Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

The second Wednesday of October, early morning.

The castle was shrouded in a thin mist, and looking out the window, the surface of the Black Lake shimmered with a grayish-white light.

Third-grade students entered the Transfiguration classroom one after another, from Gryffindor to Ravenclaw, and found their seats.

Sirius walked to the row by the window and sat down in the second-to-last seat. He put his bag on the table, took out his wand, and twirled it in his hand.

James followed behind him and squeezed in next to him to sit down: "Move over there a bit."

Sirius was too lazy to move, so James nudged him with his elbow, and he finally moved aside.

Lupin sat on the other side of James, his textbook already open, looking down at it, while Peter Pettigrew huddled in the corner of the last row.

"I heard we're learning something new today," James said in a low voice, leaning closer. "It's something McGonagall talked about last week, like some kind of composite transformation thing."

Sirius twirled his wand, gazing out the window, and casually replied, "Hmm."

James was unhappy with his reaction and nudged him with his elbow again: "Don't you want to know what it is?"

Sirius put down his wand and turned to look at him: "If you want to know, listen carefully later, don't ask me."

James curled his lip: "You're really boring."

A few minutes later, Professor McGonagall entered, and the classroom fell silent instantly.

She walked to the back of the podium, her expression serious, her silver-green robe impeccably tailored, and her hair tightly tied back.

"Today's topic is complex transformation."

With a wave of the magic wand, several ordinary stones on the podium floated up and hung in mid-air.

"You learned how to turn a stone into a cup in first grade, but that's just a simple transformation. After that, the cup is still just a cup."

A stone falls and lands on the table, beginning to deform. Its edges shrink, its bottom bulges, and its top stretches.

A second later, a white ceramic cup appeared on the table, with a handle, smooth and round, sitting quietly.

With a gentle tap of her wand, McGonagall caused the cup to move on its own.

It circled the table once, took a few steps forward, and then returned to its original position.

The second stone fell, deformed, and became a white cup exactly the same as the first one. Then the cup began to deform.

The cup shrinks, the handle disappears, the bottom retracts into claws, and the top extends out a head. Gray feathers emerge from the smooth ceramic surface, wings spread, and a tail takes shape.

A gray pigeon flapped its wings and flew up, circled the classroom once, and landed back in her palm.

"That's composite transformation," McGonagall said. "Continuous transformation from inanimate to inanimate, from inanimate to animate."

Her gaze swept across the entire class: "Today's requirement, the first step, is to turn the stone into a cup that can hold water without leaking."

The second step is to make the conjured cup move on its own.

The third step: the cup transforms into a dove, and the dove can fly.

With a wave of the wand, a gray stone appeared on each table.

"start."

Sirius looked at the rock in front of him.

Stone, cup.

He pictured the cup in his mind, tapped the wand lightly, and the stone began to deform.

A few seconds later, a white ceramic cup appeared on the table. It was well-shaped, with a rounded handle, a smooth rim, and a uniform body.

He picked it up, looked at it, and then put it back.

Professor McGonagall happened to be passing by and paused for a moment: "Passed, Mr. Black, you may proceed to the next step."

Sirius looked at the cup and made it move.

He waved his wand and recited the spell, but the cup didn't move.

He read it again, this time with even more force.

The cup wobbled, shifted an inch to the side, and then stopped moving.

James leaned over and offered some advice: "You're chanting the spell too fast and too softly; the cup can't hear you."

Sirius pushed him away with his arm: "Why don't you finish transforming before you give me pointers?"

James shrugged, turned around and winked at Lupin.

Sirius continued to stare at the cup as he began to think.

The cup is made from stone. Stone doesn't move, and the cup itself doesn't move either. The cup's form doesn't include the property of being able to move.

How did Professor McGonagall's cup move just now?

It was transformed from stone, but after the transformation, it could move on its own.

How did you do that? What should you add?

No, that's not right.

It should be allowed to move on its own.

Sirius Black raised his wand and waved it gently; the cup moved.

It was as if something was supporting it, making it stand upright on the table, and then it took one step forward, and then another.

James stared wide-eyed at him: "Holy—"

Sirius ignored him and continued staring at the cup.

The cup started moving on the table, from one end to the other and back again, its body swaying slightly but never tipping over.

Sirius relaxed a bit.

He tried to make the cup dance, spin, sway, slide forward a step, and slide backward a step.

Finally, it walked up to him, its body bending downwards as if inviting him to jump together.

Professor McGonagall came over again and stood by the table, looking at the cup, which was still dancing and spinning around on the table.

She looked at him for a while, then at Sirius Black: "Very good, Mr. Black, you understand that activity is inherent in the form itself and does not need to be added."

Sirius nodded, still staring at the cup, lost in thought.

The professor didn't leave; she stood to the side waiting. Sirius knew what she was waiting for.

The third step, turning the cup into a dove, is the most difficult.

The cup is dead, the pigeon is alive; to go from dead to alive, one must overcome a hurdle.

The cup is given a life of its own and can move on its own, but the pigeon itself is alive and its ability to move is innate.

What would it feel like if the cup turned into a pigeon?

Sirius was staring at the cup, but his mind was on Lupin.

What does it feel like for Remus to turn into a werewolf every month?

Transforming from human to beast, and then from beast back to human, is not a form of shapeshifting; it's a curse, a virus.

But perhaps there's something in common throughout that process: he knew what he would become, and then he changed.

Lupin and the cup, one was forced into it, the other was deformed by external force.

He thought of Regulus again.

Last year, on the train at the start of the school year, Regulus did the thing that froze the spell in mid-air and then shattered it.

He now knew what that method was: control, a complete understanding of spells that surpassed Jaime's, and a complete mastery of spellcasting that surpassed Jaime's.

He knew, but he couldn't do it; that wasn't something a junior wizard should be capable of.

Sirius dismissed those thoughts and continued trying to transform.

If transfiguration could be like that...

He raised his wand, but instead of chanting a spell, he looked at the cup and imagined what a pigeon looked like in his mind.

Grey, with black spots on its wings, the kind you often see in Grimmauld Place, cooing on the eaves and hopping around in the streets.

They are not afraid of people, they walk with a waddling gait, and when they fly, their wings flap loudly.

But after flying for a while, you need to poop.

He recalled Walbug standing by the window, watching the pigeons land on the windowsill, frowning and saying, "Muggle animals are so unhygienic and inelegant, they even poop wherever they want."

Sirius's lips twitched; he wanted to laugh.

The next moment, the cup began to deform.

The cup shrinks, the handle disappears, the bottom retracts into claws, and the top extends out a head. Gray feathers emerge from the smooth ceramic surface, wings spread, and a tail takes shape.

A pigeon stood on the table, tilting its head to look at him, its eyes round and black like beans.

Then it flapped its wings, took flight, and circled the classroom once.

Sirius watched it fly, still pondering that question.

If I also want it to poop—

He glanced at James, his eyes filled with malice.

James was staring at him with wide eyes, mouth agape, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

Forget it, I won't let it poop; in fact, it won't anyway.

His pigeons only look like pigeons; they don't actually have a complete biological structure inside. They can't eat, drink, or defecate.

But then again—

If something decent is thrown from the right place and lands on James's head, who can say it's not pigeon droppings?

Sirius's smile widened even more.

James glared at him: "What are you laughing at?"

Sirius Black said matter-of-factly, "You should thank me."

The pigeon flew around the classroom once, then landed back on Sirius's desk and cooed twice at him.

Professor McGonagall stood to the side, her eyes filled with admiration and satisfaction. She looked at the pigeon, then at Sirius Black.

The two Black brothers both possessed an intuitive talent for Transfiguration.

This was the first time my brother had done this, and he did a really good job.

Previously, he was considered good at Transfiguration, but not outstanding. Now, he has suddenly shown talent and has become the top student in the class.

But thinking of my younger brother...

McGonagall recalled the questions Regulus had asked.

Can spells be distorted? Can natural phenomena be distorted? Can space be distorted? What is truly unchangeable?

And the emerging spatial deformation.

That goes beyond just being excellent and talented.

The thought was just a fleeting one, and such a comparison is meaningless, but it is always something to be happy about when students can perform well and show their talents.

With a wave of her wand, the dove turned back into stone: "Very good, Mr. Black, five points for Gryffindor."

Applause and whistles rang out in the classroom.

James slapped Sirius on the shoulder hard: "You rascal, when did you learn this?"

Sirius Black casually replied arrogantly, "I already knew it, I'm just showing it to you now."

His gaze remained fixed on the stone, still pondering the feeling he had just experienced.

If you want it to change, it will change.

The bell rang, signaling the end of get out of class.

The students packed up their things and left one after another. Sirius put his books into his bag and was about to stand up.

McGonagall's voice came from the podium: "Mr. Black, please stay for a moment."

James winked at him and mouthed, "You're finished."

Sirius rolled his eyes, put down his bag, and walked towards the podium.

McGonagall sat in a chair behind the podium and gestured for him to sit down next to her.

Sirius sat down, instinctively feeling a little nervous.

When McGonagall talks to him alone, it's never for anything good—for example, being late, not finishing his homework, or getting caught playing a prank on James.

But then I thought, I did so well just now, it can't be a criticism.

He relaxed again, looked up at McGonagall, and waited for her to speak.

Professor McGonagall stated directly, "There are many kinds of transfiguration talents."

Some people excel at precise control, some at rapid deformation, and some at maintaining stability.

He relaxed again, looked up at McGonagall, and waited for her to speak.

Professor McGonagall stated directly, "There are many kinds of transfiguration talents."

Some people excel at precise control, some at rapid deformation, and some at maintaining stability.

"What you have is more like intuition, a form intuition. You know what an object should become, and then you make it become that way. This isn't something you can teach; it's innate."

Sirius was stunned. Was it his intuition about form?

McGonagall continued, "Remember last semester when I had you turn matches into needles and then needles back into matches?"

Sirius nodded: "I remember, reverse transformation."

McGonagall said, "Mr. Black turned oak matches into linden matches in class."

Sirius's expression changed when he heard the name.

He looked at McGonagall, wondering why she had suddenly brought up Regulus.

McGonagall continued, "Do you know what this means?"

Sirius shook his head, his expression becoming quiet.

“That’s not metamorphosis,” McGonagall said. “It’s transformation; it changes the nature of matter.”

Oak becomes linden, the material changes, but the match is still a match. What he changed was "what it is," not "what it looks like."

She looked at Sirius: "What you just did was the opposite of what he did. You changed 'what it is,' but you didn't change 'what it is.' The stone is still a stone; it's just temporarily turned into a pigeon."

Sirius looked like he wanted to scratch his head.

He understood what the professor meant, but he hadn't thought that much about it when he was transforming.

A thought suddenly popped into my head: between me and Regulus, whose transformation is more powerful?

McGonagall seemed to read his mind: "You two have different strengths. You are good at shape manipulation, and he is good at changing the essence. Neither is better than the other, just different directions."

But in reality, how could someone who is good at changing the essence not be good at transforming it?

There's no need to tell Sirius this.

What McGonagall should do is acknowledge his innate talent for shapeshifting, encourage him, and inspire him, rather than compare him to someone else.

Here, Regulus is merely one piece of evidence.

Sirius opened his mouth, unsure of what to say.

McGonagall took a book out of the drawer and placed it on the table.

Advanced Transformation: The Limits of Form.

"There are some parts of this book that you may not understand right now, but you can get a feel for it first. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me."

Sirius took the book.

The cover is dark green with gold lettering. When you open the first page, you see intricate and distorted illustrations, accompanied by dense annotations.

"Thank you, Professor." His tone was grateful, but also a little flustered at being treated like a good student.

McGonagall nodded: "Go ahead."

Sirius stood up, picked up the book, and walked out.

As they reached the door, McGonagall's voice came from behind: "By the way, Mr. Black."

He turned around.

McGonagall remained calm: "When Mr. Black was in first grade, he asked me a question: Can graphite and diamonds be transformed into each other?"

Sirius was stunned. He knew about diamonds, but what was graphite?

Why can't they be transformed into each other?

What does it matter if they can be converted into each other?

What does this prove?

He stood at the door, looking completely bewildered.

McGonagall didn't say anything more, but gestured with her eyes that he could leave.

He pushed open the door and went out. People were coming and going in the corridor. He carried his books, walked through the crowd, and headed towards the Gryffindor Tower.

He walked up to the portrait of the fat lady, gave the password, and crawled inside.

In the common room, James was talking to Lupin by the fireplace. When he saw him come in, James immediately waved.

"What did McGonagall say?"

Sirius went over and held up the book for him to see.

James glanced at it, his eyes widening: "Advanced Transfiguration? She gave it to you?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows.

James whistled, "Wow, Sirius, you're going to be a master of Transfiguration!"

Lupin smiled but didn't say anything.

Sirius sat down on the sofa and opened the book.

Regulus's words to him flashed through his mind: about talent, about dedication, about finding one's strengths.

So, this is my talent?