Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Dumbledore didn't dwell on Regulus's motives for doing so.

He has lived too long and seen too much.

Some people do the right thing for the wrong reasons, while others do the wrong thing for the right reasons.

Motives can change; today's exploitation can turn into tomorrow's sincerity, and tomorrow's sincerity can turn into the day after tomorrow's exploitation.

But actions leave traces, and those traces can change reality.

The two half-blood students now have positions in Slytherin, and Lily Evans's magical abilities are rapidly improving.

These are real changes, and whatever the motivation, the changes have already happened.

Moreover, Dumbledore saw something deeper.

Dumbledore remembered his conversation with Regulus in the morning mist on the day he went to France.

The conversation was about Transfiguration and flight, but Dumbledore saw in it Regulus's attitude toward magic.

Thorough pragmatism, without boundaries.

When discussing flight, the child would naturally bring up the Muggle system of studying the motion of objects in the air, applying Muggle principles and magical rules on the same level.

He didn't have the concept of dividing things into the magical realm and the Muggle realm; if it was useful, he would use it, and if it was useful, he would continue to use it.

A person who is not confined by their own talents will not be confined by magic itself; a person who is not bound by traditional ideas will not be bound by any framework.

That's what Dumbledore thought at the time, and now it seems that what Regulus did to Lily further confirms this judgment.

The fact that he taught a Muggle-born witch how to summon a Patronus demonstrates that in Regulus's world, lineage is not an obstacle at all.

What he saw was talent, potential, and whether this person was worth investing time in.

For a child raised in a pure-blooded core family, achieving this was more satisfying to Dumbledore than mastering any advanced magic.

But now the child is sitting in front of him, saying he needs help.

Dumbledore continued to think.

The Christmas dinner is hosted by the Lestrange family, and most of the key figures in the pureblood circle will be there. The Black family will be there, and Regulus will of course be there too.

Among the adult wizards of those pure-blood families, a few can be considered highly skilled, but not many.

Old Abraxas is one, Old Nott is another, and Old Roll was quite capable in his youth.

As for Lestrange, there are no elderly people left in his family, and the younger ones are not capable of taking care of him.

But even they weren't enough to make Regulus feel the need for an unrestricted means of escape.

Only one person can make this statement true.

Tom.

Dumbledore hadn't seen him for over a decade.

He knew what Tom was doing: gathering followers, infiltrating the Ministry of Magic, and weaving an ever-growing web of fear and promises.

He knew Tom was very powerful, perhaps the most powerful wizard in the magical world besides himself.

He didn't know exactly what Tom had become; the lack of direct observation over the past ten years prevented him from making a precise judgment.

But one thing Dumbledore was certain of was that Regulus, with his current strength, was no match for Tom.

Maybe in the future.

The child's growth rate and talent made him feel that, given enough time, Regulus might really be able to stand at the same level as Tom.

But that won't work now; the gap is still too big.

So Regulus came seeking help.

Regulus never showed it, but Dumbledore knew he was proud.

That kind of pride wasn't the kind commonly seen in pure-blood families—the kind that says, "My surname is so, my family has so much, I'm more noble than you."

Regulus's pride lies deeper within.

His concept of magic has no boundaries, his understanding has no impossibilities, and his way of seeing the world naturally puts him above most people.

That has nothing to do with bloodline; it's simply because he can see things that others cannot.

When someone says they need help, it means they have really thought it through carefully, that they can't do it on their own, and that they are willing to admit it.

Regulus entrusted his safety to another person.

Dumbledore sensed the boy's trust in him.

He took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with the cuff of his robe, and put them back on.

He looked at Regulus again, his gaze softening slightly: "How quickly should we respond?"

"The sooner the better."

"What is the coverage area?"

"Within England."

"Is it one person, or might they need to bring others?"

"It's just me."

After Regulus finished answering, he picked up his teacup, took a sip, and put it down.

He knew Dumbledore probably guessed what was going on, but neither of them would say it aloud; it was an unspoken understanding between them that had been in place for a long time.

After a moment of silence, Regulus spoke, his tone casual, as if in a casual conversation: "Professor, if someone hasn't shown up for a long time, when they reappear, won't they... be a little different?"

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then said, "I don't know. I haven't seen him in a long time."

Regulus nodded and didn't ask any more questions.

Dumbledore had no idea what Voldemort had become.

That's normal, after all, even Death Eaters aren't easy for just anyone to meet.

Perhaps there's a reason: Voldemort is hiding from Dumbledore.

Whatever the reason, this was an information gap for Dumbledore.

The fact that Dumbledore was willing to acknowledge the existence of this gap in front of him was itself a form of trust.

Regulus knew far more than Dumbledore.

Voldemort is undergoing self-modification, and his appearance has begun to deviate from the realm of humanity. His soul has become fragmented and unstable due to the repeated creation of Horcruxes.

But he couldn't say these things, and he couldn't explain the source of the information.

However, if I do happen to run into Voldemort during the holiday, I can talk about it when I get back.

After all, he saw it with his own eyes; after all, he has a bright heart and should resist darkness.

Dumbledore didn't say anything more. The fire in the fireplace flickered, and steam from the teapot spout spread between the two of them.

Then he leaned back and changed his tone, as if he were talking about something unrelated to the current topic.

"I've met some wizards, very intelligent wizards, and they all have one thing in common: they are very good at preparing for the worst."

He looked at Regulus, his blue eyes flashing behind his half-moon spectacles.

"The escape routes are very well constructed; every possible escape route has been considered, and there are corresponding solutions for every possible danger."

He continued, "Then they discovered that the back road was repaired, but the front road hadn't been used much."

Dumbledore's tone softened: "But sometimes, knowing that someone is there to support you makes it easier to move forward."

Regulus paused, holding his teacup, then took a sip, put it down, and nodded.

He said gratefully, "Thank you, Professor."

He knew Dumbledore was telling him about courage.

Don't just focus on paving the way for the future; take the road ahead as it comes.

Moreover, there was someone protecting him from behind.

But he wasn't afraid; he was just making thorough preparations.

Having a way out and moving forward are not contradictory. If you have a clear plan for your retreat, you won't need to look back when you move forward.

He prepares for the worst in order to strive for the best outcome.

This is not contradictory to courage; on the contrary, it is precisely because he dares to move forward that he thinks about the future in such detail.

Dumbledore tilted his head and looked at Fawkes on the perch, his gaze lingering on the golden-red bird for a moment.

"There's only one thing in this room that can meet your needs," he said.

He began to talk about the phoenix.

The Phoenix's spatial movement is unrestricted by any magic; Anti-Apparition Charm, Faithful Charm, and Spatial Lock have no effect on it.

Its movement is completely different from the wizard's Apparition; it is essentially something else entirely.

The phoenix chooses to help someone not based on the wizard's power or status, but solely on the phoenix's own judgment.

It can see things that wizards cannot.

"So I can't make that decision," Dumbledore said, looking at Regulus with a slight smile. "Perhaps you'd like to talk to it?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow and stood up from his chair.

He walked up to the perch, and Fox's head popped out from under his wing, his golden eyes looking at him.

The two creatures looked at each other.

As Regulus drew closer, he sensed the warmth in its gaze.

The temperature wasn't hot; it just kept flowing towards him from Fox's direction. It wasn't dazzling or scorching, but he could clearly feel it.

The phoenix is ​​watching him, watching with its eyes, and watching with something beyond its eyes.

Regulus knew that the phoenix could see souls.

So what does it see now?

A mature soul, housed in a twelve-year-old body, carrying memories of another world?

Or is it that it only sees a twelve-year-old soul, fresh like everyone else that age, without much else to it?

He had thought about this question many times: what exactly is his soul?

All his experiences, knowledge, and understanding from his previous world came with him here, took up residence in this body, and he lived for twelve years.

Over the course of twelve years, he experienced new things, new emotions, and new understandings.

The fireplace in Grimmauld Place, Orion's silence and trust, Walbuga's chatter and fervor, Sirius's rebellion and purity.

The starry sky reflected on the ceiling of Hogwarts, his understanding and control of magic, Dumbledore's lemon Olaf and the pile of cockroaches.

These are his, and those memories are his too.

The two sets of items were stacked together, forming the person standing in front of the phoenix.

He could see his own soul, a small, glowing figure with a clear outline and stable boundaries.

But which part is that little person from?

Is it knowledge from a past life, or experience in this life?

Is it the rationality of that world, or the magic of this world?

Perhaps they are both, perhaps they are inseparable.

The soul is probably not a jigsaw puzzle; you can't take it apart piece by piece to examine it.

The soul is probably not a jigsaw puzzle; you can't take it apart piece by piece to examine it.

It should be more like river water, with water from upstream and downstream mixed together, and it's hard to say which drop came from which place, but together they make up this river.

So who is he?

He is Regulus Atallos Black, that answer is enough.

Whatever is in his soul, it is his; he is a complete person, an independent individual.

His past life gave him the framework of his understanding, and this life gave him magic and flesh and blood. Together, they form who he is.

Can the phoenix see through all this?

Maybe yes, maybe no.

But he wasn't worried.

Knowledge can be concealed, its origins can be obscured, but the color of one's soul cannot be faked.

The kind of light it emits, the kind of temperature it carries, and the kind of direction it points—these things cannot deceive any eye that can see the soul.

He himself has seen what his soul is like.

That luminous little figure stands at the deepest point of the cosmic orbit, at the core of the spiritual world, where all light converges.

Regulus snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Fox again.

It should be more like river water, with water from upstream and downstream mixed together, and it's hard to say which drop came from which place, but together they make up this river.

So who is he?

He is Regulus Atallos Black, that answer is enough.

Whatever is in his soul, it is his; he is a complete person, an independent individual.

His past life gave him the framework of his understanding, and this life gave him magic and flesh and blood. Together, they form who he is.

Can the phoenix see through all this?

Maybe yes, maybe no.

But he wasn't worried.

Knowledge can be concealed, its origins can be obscured, but the color of one's soul cannot be faked.

The kind of light it emits, the kind of temperature it carries, and the kind of direction it points—these things cannot deceive any eye that can see the soul.

He himself has seen what his soul is like.

That luminous little figure stands at the deepest point of the cosmic orbit, at the core of the spiritual world, where all light converges.

Regulus snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Fox again.