to think."

Orion shot him a glare, undeterred. "Think? How can you possibly think at a time like this? This goes against everything we stand for. Our pureblooded tradition is being trampled upon!"

Abraxas sighed, closing his book with a snap. "I agree it's irregular, but your father must have his reasons. Perhaps there's more to this than meets the eye."

Orion scoffed, clearly unconvinced. "Reasons? What reasons could justify this insult? My father is clearly out of his mind."

Across the room, Tom sat quietly, his eyes sharp and contemplative. While Orion raged, Tom's mind was elsewhere, turning over the enigma that was Regulus Black. A figure who had emerged from nowhere, falling from the heavens, defeating Grindelwald and claiming the heirship ring. Tom's interest was piqued, his curiosity insatiable.

"He must be quite powerful." Tom mused aloud, his voice calm and measured. "To defeat Grindelwald is no small feat."

Orion's pacing halted, and he turned to face Tom, his expression incredulous. "You're impressed by him?"

Tom met Orion's gaze, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Intrigued, certainly. A wizard capable of such a feat warrants attention. Don't you wonder what kind of magic he possesses?"

Abraxas leaned forward, interested despite himself. "You think there's more to him than just luck and circumstance?"

Tom nodded slightly. "Powerful wizards often have secrets. I intend to uncover his."

Orion resumed his pacing, though his anger was now tinged with frustration. "Secrets or not, it doesn't change the fact that he's a bastard."

"Perhaps.” Tom replied, his tone thoughtful. "But sometimes power transcends bloodlines. The ring may have chosen him for a reason."

Orion huffed, unwilling to concede the point. "If that's true, then our traditions mean nothing."

Abraxas smirked, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Perhaps this is just the beginning of a new era."

Orion glared at him, his pride wounded. "I refuse to accept that."

Tom watched the interplay between his two housemates, his mind already weaving plans. Regulus Black was an anomaly, one that fascinated him. There was something about the mysterious heir, something that called to Tom's own ambitions and desires.

"I'd like to meet him.” Tom said suddenly, breaking the tension with his quiet declaration.

Orion and Abraxas turned to him, surprise etched on their faces.

"Meet him?" Orion asked, incredulous. "Why?"

Tom smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Because understanding one's rivals is the first step to surpassing them."

Abraxas chuckled, appreciating Tom's perspective. "Always the strategist."

Orion shook his head, though his anger was beginning to wane. "You might get your chance. With all the attention on him, I'm sure he'll be around soon enough."

Tom's gaze drifted to the window, where the moon cast a pale glow over the grounds below. "I look forward to it."

The room fell silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Orion, still simmering with resentment, Abraxas, pondering the implications of a changing world, and Tom, his mind a labyrinth of ambition, already plotting how Regulus Black might fit into his own grand designs.

Orion finally sank into a chair, his anger spent. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps there's more to this than I can see right now."

Tom nodded, ever the calculating observer. "There often is. We just have to be willing to look deeper."

Abraxas stretched, a yawn escaping him. "Well, whatever happens, it won't be boring."

The three of them shared a brief, understanding glance, a silent acknowledgment of the uncertain future that awaited them all.

As the dormitory settled into quiet, Abraxas and Orion drifted into the depths of sleep, their breaths slowing and evening in the dim, flickering light of the dying fire. The shadows danced along the walls, casting long, wavering shapes that seemed to whisper secrets in the stillness. Tom remained at his desk, an island of wakefulness in the silent sea of slumber.

His mind was a churning cauldron of thoughts, each one bubbling up only to be replaced by another, more insistent than the last. The firelight caught the edge of his journal, its pages splayed open like the wings of a great, dark bird. Here was the realm where Tom allowed his thoughts to roam free, ink capturing the fragments of his restless mind.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts that the world around him seemed to fade into the background, leaving him alone with his musings. Without realizing it, he had written Regulus's name over and over, each line a testament to the fascination that gripped him. 

Regulus Arcturus Black II—filled the pages in his elegant script, the letters looping and curling with a life of their own, each repetition a silent incantation. The ink had smudged beneath his fingers, staining his skin with the dark mark of his obsession.

Tom's thoughts spiraled around the enigma of Regulus. Here was a boy who had appeared seemingly from nowhere, a figure shrouded in mystery and power. The shadows of the dormitory seemed to lean in closer, as if they too were drawn to the magnetic pull of Regulus's name. It was as if the very air hummed with the potential of what Regulus represented—a power that defied understanding, a force that demanded scrutiny.

The pages before Tom were a labyrinth, each line a path leading deeper into the maze of his own mind. He could feel the weight of Regulus's presence, a shadow cast across his thoughts, demanding attention. It was more than mere curiosity that drove him; it was a compulsion, an insatiable hunger to understand and unravel the mysteries surrounding the bastard.

Regulus was a puzzle, and Tom was nothing if not a solver of puzzles. Each time his name was scrawled in his journal was a piece of the larger picture, a fragment of the truth that Tom sought with a fervor bordering on madness. The ink on his hands was a testament to the hours spent in contemplation, the physical manifestation of his obsession.

In the quiet of the night, Tom's mind reached out, weaving connections and drawing parallels. Regulus, with his sudden rise and unexpected power, was more than just a curiosity, he was a symbol of possibility. The idea that someone could transcend the rigid structures of blood and tradition resonated deeply with Tom, echoing his own ambitions and desires.

The candle on his desk flickered, casting a brief, wavering light across the pages of his journal. Tom's eyes traced the lines of Regulus's name, each stroke a whisper of potential. There was a beauty in the repetition, a rhythm that spoke to something hidden and profound. It was as if the very act of writing the name was an invocation, a call to the shadows to reveal their secrets.

He felt a thrill of anticipation, a sense that he stood on the brink of discovery. Regulus was a key, and Tom was determined to unlock the door to whatever lay beyond. The challenge was intoxicating, a siren's call that pulled him ever deeper into the labyrinth of his own making.

The night stretched on, the silence wrapping around him like a cloak. Tom's thoughts were a symphony, each note resonating with the promise of power and understanding. The ink-stained pages of his journal were a testament to his resolve, a map of his journey into the heart of the mystery that was Regulus Black.

In the stillness, Tom's obsession took shape, a living thing that breathed and pulsed with a life of its own. He could feel it thrumming beneath his skin, a restless energy that refused to be quieted. The dormitory, with its slumbering occupants, was a world apart, and Tom was alone in the universe of his thoughts, a solitary explorer charting a course through the unknown.

Tom looked down at his ink-stained hands, the remnants of his night's work a vivid reminder of his fixation. The journal lay open before him, a testament to the hours spent in pursuit of understanding. Regulus's name, repeated endlessly, was a mantra, a promise of things yet to come.

Tom closed the journal with a decisive snap, the sound echoing in the quiet room. His heart beat with a steady, determined rhythm, each pulse a reminder of his resolve. The mystery of their savior was a challenge he could not ignore, a puzzle he was determined to solve.

As the world outside began to stir, Tom rose from his desk, his mind alight with possibilities. The path before him was uncertain, shadowed and complex, but Tom was undeterred. He would follow the threads of his curiosity wherever they led, confident in his ability to unravel the secrets of power and destiny that lay hidden within the boy named Regulus Arcturus Black II.