Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Back in the dormitory, seated at his desk, Regulus gently ran his fingers over the deep blue dragon-hide cover of McGonagall's notebook.

He skimmed through several pages. True to the professor's word, there were no specific spells — only sustained, deep reflections on the essence of Transfiguration.

One passage on the difficulty gradient of material transformation caught his attention.

McGonagall argued that the difficulty of Transfiguration was tied not only to the complexity of the object but, more critically, to the inherent structural stability and strength of "form memory" within the material itself.

Combining today's discussion with his own practice, a key conclusion about Transfiguration was essentially confirmed in Regulus's mind.

Elemental transformation — changing one pure substance into another form of the same element — was harder than converting one complex compound into another, especially when it involved a total alteration of the material's intrinsic properties.

Turning a wooden rod into an iron bar meant converting one complex organic structure into a metallic crystalline one: essentially replacing one established internal structure with another.

Many young wizards could manage this, though most only changed the outward form.

But turning graphite into diamond meant transforming one allotrope of elemental carbon into another.

It required — without altering the base element — birthing two materials of wildly different physical properties simply by completely restructuring the internal bonding pattern, by rearranging the molecular architecture. This demanded understanding and reshaping at the most microscopic level. The difficulty far outstripped ordinary form-changes.

He took out a piece of graphite he carried and began to practice.

He pushed his magical perception deep into the graphite, attempting to pry apart the stacked layers, inducing localized twisting and cross-linking to create a small region of increased hardness and altered luster.

The process was agonizingly difficult.

Graphite's loose, layered structure possessed a peculiar tendency to slide. When magic intervened, entire layers often slipped en masse — localized restructuring was nearly impossible.

The slightest miscalculation destroyed its integrity, reducing the whole piece to a fluffy heap of carbon powder.

He had to wield magic with exquisite finesse, like the most delicate engraving knife, carving and welding at the molecular level.

This deepened his understanding of wizards and magic.

Wizards might not have developed a system based on experimentation and mathematics the way Muggles had, to dissect the microscopic composition of the world and matter. But they were by no means the lesser party.

Professor McGonagall, through only a brief examination, had accurately identified the differences in the intrinsic properties of graphite and diamond.

That kind of intuitive perception of a material's essence was something Muggle technology could not currently approach.

Regulus's own situation was, of course, different — an advantage born of his past life's basic science education combined with the unusually acute magical perception he had gained after crossing over.

That McGonagall could reach similar conclusions purely through experience and magical intuition — the difference lay in decades of immersion in the field of Transfiguration, yielding a profound depth of understanding.

This also illuminated the further path of Transfiguration for him: not merely changing form, but understanding the underlying principles, and ultimately reaching the level of altering the very essence of matter.

And the legendary discipline of alchemy — especially the supreme achievement represented by the Philosopher's Stone — likely touched on something far more formidable.

That should be more than molecular rearrangement. It might involve restructuring at a still more fundamental level — the atomic.

Transmuting lead into gold, for instance, would very likely mean altering the number of protons in the atomic nucleus, or at the very least perfectly replicating all of gold's chemical bonds and macroscopic properties.

That exceeded Transfiguration entirely — to say nothing of the Stone's ability to grant eternal life, to sustain life itself, which inherently contained enormous magical power.

Even Voldemort had wanted to use it for resurrection.

During breaks in practice, his thoughts continued to branch.

The air was full of various elements and compounds — nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, water vapor, noble gases...

And the vast majority of wizards' magic — whether protective charms, offensive spells, or household enchantments — never bothered to filter or guard against the subtle shifts in these invisible, intangible atmospheric components.

Not because it couldn't be done — it wasn't particularly difficult — but because they instinctively overlooked it.

Consider, for instance, oxygen.

A thought surfaced: what if, using Transfiguration, the diatomic oxygen surrounding a person were instantaneously converted into a different substance based on oxygen atoms but unusable by the human body?

Ozone, for example.

Or one could Transfigure other substances into something resembling oxygen, have them inhaled, and after gas exchange occurred in the lungs, revert them to their original form.

Glass fiber, asbestos, radioactive elements — anything would do.

The crux lay in high-precision identification of a specific element and instantaneous transmutation.

This was purely theoretical extrapolation for now, of course. But the direction was unquestionably sound.

Just as Regulus was deep in micro-Transfiguration and dangerous theorizing, the dormitory door opened. Avery Cuthbert had returned.

He saw Regulus seated at his desk, a small object — twisted and deformed, yet gleaming with an uncanny luster — hovering in front of him. A fine, concentrated glow played at the wand tip.

Clearly some form of magical practice.

Transfiguration?

The "Hey" on Avery's lips was swallowed immediately.

He now considered himself on Regulus's team and knew better than to interrupt. He tiptoed to his own bed and set down his books.

Before long, Alex Rosier came in with a stack of books, face relaxed with the ease of finished homework.

He saw Regulus and instinctively started to greet him, but the moment his mouth opened, Avery shot a finger to his lips and glared, jerking his head toward Regulus.

Alex flinched, clapped a hand over his mouth, followed Avery's gaze, and saw Regulus's intense focus.

He went mute at once and crept to his own bed — though inwardly he felt rather good.

Avery, for all his haughtiness, had only used a gesture to stop him instead of a Full Body-Bind or a Stunner.

Alex couldn't help feeling the dormitory atmosphere had truly shifted.

Before, it had been Avery's imperious arrogance, Hermes's brooding unpredictability, Regulus's silent detachment, and himself walking on eggshells.

Now, while a clear hierarchy remained, at least Avery had stopped casually bullying people, and Regulus — powerful as he was — did not lord it over them.

He suspected the change owed largely to Regulus's presence and influence.

Thinking of the latest letter from home — his parents urging him, as always, to study hard, stay healthy, get along with classmates, not force himself into any inner circle, just stay safe — Alex felt a quiet gratitude toward Regulus. On the fringes of Slytherin's core circle, Regulus had quietly created a space where one could breathe.

Regulus noticed his roommates' return and their movements, but he did not break focus.

His mind raced. Magic flowed out, simultaneously maintaining fine-grained control over the graphite's internal structure.

Molecular-level Transfiguration: after McGonagall's demonstration and the insights from her notes, he had clearly identified the doorway. Putting it into practice, however, was still painstaking work.

Hermes Mulciber was the last to return.

He pushed the door open, trailing a chill from outside.

His first glance landed on the practicing Regulus. He also noted Avery's faintly territorial shushing gesture and Alex's tiptoeing deference.

A smirk — barely visible — ghosted across Hermes's lips.

He felt nothing but disdain for Avery's voluntary allegiance; it was beneath him.

Though he had lost to Regulus in the Head of First-Years duel and been stunned at how easily his immature Bone and Blood Separation was neutralized, fierce self-confidence still burned within him.

He considered himself in possession of many cards yet unplayed — those were his true strength.

At school, many of those methods simply couldn't be displayed.

But outside — in an unrestricted fight to the death — Hermes was certain that with the genuine Dark Arts passed down by his family, he would not lack for a chance to kill Regulus Black.

Family heirlooms and clandestinely acquired Dark spells cycled rapidly through his mind.

Shadow-Fang Binding — summoning tendrils of shadow spawned from creatures of darkness. They didn't merely restrain; they continuously siphoned life force and magic. The bound target would feel bone-piercing cold and soul-deep debilitation.

Echoing Agony — upon striking, it took every pain the victim subsequently endured — physical injury and psychological terror alike — amplified it, prolonged it, and set it reverberating endlessly within them, inducing cascading mental collapse and bodily loss of control. Most victims, unable to bear the compounding torment, ultimately took their own lives or went irrevocably mad.

Withering Breath — a vicious curse. The afflicted did not die immediately, but from the wound or point of magical contact, flesh and magic slowly withered like a dying plant, progressing toward necrosis. Exceptionally difficult to cure, the process was agonizingly prolonged and emitted an aura that caused surrounding vegetation to wilt as well.

Now these — these were the kind of power worth pursuing!

Swift. Lethal. Saturated with pain and terror — enough to make an enemy fear from the depths of their very soul.