𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 sanctuary of the Hogwarts library, morning light filtered through the tall, arched windows, casting strange shadows on the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the promise of secrets yet untold. Regulus sat at a long, wooden table, surrounded by towering shelves that seemed to whisper ancient incantations. His fingers danced over the pages of a dusty tome, his mind elsewhere—caught between the past he knew and the present he found himself trapped in.

Regulus had never imagined he'd end up here—stranded in the 1940s, masquerading as the bastard older half-sibling to his own father. The irony was not lost on him. He smirked to himself, the expression hidden by the curtain of his dark hair. Orion, his father yet not, was a mirror image of Sirius, albeit twisted. It was as if Regulus were gazing into a distorted mirror that reflected a world where Sirius had been sorted into Slytherin and embraced the pureblood ideals with fervor.

"Still pretending to be the perfect son?" Orion scoffed.

Regulus looked at him, his expression carefully composed, like a cat toying with a mouse. "Pretending? I assure you, Orion, there’s no pretense here. Father’s favorite is simply a matter of fact."

Orion's eyes flashed dangerously, a mirror image of Sirius, yet twisted with ambition and resentment. "You think you can just waltz in and take what's mine? The heir to the House of Black doesn’t simply fall out of the sky."

"Well, in this case, it seems he does. And might I add, with considerably more style." Regulus replied, leaning back in his chair.

Orion's fists clenched, knuckles white. "You may have bested me once, but don't think that makes you worthy. A single duel means nothing."

Regulus arched an elegant brow, his voice a velvet drawl. "Tell me, Orion, how is the infirmary these days? Comfortable, I trust?"

The library seemed to hold its breath, the silence between them taut as a bowstring. Regulus watched Orion with a mixture of amusement and disdain, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The madness tugged at the edges of his sanity, yet he held it at bay with the force of his will.

"You’re nothing but a usurper!" Orion spat, venom lacing his words. "A shadow trying to claim the light."

Regulus stood, his movement graceful and deliberate, like a king addressing a subject. "Yet, even shadows can cast darkness over the brightest of lights. Perhaps it's you who should step aside."

Orion laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound. "You think your little victory matters? You can't even measure up to the legacy of our family. Grindelwald—"

"Ah, yes, Grindelwald. Remind me, which of us was it that defeated him?" Regulus interrupted smoothly, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

Orion's face turned a shade redder, his composure slipping. "That victory was a fluke! You're nothing but a glorified trickster."

"Fluke or not, it’s a feat you can only dream of." Regulus said, his voice low and compelling.

For a moment, Orion faltered, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Regulus seized the moment, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Orion, you could learn a thing or two from me. We are family, after all."

Orion's lips curled in disdain. "I need nothing from you but your absence."

Regulus chuckled, a rich, melodious sound that echoed softly in the cavernous room. "They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, perhaps my presence is a gift."

Orion glared at him, his expression a twisted mask of hatred and grudging admiration. "You're insufferable."

"While you’re predictable." Regulus countered, his tone cutting yet refined. "Though do keep trying. It’s rather entertaining."

Their eyes locked, a silent battle of wills raging between them.

Orion turned on his heel, his robes billowing behind him like storm clouds retreating. "This isn't over.” He said, his voice a low promise of future conflict.

Regulus smiled, a secretive, enigmatic smile. "I certainly hope not. Do take care, baby brother."

Orion strode out of the library, Regulus returned to his books, the encounter already fading into the background of his mind. The path back to his own time remained elusive, but if nothing else, the present offered its own amusements.

For now, he would continue to play the role of the prodigal son, dancing on the edge of the abyss that was his heritage. The library whispered around him, ancient and knowing, as if it too harbored secrets of its own.

And in the quiet sanctuary of his thoughts, Regulus plotted his next move, the shadows of the past and future weaving together in a tapestry only he could see.

As Orion stormed out of the library, he nearly collided with Tom, whose charming smile never quite reached his cold, calculating eyes. The air around Tom seemed to chill, an invisible force that commanded attention and respect.

“Orion.” Tom greeted, his voice smooth and deliberate, like silk over steel. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Orion by the wrist, his grip firm and unyielding, and led him down the shadowed corridors to an empty classroom.

The door closed with a soft click, and Tom turned, his presence filling the room like a predator surveying its territory. “What was Regulus researching?” He demanded, his tone deceptively mild.

Orion hesitated, the weight of Tom’s gaze pressing down on him like a physical force. “Temporal magic.” He finally muttered, glancing away, trying to escape the intensity of Tom’s stare. “He had a stack of books on time spells and ancient rituals.”

Tom hummed thoughtfully, twirling his wand between his fingers with practiced ease. His eyes never left Orion, assessing and dissecting, as if he were a particularly interesting specimen under a magnifying glass. “Temporal magic.” He repeated, savoring the words. “Fascinating.”

Orion shifted uncomfortably, the room suddenly feeling much smaller. Being the focus of Tom’s attention was like standing too close to a fire—dangerous and overwhelming. It was the only aspect of Regulus’s life he did not envy.

“Why do you care so much about his research?” Orion asked, curiosity getting the better of him despite his wariness.

Tom’s smile widened, though it held no warmth. “Regulus is... intriguing. His power, his knowledge—it surpasses that of most students. I simply wish to understand him better.”

“By watching him sleep?” Orion quipped before he could stop himself, a hint of defiance in his voice.

Tom’s expression didn’t change, but the air grew heavier. “Observation is a valuable tool, Orion. You’d do well to remember that.”

Orion swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “What is it about him that has you so... captivated?”

Tom paused, considering his words carefully. “Regulus has a certain... potential. One that could prove useful in the right hands.”

“Your hands, you mean." Orion said, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

Tom chuckled softly, a sound that held no humor. “I’ve never been one to let opportunity slip by.”

Orion felt a shiver run down his spine. Tom’s ambition was a living thing, palpable and relentless. “What do you intend to do with this opportunity?”

Tom’s eyes gleamed with a light that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. “That, Orion, remains to be seen. But rest assured, I will find a way to harness it.”

"He's dangerous."

"Doesn't that make him all the more interesting?" Tom countered, stepping closer. "Imagine what he could achieve with the right... guidance."

"Guidance from you?" Orion's eyes narrowed.

"Why not?" Tom replied, his smile widening, and Orion swears he can see the fangs of a serpent in that smile. "We could be great together, Regulus and I. Imagine the possibilities."

Orion nodded, feeling a mix of dread and reluctant admiration. Tom’s charisma was undeniable, his vision compelling even as it threatened to consume everything in its path.

“Keep an eye on him for me." Tom instructed, his voice silky and persuasive. “Let me know if he uncovers anything... interesting.”

Orion hesitated, knowing refusal wasn’t an option. “Of course, Tom.”

“Good." Tom’s smile returned, a predator satisfied—for now. “You’ve always been so... reliable.”

With that, Orion was dismissed and he exited the classroom, he felt the weight of Tom's gaze lingering on him, an unsettling reminder of the power Tom wielded not just with his magic, but with his words. The encounter left him unnerved, a reminder of the dangerous game he was caught up in. The corridors felt colder, the shadows deeper, as he made his way back to the common room. Though he couldn’t help but wonder what was Regulus truly after? How far would Tom go to unravel the secrets he held?

As Tom remained in the classroom, lost in thought. His fascination with Regulus was more than just a passing interest. It was a challenge, a puzzle to be unraveled. Regulus was a force of nature, a storm contained within the guise of a pureblood heir. Tom couldn’t help but be drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

The thought of Regulus wielding time magic intrigued him. It hinted at possibilities beyond the mundane, a way to transcend the very fabric of reality. And Tom Riddle was nothing if not ambitious.

He would watch Regulus, learn from him, and perhaps, in time, they would stand together. Or perhaps they would clash in a battle of wills and magic. Either way, Tom was ready to embrace whatever fate with Regulus he had that laid ahead of him. For now, he would bide his time, watching from the shadows as the pieces moved across the board.

In the solitude of the empty classroom, Tom continued to lingered, his thoughts consumed by the memory of Regulus’ magic. It had been an encounter like no other, an experience etched into the very fabric of his being. Regulus' magic was unlike anything Tom had ever felt, a dark symphony that resonated with a beauty both terrifying and sublime.

It surged through the air with the elegance of a raven's flight, a shadowy brilliance that whispered secrets of the abyss. It was as if the universe itself had paused to acknowledge the majesty of its existence. Tom remembered the way it wrapped around him, a silken shroud that promised both revelation and annihilation. It was a baptism, a sacrament of power that transcended mortal understanding.

The sensation was intoxicating, a forbidden fruit offered to a starving soul. It was as if he had tasted the very essence of creation, a feast that filled the void within him. Regulus' magic was a paradox, a tender caress that concealed the sharpness of a predator's claws. It was the whisper of a forgotten god, echoing in the caverns of his mind, inviting him to partake in a communion of the damned.

Tom reveled in the memory, a flame kindled within his soul. His magic was a dance of chaos and order, a delicate balance that teetered on the brink of madness. It was a cosmic hunger, an insatiable desire that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, urging him to consume and be consumed. In its presence, Tom felt both insignificant and omnipotent, a paradox that thrilled and terrified him in equal measure.

Hid magic was a chalice, brimming with the nectar of the void, and Tom longed to drink deeply, to lose himself in its depths and emerge reborn.

Tom closed his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, his mind spiraling into the depths of a vivid, visceral fantasy. He imagined himself clawing his way into Regulus' chest, the thought both grotesque and alluring. It was a dark, intimate desire to burrow beneath flesh and bone, to nestle within the cage of Regulus' ribs, cradled beside the steady thrum of his heart. In his mind's eye, Tom envisioned the delicate lattice of bone parting for him, opening like the gates of a sacred site. Each rib was a white, curved archway, leading him deeper into the sanctum where magic and soul intertwined. He saw himself fully enveloped in the keep of Regulus’ chest, the ribs arching overhead like the vaulted ceiling of some ancient, forgotten cathedral. There, by the altar of the heart, he would find the wellspring of magic that called to him so irresistibly. It was a forbidden sanctuary, a sacred space where the boundaries between reality and desire blurred, leaving only the purity of raw power.

In this imagined embrace, Tom found a sense of fulfillment, a completion that eluded him in the waking world. He sees himself not as a conqueror, but as a pilgrim seeking enlightenment in the depths of magic.

Yet, even in this fantasy, there was an understanding of the danger, the razor's edge upon which he danced. To entwine himself so completely with another's magic was to risk annihilation, to lose himself in the abyss of another's soul. Though it was a risk that tantalized him, a peril that promised the ultimate reward—knowledge, power, and the fulfillment of his desire.

As his imagination faded, replaced by the cold reality of the world, Tom felt a lingering warmth, a reminder of the connection he craved. It was a hunger that would not be denied, a desire that would drive him to the ends of the earth in search of fulfillment.

With a final breath, Tom turned from the empty classroom, stepping back into the world with a new resolve. The path before him was fraught with peril and uncertainty, but it was a path he would walk unflinchingly, driven by the promise of what lay at its end—the heart of magic, the soul of power, the very essence of Regulus Black.