Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Four months later, March 1964.

Walburga hosted a tea party — nominally a spring gathering for the ladies, though in truth it was her chance to show off her sons' progress to her sisters.

Thirteen-year-old Bellatrix arrived first, wearing a dark green velvet dress, every hair combed into place, her gaze so critical it seemed designed to find flaws in everyone.

"I heard you blew up the drawing room," she said, marching straight up to Sirius.

Sirius held his chin high. "I can control my magic now!"

Nine-year-old Andromeda and eight-year-old Narcissa followed their mother Druella inside. Andromeda offered Regulus a warm smile, while Narcissa busied herself inspecting the new decor in the drawing room.

The tea party began. The adults chatted about tedious matters — personnel changes at the Ministry of Magic, the engagement of some pure-blood family's daughter whose bloodline was not quite pure enough but whose fortune made up for it.

The children sat at a small table of their own, child-sized cutlery laid out before them. Sirius was itching to demonstrate his newly learned magic.

Regulus, meanwhile, was turning a question over in his mind: 'Why does Transfiguration require imagining a specific form? What happens if I simply want to change a substance's state without specifying an exact shape?'

"Watch this." Sirius focused, staring at his silver spoon. Magic surged forth.

The spoon began to bend — good, a graceful curve.

But Sirius grew too excited. 'A bit more,' he thought. 'That would look even better!'

More magical output. The spoon bent too far.

A mistake. He glanced at Bellatrix to see if she had noticed — and that single glance caused his control to slip.

His magical energy burst out like a dam breaking, flooding the entire set of cutlery.

Regulus suddenly felt a violent surge of magic. He looked up and saw every piece of silver on their small table changing color — the silver-white fading, fleshy pink emerging, ring-like segments forming across their surfaces.

They had turned into earthworms.

Twelve fat, fleshy-pink earthworms writhed across the tablecloth.

The adults had already been drawn by the commotion. Walburga's face had shifted from red to white.

Druella set down her teacup, expression frozen.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, clapped a hand to her mouth in mock astonishment, and let out a theatrically exaggerated "Oh!"

Sirius stood petrified, staring at his handiwork, his lips trembling.

"I..." He opened his mouth but was too mortified to speak.

Walburga's hand moved toward her wand. Regulus could see the fury in his mother's eyes — not merely anger at the ruined tea party, but the shame of being embarrassed in front of her sisters.

'Trouble,' Regulus thought. 'If she explodes now, the tea party ends in disaster, Sirius gets punished, and I'll have to endure three days of her complaining.'

He stood up, walked to the small table, and looked down at the mass of squirming creatures.

'I must admit, these earthworms are remarkably well made,' he noted to himself.

'First, analyze the structure.' His mind kicked into gear automatically. 'The Transfiguration didn't fully destroy the material matrix — it merely rearranged the molecular structure.'

'The silver atoms are still present. The shape-memory effect should still hold. The key is finding the last stable morphological memory before the transformation...'

He raised his hand, palm downward, and held it ten centimeters above the earthworms. Then he began channeling his magic.

Unlike the way ordinary wizards projected their power, Regulus had discovered that his magical control could achieve microscopic-level precision.

He did not even need to rely on emotion to drive it the way conventional spellcasting demanded. Instead, he relied on calculation — his brain could automatically construct dimensional models, compute the flow of magical energy, and adjust the output frequency.

'It's like having a supercomputer in my head,' he had once mused. 'Maybe that's the transmigrator perk.'

In the next instant, silver light seeped out from within the earthworms. They stopped writhing, and one by one they rose into the air, arranging themselves into a perfect hexagon.

'Hexagonal — stable,' he thought. 'Optimal distribution of magical force.'

Bellatrix leaned forward, eyes wide.

Narcissa gasped and covered her mouth.

Andromeda whispered: "Merlin's beard..."

The reverse Transfiguration began. The earthworms contracted, elongated, and silver luster bled through from within.

Ten seconds later, the cutlery was restored to its original form, hovering in the air, silver light rippling across each surface.

With the slightest twitch of Regulus's fingers, the pieces traveled along the shortest path, weaving around every obstacle, and settled back into their original positions with surgical precision.

Spoons, forks, knives, teacups, saucers, small plates — not a single one out of place.

Last came the bent spoon. The crease was deep; the metal had fatigued.

Regulus reached out with his index finger and touched the crease.

'Recrystallize the metal lattice — apply localized heating to the recrystallization temperature without exceeding the melting point. Simulate thermal energy through magic, adjusting the frequency to resonate with silver atoms.'

The crease began to vanish, atoms returning to their proper positions as though time itself were rewinding.

Five seconds later, the spoon was flawless.

Regulus withdrew his hand, returned to his seat, and picked up the biscuit he had been eating — expression neutral throughout, giving no one the slightest impression that he had been showing off.

Inside, though, he was thoroughly pleased with himself. 'Not bad for a three-year-old — if I do say so myself!'

"Merlin's beard!" Druella blurted, nearly dropping her teacup.

Bellatrix rose to her feet, strode to the small table, and picked up the spoon for inspection. She turned it over, held it up to the light, and tapped it with a fingernail — a crisp, metallic ring.

She looked up at Regulus, her expression one of genuine shock. "You... how did you do that?"

Regulus chewed his biscuit and answered indistinctly: "They wanted to change back."

"What?"

"The cutlery wanted to look like cutlery again. I just helped."

The explanation was laughably naive, but coming from a three-year-old it sounded perfectly natural.

'Of course I know how I did it,' Regulus thought. 'But I can do — I just can't explain.'

'A wizard can achieve incredible things through instinct and talent. But at my age, if I could not only do this but also articulate the theory behind it, that would be a bit too far beyond the benchmark.'

Narcissa whispered to Andromeda: "He looked so calm the whole time."

Andromeda nodded, something like concern flickering in her eyes.

Walburga's expression cycled through rapid changes — shock, confusion, then elation.

But she restrained herself. The lady of house Black could not lose her composure in front of others.

She merely raised her teacup, took a sip, and said in the calmest tone she could manage: "Regulus has a particular intuition for Transfiguration."

Druella gave a strained laugh. "Particular? Walburga, that was nothing short of a miracle. He's only three! What was Orion doing at three? He was still smearing jam all over the house-elves."

Every eye kept drifting toward Regulus, but he simply ate his biscuit in silence, as though nothing had happened.

Sirius had kept his head down the entire time. Regulus glanced at him once and recognized the blow to his pride.

After the tea party, Druella departed with her daughters, and only the family remained in the drawing room.

Walburga could hold back no longer. She swept Regulus into her arms. "My genius!"

She whispered fervently in his ear: "I knew it! You are the future of the Black family!"

Over her shoulder, he caught sight of Sirius.

Sirius stood in the drawing room doorway, one hand gripping the doorframe. It was hard to imagine a four-year-old wearing such a complicated expression — shock, hurt, confusion, and perhaps a trace of jealousy.

'Trouble doubled,' Regulus thought. 'A four-year-old doesn't understand what it means to act out of necessity. All he knows is that his little brother stole the spotlight.'

Sirius turned and ran, his footsteps thumping up the stairs.

Walburga set Regulus down and frowned. "He's throwing a tantrum again. Ignore him, Regulus. You did the right thing."

'He's only four,' Regulus thought — but did not say it aloud. After all, he himself was only three.

That evening, Orion knocked on Regulus's door. He had just returned from work; as a member of the Wizengamot, he often worked late.

"I heard about today," Orion said, sitting across from Regulus. "Exquisite work."

"How did you do it?" he asked.

Regulus considered for three seconds, then offered an answer: "I don't know. I just... saw what needed to be done."

"Saw?" Orion seemed puzzled; this was not the answer he had expected.

"I saw what the earthworms really were, so I changed them back."

Orion studied him, lost in thought. This could be explained as talent — rare, but not unheard of.

Sirius's power was immense but uncontrolled, born of emotional instability.

By contrast, Regulus leaned toward control and precision.

"An interesting explanation," Orion said at last. "But remember — don't show too much in front of others. Genius invites envy, and also fear."

"Cousin Bellatrix seemed quite excited," Regulus said, steering the conversation toward Bellatrix.

"Bellatrix..." Orion's brow furrowed. "She is fascinated by power. And the great figure on the rise is equally fascinated by power. Be careful not to draw his attention."

Regulus nodded. He knew precisely who that great figure was — Tom Riddle, the future Voldemort.