Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

"As you can see," said Professor McGonagall, "when one's understanding of a material's internal structural rules is sufficiently deep, when the magic is powerful enough and the intent clear enough, such a transformation can be achieved.

But as you observed, it is far more demanding than ordinary Transfiguration, because the caster must not only envision the target form — they must comprehend and reconstruct its internal stable structure, converting loose, layered connections into a rigid three-dimensional lattice."

Regulus posed a timely question: "Professor — what about the Philosopher's Stone?"

She put her wand away and looked at him. "As for the Philosopher's Stone... that represents the supreme achievement of alchemy, transcending the domain of ordinary Transfiguration.

It touches the realms of creation and eternity.

Gold produced by normal Transfiguration invariably carries a strong imprint of the caster's magic. It is unstable — prone to reverting over time or under magical interference — and possesses something fundamentally false in its nature.

Gold transmuted by the Philosopher's Stone, however, is said to possess truly permanent material properties.

The difference, perhaps, lies in whether one has actually created — or fixed — the perfect internal structural blueprint that belongs to gold."

The discussion proved immensely fruitful for Regulus.

McGonagall's perspective leaned on intuitive comprehension through magic and willpower. His own combined that with the logical framework of modern science.

Where the two met, his understanding of Transfiguration opened wide.

"Your talent and depth of thought in Transfiguration are most impressive, Mister Black."

McGonagall's tone grew warmer. She rose and crossed to an age-worn bookshelf, removing a thick notebook that looked to have seen considerable years.

Regulus noticed: the cover was made of deep blue dragon-hide — its very appearance spoke of how dearly its owner cherished it.

"These are notes I kept in my younger days, as I explored the higher reaches of Transfiguration. Insights, conjectures, and lessons from failure." She handed the notebook to Regulus, expression solemn.

"There are no specific spells or techniques inside. It is more a record of thinking about the essence of Transfiguration — and about how to perceive and understand your subject more clearly.

I believe it may be of help in your current explorations."

Regulus accepted the notebook with both hands. He could feel the gentle residual magic on the cover, and within it, the crystallized wisdom of a rigorous scholar's decades of work.

The gift was beyond price.

"Thank you very much, Professor McGonagall." His gratitude was solemn and sincere.

"I hope it guides you in the right direction." McGonagall looked at him, eyes deep. "Transfiguration is one of the most direct expressions of magic's power to reshape reality.

A strong will can remake matter — but one must always remember that will itself must be guided by wisdom and morality.

Never forget: we study magic in order to understand the world, not merely to dominate or distort it."

"Yes, Professor. I will not forget."

Regulus nodded, understanding her meaning. He thanked her once more and left the office.

Behind the closed door, McGonagall stood still, gazing at it, her expression complicated.

The talent and the modes of thought this child had displayed were among the rarest she had encountered in all her years of teaching.

He was composed, perceptive, creative — and he understood restraint and propriety. At least on the surface.

But that was precisely what deepened her concern. Gifts and temperament of that caliber, should they be turned down a dark path, would bring equally vast harm.

"I can only hope he chooses the right road." She murmured to herself, then returned to her desk — yet for a long while could not resume her marking.

In the end, McGonagall rose and walked toward the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor of the castle.

She gave the password. The stone gargoyle leapt aside; the spiral staircase rotated upward. She knocked on the gleaming oak door.

"Come in, Minerva." Dumbledore's gentle voice drifted out.

McGonagall entered the circular office. As ever, it hummed with the sounds of bizarre silver instruments. Portraits of former headmasters pretended to doze on the walls, every ear cocked.

Fawkes preened on his perch.

"Albus, I need to speak with you about Regulus Black." McGonagall got straight to the point.

Dumbledore looked at her over his half-moon spectacles, blue eyes glinting with interest. "Ah, young Mister Black.

I take it he has posed yet another Transfiguration question that has given even my Deputy Headmistress pause?"

"It is more than questions." McGonagall settled into her customary straight-backed chair, face grave.

"His talent... is extraordinary. His understanding of Transfiguration has already far exceeded his age — it even touches on planes I do not often contemplate in depth.

More critically, his mode of thinking is highly unusual: structurally clear, the perspective... far-reaching.

This is not normal. I mean — this child, Albus."

She recounted in detail the discussion of graphite, diamond, and internal structural rules.

Dumbledore listened quietly, fingers laced before him.

"Furthermore," McGonagall continued, brow creased, "I've noted certain behaviors.

He no longer asks those prematurely advanced questions in class. He performs like a diligent student focused on building fundamentals.

But I set the house-elves to observe. He frequently practices quite sophisticated magic alone in secluded parts of the castle — silent casting, extremely precise Transfiguration.

What he is performing is far beyond what one his age should command. Some of it is more powerful than what adult wizards can manage.

He and the Gryffindor student Lily Evans conduct academic exchanges in the library. He has even taught her a Muggle method of essay writing.

With his housemates... on the surface he keeps his distance. But the boy named Avery Cuthbert has begun to follow him, and Regulus's response has been one of conditional acceptance and guidance, not simple exploitation."

Dumbledore nodded slightly. "Yes, Minerva. I have noticed these things as well."

McGonagall looked at him. "You knew? Of course. How could you not."

"This castle," Dumbledore said with a smile, eyes sweeping over the ostensibly sleeping portraits, "is full of eyes and ears.

And I do take a particular interest in young Mister Black.

From the day he arrived, the Sorting Hat conveyed some intriguing impressions.

It said that his gaze upon the stars transcended worldly strife — and yet he firmly chose the path of Slytherin."

He paused. His voice grew measured, rich with insight: "He is different from his brother Sirius.

Sirius's rebellion is fire — fierce, bright, direct.

Regulus, on the surface, is calm. But beneath that calm, there may lie an intricate mind and intentions as yet unknown.

His thirst for knowledge is genuine. His pursuit of power is explicit. Yet he seems to operate by his own standards, his own internal logic."

"That is exactly what worries me!" McGonagall said. "He has talent, ideas, and an instinct for concealment and calculation. If those dark ideologies attract him..."

"We cannot choose a student's path for them, Minerva." Dumbledore's voice was gentle, yet firm. "We can only offer knowledge, set an example, and when necessary, provide guidance and correction.

As things stand, Regulus Black has shown no behavior that crosses any line.

His exchanges with Lily Evans are rooted in a friendship of mutual respect. The way he shapes Avery Cuthbert is more akin to mentoring than indulgence.

His explorations in Transfiguration, while deep, have not veered into dangerous territory."

He looked out the window at the darkening sky, gaze distant. "Voldemort's shadow is drawing near. Many ancient families are making their choices, and the House of Black cannot remain a bystander.

Regulus stands at its center. Every choice he makes will affect himself — and quite possibly many others.

We cannot foresee the future. But we can observe. We can prepare."

"Do you think he... will be different?" McGonagall asked.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, then said slowly: "The stars that the Sorting Hat saw may have been a metaphor.

They could signify ambition. Or they could signify a broader vision and a loftier pursuit.

His way of looking at magic differs from most — and that may constitute a danger, or it may constitute an opportunity.

Time will give us the answer, Minerva.

Until then, let us continue discharging our duty as educators: teach him, watch him, and when necessary, ensure he harms neither others nor himself."

The conversation ended. McGonagall's concern had not entirely dissolved, but the Headmaster's words had steadied her somewhat.

At the very least, Dumbledore was watching, too.