Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 317 Regulus Begins to Think

Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Regulus's room.

He stood by the window, the London night stretching out before him, the Muggle streetlights shining in the distance, their dim yellow light spilling down from the tops of the lampposts onto the empty streets.

Several cars were parked on the side of the road. A Muggle, who was so bored that he was walking his dog at midnight, was being dragged along by the dog, staggering as he was pulled along. He was also holding something up in his other hand and looking at it.

It felt like a lifetime ago, just like everything he had just experienced.

Twenty minutes ago, he faced the most dangerous wizard of this era and, under the opponent's Legilimency, used his skillful maneuvering to preserve all the secrets.

Now he stands at his window, watching a Muggle walk his dog.

Regulus began to think.

Voldemort's magic.

In theory, Voldemort's magic should have a structure, a texture, and analyzable components.

He couldn't sense it, probably because Voldemort's magic operated at a level beyond the reach of his sensory system.

It could also be the result of Voldemort's active control, just as Dumbledore could choose whether or not people could perceive him.

There is a third possibility: the soul shattered.

Voldemort's soul was torn apart; he was no longer whole.

The magic carried by a shattered soul may have an abnormal structure, which normal magic perception cannot detect.

It may not be related to strength or weakness, but rather to incorrect formatting.

If you take an inch ruler and try to measure something that doesn't exist in the inch unit, the ruler itself is fine, and the thing being measured is there, but the ruler will give a blank reading.

He had previously considered the relationship between the soul and magic.

The soul is the load-bearing wall, and magic is the house built on top of it. If the load-bearing wall breaks, the structure of the house will be damaged.

But Voldemort's house didn't seem to have any problems.

That presence that made Fiendish Fire retreat, that all-encompassing magical interference, that mind control that had been used on him in a few seconds, was operating perfectly without any sign of weakening.

This may mean that Voldemort's source of power has transcended the premise of the integrity of the soul.

He was propping up the house with something else; the ultimate depth of black magic allowed him to go to places others dared not go, and bring back things from those places that ordinary wizards could not even imagine.

Horcruxes may provide some kind of compensation mechanism: the soul is shattered, but the fragments are scattered and stored in multiple containers, each of which is an anchor point.

The anchor points pull on each other, forming alternative structural supports.

Or, going even deeper, Voldemort's understanding of the boundaries of magic had reached such a level that while a complete soul is a prerequisite for most wizards, it was not for him.

He bypassed this condition and found another path, which came at an extremely high cost, but it worked.

What is the price?

What does an incomplete soul bring?

He thought of the look Voldemort gave Bella, and there was nothing there.

His most loyal follower was beaten and fell before him, and he looked at her as if she were a dead object.

Perhaps this is the price to pay.

Once the soul is torn apart, everything that was attached to the whole soul—empathy, connection, care—all crumbles along with it.

The power remains, but everything else is gone.

Regulus noted down this conjecture, but did not draw any conclusions yet.

These are just guesses; they lack theoretical support and cannot be verified.

Unless one day he can actually access a Horcrux, or truly analyze the structure of a shattered soul.

If you can't do it now, think about the next thing.

light and dark.

He recalled the moment Voldemort amplified his power during Legilimency, and how that force struck the containment chamber.

The things in the containment chamber, the true core of Dark Enlightenment, the unfiltered and undiluted original form, sensed the main body and resonated with it.

The things trapped inside the cage desperately tried to escape, but the safety structure held firm, preventing them from breaking out. However, the resonant vibrations penetrated the barrier and reached deeper into the mental space.

Then Betelgeuse lit up.

He recalled how he felt at that moment.

The dark side moves first; Voldemort's magic triggered the core of Dark Enlightenment, and the containment chamber came to a boil.

Domination, oppression, devouring, contempt—the things sealed deepest within Voldemort became active in his presence, so active that they almost broke through the barrier.

Then the light started moving.

Betelgeuse lit up briefly, the Star Orbit Meditation fluctuated, the outline of the little soul figure became clearer in the core area, and the reflection of the guardian deity swept past in the deepest part.

The reaction of light follows the reaction of darkness; it responds to the surge of darkness.

But the way the response came surprised him.

Betelgeuse did not confront what the darkness inspired; it did not emit light to suppress the surging darkness, nor did it stand in front of it like a shield. As it had expected, the light came and the darkness retreated.

It just lit up.

It's like a fire burning brightly in a room, with smoke billowing everywhere, and then the window opens by itself, letting in a gust of wind and a rush of fresh air.

The wind didn't extinguish the fire, nor did the fire shrink because of the wind; they existed separately in the same space.

He always believed that light and darkness needed to be balanced.

For more than a year, he has kept Dark Enlightenment in a containment chamber, using a filter layer to select the usable parts and an isolation zone to seal off the dangerous parts.

The design logic of the entire system is that things in the dark are dangerous and must be controlled, managed, and restricted to a safe range.

Betelgeuse, the guardian deity, star trail meditation—these are things of light, things of goodness. Its core needs to be protected and kept away from things of darkness.

Each of you should mind your own business and avoid coming together.

But his recent experience told him that when they met, they didn't fight.

The darkness surged, and the light followed suit, both active simultaneously in his mental space, separated by several layers of defensive structures.

But those defensive structures were built by him; they were man-made isolations.

What would happen if we removed those barriers?

He didn't know, but he had a new idea.

Perhaps light and darkness were never opposing forces from the beginning.

Dumbledore's magic is the ultimate of light, while Voldemort's magic is the ultimate of darkness.

The wizarding world places them on opposite ends of a scale, requiring everyone to choose sides: light or darkness.

But this division was created by wizards; magic itself does not choose sides.

Magic is chaotic.

Before wizards used it, magic was simply magic; it had no color, no stance, no good or evil.

When a wizard uses it, he gives it direction: if it's used to protect people, it's light; if it's used to harm people, it's darkness.

But that's the user's choice, a label that's been attached. After the label has been attached for a long time, wizards have begun to believe that the label itself is real.

White magic and black magic are treated as two fundamentally different things, written into textbooks, engraved in laws, and become the Ministry of Magic's classification standard.

But Regulus believed that they were essentially the same thing.

Dumbledore certainly knows dark magic. Given his talent and experience, and the years he spent with Grindelwald, it's impossible that he wasn't proficient in it.

At his level, the line between white magic and black magic had become so blurred that it almost ceased to exist.

Every kind of magic is merely a means to achieve the desired result; which one to use depends on the need and has nothing to do with good or evil.

But he chose the light, chose to do things in a bright way, chose to stand on the side of the light, and chose to become the guardian of the light.

This choice defined him, and it also limited him. He doesn't use black magic, perhaps simply because his choice doesn't allow him to.

Voldemort certainly understood the Patronus Charm; he had studied magic at Hogwarts for seven years, so he must have learned the Patronus Charm and understood the theory.

He also had happy memories. Tom Riddle won all the awards at Hogwarts, was favored by professors, and admired by classmates. It's impossible for him not to have happy moments during those years.

But he couldn't do it; perhaps it was because after his soul shattered, the things that could support the guardian spirit also shattered.

Perhaps he chose darkness, chose domination and fear, and chose to crush everything with power.

This choice defined him, and it also sealed the door to his guardian angel.

Both of them reached the extreme in their respective directions, but each only went one way.

They could certainly go the other way; with their talent and ability, going the other way might not be worse than going this way.

But they won't leave; the choice becomes the definition, and the definition becomes the limitation.

Dumbledore became the Dumbledore of Light, and Voldemort became the Voldemort of Darkness.

They each reached the end of their own paths, and the door behind the end led to the other side.

They can see it, but they won't push it away, because it's their choice.

Regulus didn't want to make that choice. He didn't want to be defined, didn't want to go down only one side, didn't want to draw a line between light and darkness and then stand on one side.

Magic is chaotic, complete, and contains all possibilities.

Light and darkness are just different aspects of it, like the solid and liquid states of water. They have different temperatures and different states, but they are essentially the same thing.

He chose to preserve the integrity; to put it bluntly, he wanted it all.

The light, the guardian spirit, Betelgeuse, the will to protect, the yearning for the vast world, are all part of his soul, always have been.

What about the dark things?

Does the soul have a dark side?

He had thought about this question before, more than once, but had never looked at it seriously.

Those things have always existed, mixed in with daily life, treated as part of oneself, and never taken out to be looked at separately.

Voldemort's appearance tonight forced him to watch.

He sank into his mental space.

The little soul figure stood quietly in the deepest part, its outline clear, making it impossible to distinguish between the front and the back.

Betelgeuse shines behind it, steady and warm.

In star trail meditation, other stars move in more distant positions, their light tracing fixed paths.

His soul is that little man, and Betelgeuse is its light.

But the starry sky is not just about stars; between the stars are vast, dark gaps, and those gaps are not empty.

In astronomy, interstellar space is filled with dark matter, dust, gas, and radiation. Those places that look like they have nothing are actually full of things, but they are not visible to the naked eye.

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