Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Regulus recalled some of his knowledge about phoenixes.

According to the Ministry of Magic's classification of magical creatures, the phoenix belongs to the XXXX category, which is dangerous and requires specialized knowledge to handle.

Eight-eyed giant spider XXXXX, fire dragon XXXXX, poison sac leopard XXXXX.

The phoenix only has XXXX.

In Regulus's view, this classification system was a joke in itself.

The Ministry of Magic's classification standard is based on the level of threat posed to wizards.

The fire dragon could burn down half of Diagon Alley, so it's rated XXXXX.

The eight-eyed giant spider can eat people and is also of the XXXXX level.

The phoenix can be reborn from the ashes, shed tears that heal all wounds, fly carrying extremely heavy objects, remain absolutely loyal to its companions, and penetrate all magical defenses.

But it doesn't attack humans, so it only has XXXX.

The underlying logic of the entire system is how dangerous this thing is to wizards, rather than how powerful this thing is.

Wizards use their sense of security to rank the entire world.

arrogant.

But then again, this arrogance has its basis.

Wizards are indeed the most powerful group in the world, with the upper limit of individual combat strength far exceeding that of any magical creature.

What Dumbledore could do by himself, a hundred phoenixes combined could not do.

If Voldemort were to unleash his destructive power, even ten thousand eight-eyed spiders couldn't defeat him.

Grindelwald could burn Paris down with a single fire, a fiery dragon...

Fire dragons seem like an option, but I don't know how many I would need.

Wizards hold the power to interpret and use magic; they define rules, allocate resources, and label other creatures.

Phoenix XXXX, because the wizard has the final say.

Regulus simply felt that this ranking was unworthy of Phoenix.

Grading a phoenix is ​​like measuring the temperature of the sun. Of course, you can measure it, but after you finish measuring it, it's just a number, and that number can't contain the sun.

He thought of something else.

Dumbledore's patron deity is the phoenix.

The guardian deity is a reflection of the soul, and the Starry Sky Kite can take him through space.

Perhaps it was inherent to him, perhaps it was because he had a natural talent for spatial awareness, or perhaps there were other reasons, he couldn't say for sure for the time being.

However, Dumbledore's Patronus is in the form of a phoenix, and the core characteristic of the phoenix is ​​rebirth, rising from the ashes.

Can Dumbledore achieve Nirvana?

Physically, of course not.

But what about spiritually?

Ariana, Grindelwald, Aberforth—the mistakes she made in her youth have burdened her with a lifetime of regret.

Each time he was burned to ashes by those things, each time he pieced himself back together from the ashes.

The pain hasn't disappeared, the regret hasn't lessened, but the person is still standing, still moving forward, still doing what he believes is right.

Perhaps Dumbledore's Nirvana is the Nirvana of the soul, shattering again and again in the flames of regret, only to rise again and again.

The guardian spirit truly reflects the deepest part of the soul.

Regulus glanced back at Dumbledore.

It's not easy for this old man to have lived this long.

We need to find something to amuse him; perhaps having every species of cockroach in the world in England would be a good idea.

He deserves it.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, writing something on a piece of parchment with a quill. Sensing a gaze, he looked up, his blue eyes peering over his half-moon spectacles with a puzzled expression.

Regulus withdrew his gaze and turned back to face Fox.

He made a decision.

He summoned his guardian deity.

Since the phoenix can see souls, he will present the most direct projection of the soul so that Fox can see it clearly.

What kind of person he is, what color his soul is, and how bright his light is—all of this is contained within this bird; there's nothing to hide.

A silvery light surged from his chest, spreading throughout the office. The humming of the silverware paused for a moment, and the flame in the fireplace flickered.

The starry kite took shape in the light, its wings unfolding, each feather shining brightly. The silver light clashed with the warm hues of the fireplace, creating a stark contrast between the two.

It landed on Regulus's shoulder, shook its wings, and tilted its head to look at Fox.

Silver eyes met golden eyes.

Fox lifted himself from the perch, tilted his head slightly, his golden-red feathers fluttered slightly, and a look of joy flashed in his eyes.

Two birds gaze at each other in the air.

The Starry Sky Kite moved first. It took off from Regulus's shoulder, circled Fox once, and silver light brushed across its golden-red feathers, leaving a brief silver streak on them.

Fox's eyes followed the starry kite as it circled once, then it spread its wings and took flight from its perch.

Golden-red flames and silvery-white starlight intertwined in the office space, while two birds, one real and one formed from a soul, hovered above the fireplace.

The moment the silver and gold-red hues drew near, the light intertwined, the boundary blurred for a moment, and then they separated again.

The portraits on the wall seemed to awaken, even the ones that were dozing the most opened their eyes and quietly watched the scene unfold.

In the top frame, Phineas Nigellus Black leaned forward slightly, and a deep emotion churned in his eyes, which bore a resemblance to Regulus's.

Fox landed back on the perch, folded its wings, and its feathers lay flat again.

The starry kite landed back on Regulus's shoulder, let out a clear and melodious cry, and then burrowed into his chest, its silver light fading away.

The meeting is over.

Dumbledore watched this scene from behind his desk, his quill pen having been put down at some point.

He didn't speak, but his blue eyes behind his glasses were a little brighter than before.

Fox squatted on the perch for a while, then did something.

A ball of golden-red flame enveloped its body, moving inward from the outside, from its claws to its wings, and from its wings to its feathers.

Flames exploded instantly, lifting the perch into the air.

Regulus's senses were fully engaged, and he captured it.

The moment the phoenix disappeared, the space where the perch was located seemed to be swallowed up by the phoenix's flames.

It was unlike any other way of traveling through space he had ever seen.

Phantom teleportation tears through space, Starry Sky Kite invites space, House-Elves leap across space, and Thestrals make space retreat.

The phoenix burned away space.

The distance between the starting point and the ending point was erased the instant the flames exploded.

It was as if space itself did not exist in the face of the phoenix flames; that distance simply vanished.

The next moment, flames appeared out of thin air on Dumbledore's desk, and Fawkes poked his head out of the flames.

The golden-red feathers, still glowing with the last embers, landed on the table, and the claws gripped the edge of a stack of parchment.

Regulus turned around and stared at it for a long time.

Five methods: Apparition, Starry Sky Kite, House-Elf, Thestral, and Phoenix.

Five logics, five relationships with space.

Another piece has been added to his spatial magic system.

Moreover, it's the most unique piece; the space there can be eliminated.

Any anti-Apparition spell is ineffective against the Phoenix. The logic of those protective spells is to prevent space from being traversed, but the Phoenix does not traverse space; it makes space disappear.

Preventing a process that doesn't exist is pointless, of course.

Regulus walked back to his desk.

Fox squatted on the table, his paws still resting on the stack of parchment, tilting his head to look at him. The attitude in his golden eyes was a little different from when he was on the perch.

But Regulus could tell that it wasn't enthusiasm; the phoenix was proud and wouldn't be enthusiastic towards anyone.

It's more like a relaxation; you've seen what you needed to see and made what you needed to judge, so now you can let go of that pretense.

Fox had met his guardian angel.

He had shown it the first time he came to this office, but the same bird and the same silver light had different meanings.

Regulus did this to show Fox his soul, or at least a part of it.

Perhaps it was because he himself illuminated his soul that it became visible.

Perhaps Fox's purpose in looking at him this time was different; last time he just glanced at him casually, but this time he was looking at him seriously.

In short, this time is different from the last time.

Regulus slowly extended his hand.

When you touch the phoenix feathers, they feel soft and warm. When you press your finger on them, they sink in slightly and bounce back when you release them.

The magical sense probed inward along the fingertip.

The phoenix's magic is heat, like a rich life force.

It's not scorching hot; it's closer to the temperature of the first rays of sunlight on your skin in the morning—just enough to feel, so you won't want to pull your hand away.

But there's something else underneath the temperature.

His perception probed deeper and encountered a rhythm.

The magic circulated within Fox's body, and the rhythm of that circulation had a peculiar undulation.

The magic surged to its peak, then plummeted to almost imperceptible levels, before surging back up, stronger than ever before.

Surge, fall, surge, fall.

Every fall is like a death, every rise is like a rebirth.

It's as if the rhythm of rebirth is written in the magic of the phoenix, happening every moment.

Fox let him touch her for a while, occasionally tilting his head and glancing at him with his golden eyes, his expression probably saying, "That's enough, how much longer do you want to touch me?"

Regulus thought to himself, "This bird's temperament is just like its owner's. It seems easy to talk to, but it doesn't really care about anyone."

Dumbledore watched this scene from the side, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with barely concealed smugness: "Fox rarely lets anyone touch its feathers."

Regulus glanced at him but didn't reply.

This old man is showing off again.

Then Fox started moving.

It lowered its head, stretched its beak toward its tail feathers, and picked up a slightly shorter feather from beside the longest one. It was golden-red, with a deep red base and an orange-gold tip.

It placed the feather on Regulus's outstretched palm.

A warmth spread through my palm, the heat of the phoenix feather seeping into my skin with a rhythmic rise and fall, like a faint but steady pulse.

Regulus looked at the feather in his hand, then glanced at Fox.

Fox no longer looked at him. It flapped its wings, flew back to its perch, and tucked its head back under its wings, reverting to the same indifferent attitude it had when it entered.

As Dumbledore watched this scene, the smugness on his face transformed into something else, becoming softer and deeper.

"It seems it really likes you," he said softly.

Regulus looked up at him, his eyes carrying a hint of something like, "Didn't you say it liked me before? But it ignored me. Now that I've given you a feather, you're saying it likes me again."

Dumbledore coughed lightly, picked up his teacup, took a sip, and shifted his gaze to the side.

Regulus carefully tucked the feather into the inner pocket of his robe, placing it against his chest where it felt warm.

Dumbledore put down his teacup and said, "It will know when you really need help."

He paused, then added, "No spells are needed, no invocations are needed. Just hold the feather, think of it, and it will come."

Just like Dumbledore's own relationship with Fawkes, whenever a Dumbledore needs help, the phoenix appears by his side.

Regulus nodded and stood up from his chair.

He turned to Fox, whose head was still buried under its wing, and resumed its indifferent state.

"Thank you," Regulus said to it.

Fox twitched its wing in response.

Regulus turned to Dumbledore: "Thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore stood up, walked around the desk, and stood in front of him.

The old man was much taller than him, and when he looked down at him, the silver beard almost reached Regulus's shoulder.

"Regulus," Dumbledore's voice was so gentle it was almost a soliloquy, "have a good holiday."

He reached out and patted Regulus on the shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping through his robes.

"I hope that feather will never be needed."

He paused, his blue eyes looking at Regulus: "But if you use it, you know someone's there to catch you."

Regulus tilted his head back and nodded.

Dumbledore released his grip, took a step back, and his tone returned to its usual lightness: "Merry Christmas, Regulus."

Merry Christmas, Professor.

Regulus turned around, pushed open the door, and stepped onto the spiral staircase.

The stairs slowly descended, and the drooling beast was waiting at the bottom. He stepped out, and the drooling beast closed behind him, returning to its original cold, lifeless stone sculpture.

The corridor was quiet. He walked towards the dormitory, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone walls.