Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

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Every word Regulus said was something Sirius had never considered.

He thought he could leave the Blake family simply because he did so.

When he left home, he thought he was leaving on his own, that it was his own decision, his own ability, that he was the one who pushed open that door and walked out on his own.

He thought he had won, but Regulus said there was no pursuit from home.

Then what is he?

What he thought was an escape was, in Regulus's eyes, just being left unattended.

Now that I've calmed down and thought about it carefully, I realize that it might really be true.

He chose Gryffindor, Walbug went mad, and Orion said nothing.

He didn't go home for Christmas; instead, he stayed at the Potters' house. Walbuga scolded him several times, but Orion still didn't say anything.

He thought he was resisting, rebelling, and telling that family in his own way that he didn't accept their ways.

But the other side didn't respond at all; his punches felt like hitting cotton, not even making a sound.

He had never thought about it in detail.

All he knew was that he didn't want to stay in that house, didn't want to hear Walbuga speak, didn't want to be stared at by those portraits, and didn't want to wear a custom-made robe to those pureblood banquets.

So he ran away, thinking that everything would be alright, but Regulus didn't run away.

Once the thought came to mind, I couldn't stop it.

Was it because he wanted to escape that Regulus didn't run away?

Is it because he took that path that Regulus couldn't take it?

If he chooses Gryffindor, does that mean Regulus has to go to Slytherin?

He broke with his family, so Regulus had to stay and catch what he had thrown away.

He never thought about these things. He thought he would make his choice, and Regulus would make Regulus's choice. They were two separate paths, unrelated.

But now it seems they're not unrelated; he chose the left, leaving Regulus alone on the right.

What he threw away was all placed on Regulus.

Responsibility, family, the expectations of purebloods, Voldemort's attention.

He didn't accept any of these things; he ran away, threw them away, and thought it had nothing to do with him anymore.

But these things don't disappear just because he ran away; they're still there, falling onto someone else.

Regulus never told him any of this.

I didn't say it when I was a child, I didn't say it in Grimmauld Place, and I didn't say it at Hogwarts.

Maybe they felt it was pointless to say anything.

Sirius thought of this and wanted to laugh, but he couldn't.

He thought about his past self and realized that even if Regulus had spoken, he probably wouldn't have listened.

He would think it was an excuse, a variation of the Black family's rhetoric, another way to persuade him to go back.

He would shut those words out without even thinking about them, and throw them back directly.

At that time, no one could persuade him.

He then thought of the power Regulus had mentioned.

Voldemort could make people make the choices he wanted without even showing his face, and so could Dumbledore; that's power.

When he said those words, his tone was the same as usual, without any excitement, heaviness, or anger.

It's like explaining the principle of a spell: "Dinner was good," a declarative sentence, and that's it.

Sirius couldn't tell whether there was any emotion in that voice.

He couldn't tell whether Regulus was forced into it or simply didn't care.

Regulus had always been like this; he had almost never seen him express his emotions outwardly.

Perhaps he expressed it to his friends, to his father, but he never said it to him.

Sirius felt a tightness in his throat as he thought about this.

He looked down at his hands, his fingers spread open and then clenched again.

He said he had found his talent, Transfiguration, and Regulus said, "Great, keep practicing."

He could tell that it wasn't just a perfunctory response, but genuine approval. But what happens after that approval?

Why did he practice Transfiguration? To be better than James? To show off in front of his friends? To prove he was amazing?

He used to think that was enough; practicing magic was for getting stronger, and getting stronger was for winning.

Why did Regulus practice magic?

Voldemort didn't give him a chance to say no; Voldemort gave him a choice, but that choice only had one option.

Regulus practiced magic, perhaps to give himself more options?

Sirius thought of this and felt something pressing on his chest.

He used to think that the difference between him and Regulus was magic; he hadn't practiced enough, wasn't ruthless enough, and wasn't dedicated enough.

But now I think, the difference between them wasn't just magic.

James came over from the side, waved his hand in front of him, and when there was no reaction, he waved it again.

Then he climbed onto Sirius's bed, sat cross-legged next to him, and bumped him with his shoulder.

"What are you thinking about?" James's voice rang out from the side, tinged with a hint of teasing. "I've been calling you for ages and you haven't responded."

Sirius snapped out of his daze and glanced at him: "It's nothing."

James stared at him for a moment, then nudged him: "Are you really going to the Forbidden Forest?"

Sirius nodded: "Go."

James grinned, shoved his wand under the pillow, rolled over, and muttered, "That's good. I thought you'd been bewitched by someone."

Sirius didn't respond.

Lupin joined them, and the group discussed for a few more minutes. They decided to wait until curfew before setting off, exiting through the portrait of the Fat Lady, taking the small gate on the side of the castle, bypassing the Black Lake, and entering the Forbidden Forest from Hagrid's Hut.

James was speaking with great enthusiasm, while Lupin poured cold water on his enthusiasm, and Sirius occasionally chimed in.

The atmosphere in the dormitory gradually came alive, and it was no different from usual.

A vast collection of fantasy novels.

Early morning, in the restricted book section.

Regulus stood in front of the innermost bookshelf, his fingertips hovering over the spine of a book.

The book has a dark brown leather cover, and the gold lettering has faded, making the title only discernible upon close inspection.

"Transfiguration: Beyond Form," a book on human transformation, by Edrich Finn, 1739.

But his initial motivation for reading this book was not for human body deformation, but for spatial deformation.

The spatial deformation had been a problem for him for a long time. The problem was clear: the deformed space was extremely sensitive to any external magic that did not belong to its own structure, and it would disintegrate at the slightest touch.

He had an idea at the time: human transformation.

A wizard casts a transfiguration spell on another person. The caster's magic must enter the other person's body and be transformed under the continuous interference of the other person's magic.

This may be similar to the problem faced by spatial deformation, both of which involve maintaining deformation under the interference of external magical forces.

The fact that human transformation techniques can be performed suggests that there is a solution to this problem.

But how was it solved?

He thought at the time that human transformation could not be achieved by the caster having stronger magic power than the person being transformed, otherwise what would that be, a contest of magic power values?

Then this magic loses its meaning; it's just overwhelming with magical power, not skill, it's bullying.

There must be something fishy about it.

However, Professor McGonagall has already solved the problem of spatial distortion, so there is no need to consider the issue of external magic anymore.

Now that the problem has been solved, his original reason for reading the book is no longer valid.

However, since we've already considered the possibility of human body deformation, let's take another look.

Dumbledore said in the thick fog on the day he went to France that flying could be approached from the perspective of Transfiguration.

Borrow the qualities of different magical animals and integrate them into your own body.

The skeleton of a fire dragon, the spatial awareness of a Thestral, the regenerative abilities of a phoenix, the vision of a griffin, and the wind control capabilities of a thunderbird.

These are all human body deformities.

By grafting certain traits onto animals, the body gains abilities it didn't originally possess.

Regulus listened and thought it was a promising direction.

Looking back now, Dumbledore was actually talking about a higher level of human transformation thinking.

Functional attributes such as skeletal strength, visual field, and spatial perception are implanted into the human body through transformation techniques.

This is much more difficult than simple morphological changes.

He flipped through some books on human transformation techniques, but they were all conventional and didn't require going to the restricted section.

This topic is covered in the sixth-year Transfiguration course at Hogwarts, including higher-level Transfigurations, but most wizards, even those who pass the exams, cannot consistently cast them.

Most of what's written in those books is about temporary changes in appearance and functional structural adjustments; it doesn't mention the kind of usage Dumbledore is talking about.

So he came to the forbidden book section to look for it.

Regulus pulled himself out of his thoughts, condensed his magic into fine threads, and touched the magical imprints on the pages. The thoughts and knowledge that the author had infused into the book began to emerge in his consciousness.

Skip the overview section and go straight to the main text: cross-species metamorphosis.

It takes three steps to transfer the abilities of magical creatures to a wizard.

The first step is to extract the seed of magic from a living creature. The wizard uses his magic to probe into the creature's body, find the magic that represents that spell, and replicate it.

Regulus nodded as he read this; he was familiar with this pattern, as this was how the Disintegration Curse came about.

Although one is a plant and the other is an animal, the underlying logic is the same: extract, replicate, and make it your own.

Give it a try, it should be fine.

The second step is to place the replicated seed into one's own body, and the caster chants the incantation while pointing the wand at their own body.

The function of a spell is to open an entrance, allowing external magic to find its way in.

However, the book does not provide specific spells, but only marks the Latin root structure of the spells.

Facultas, abilities.

Mutare, change.

Corpus, the body.

The combination method depends on the type of target organism and the required abilities.

The third step is to allow the two magical forces to coexist, which is the most dangerous step.

A wizard's magic will instinctively repel outsiders, requiring the caster to continuously suppress their own magic and make room for outside magic.

The longer the suppression lasts, the more the external magic adapts, and eventually the two streams of magic will flow side by side, neither crowding the other.

He continued, forbidden.

First, underage wizards cannot do this, as their bodies are not fully developed, and external magic entering them will disrupt their own magical structure, leading to permanent damage.

Secondly, you can't put too much magic on one person. Two or more spells will fight each other, and the wizard's body will be caught in the middle and won't be able to withstand it.

The book also records several failed cases, the most serious of which is the French witches of 1712.

She tried to transfer the dragon's scales' power to herself and succeeded, but her body couldn't withstand the intensity, and she died seven days later from internal organ rupture.

Regulus read to the last page, which was blank except for a single line of magically chaotic annotations, as if written in a state of extreme exhaustion.

"They're all right, but haven't they tried breaking down the ability? Moving it as a whole will cause it to fight; instead, they've broken it down into finer threads and then woven it in?"

Regulus stared at that line of annotation for a long time, and a word came to mind: magical weaving.

He removed his fingers from the spine of the book.

There's no rush with transfiguration; he's only in second grade, and the book says that underage wizards can't do it.

But he's physically developing well, so maybe we can give it a try in third grade.