Chapter 60: Reflections, and Apparition
After dinner, Regulus returned to his room. He stood at the window, gazing at the London streets draped in thin snow. Car tires grooved the slushy pavement in uneven tracks.
In the distance, Muggle lights blurred into hazy orbs behind the curtain of snow, forming a subtle borderline with the invisible magical barriers around Grimmauld Place.
He thought of Walburga's expression at the dinner table. Maternal love was not absent — it simply ranked forever behind glory.
Mother's eyes always burned with a particular light — something scorching and unyielding.
She had praised his performance at the Malfoy banquet, said he'd brought honor to the House of Black, said every family now knew the Blacks had an heir of limitless promise.
Regulus's finger traced a smiley face on the cold glass.
He actually understood Walburga — or, rather, he understood people like her.
What she wanted was never a son who lived happily and at ease. What she wanted was a son who served as her most impressive medal in social circles.
Family glory was the faith she lived by, and her children were the offerings she laid before that faith. The more dazzling the offering, the higher her standing in the faith's eyes.
But a mother like that was not hard to manage. Listen when she spoke; say whatever she wanted to hear. The point was never how much truth his words contained, but whether they convinced her she was raising a son who could restore the House of Black to its zenith — and beyond.
He only needed to give her enough material to boast about, and she would happily lose herself in the fantasy of glory she'd woven, ceasing to interfere with what he truly needed to do.
Regulus turned from the window and sat down at his desk.
Nature Magic practice was on track.
The magic in those plants did carry an innate tendency — as natural as water flowing downhill or fire climbing upward.
Wizards converted those tendencies through brewing, blending, fermenting, and ritual into drinkable potions. He bypassed all of that and guided the magic itself.
The direction was right, but the efficiency was laughable. One dittany plant's entire magical reserve could heal a single small cut — and growing a dittany took a full three months.
Yet Ancestor Eldrin's memories told him the road looked very different further along.
When one could harness the vitality of an entire forest, the surge of a whole river, even the primal power locked within storms and lightning — that was the direction truly worth pursuing.
He was still at the starting line, holding only a few seeds. But at least he knew where to sow them.
Regulus leaned back, letting his mind wander.
His current magical system resembled something assembled from spare parts — Star-Orbit Meditation as the foundation, everything else stacked on top.
He knew a bit of everything, but nothing deeply enough. Nothing yet constituted the absolute force that could change the course of a battle.
A wizard whose power was still modest could indeed boost short-term combat ability by mastering a handful of potent spells.
A Disarming Charm could still drop a crowd. A Shield Charm could block most attacks.
But to climb higher, spells alone wouldn't cut it. It was like building a tower from sand — however tall it grew, a single wave could sweep it away.
He thought of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Their greatness never lay in any single spell; it lay in their understanding of magic itself — complete systems, weaving different magic into a unified whole.
Whether Voldemort counted was debatable. Dumbledore had explicitly said he'd traveled farther down the path of the Dark Arts than anyone, understood death more deeply than anyone.
Yet Voldemort's opening move was invariably the Killing Curse; he rarely used anything else.
Harry Potter's Disarming-Charm-for-all-occasions definitely didn't count. That simply defied reason.
Regulus reined in his thoughts and continued to ponder.
He was still in a phase of rapid growth. Talent ensured his ceiling was high. Aside from magic requiring specific innate gifts, he had no glaring weaknesses.
So until he found his core path, broad development was the optimal strategy.
Spatial magic was a promising direction. And Apparition was the first step into that domain.
In canon, Apparition was a sixth-year course requiring a Ministry exam for legal use.
That was actually interesting — spatial magic ought to be high-end power, yet it was taught to students.
The reason, presumably, was that the underlying principle was relatively straightforward: wand out, target locked, will firm, intent clear — and one tore through space to complete the displacement.
For him, every prerequisite was already met. Learning it would be no challenge.
More importantly, Apparition would offer his first real contact with the essence of space — a foundation for exploring more complex spatial magic later.
He needed this skill. Not only for mobility, but for understanding the rules of space — just as Nature Magic had taught him the attributes of natural energy.
He stood, straightened his cuffs, and left the room.
Orion was in the study, working through a backlog of Wizengamot documents. His quill scratched softly across the parchment.
At the knock, he said "Come in" without looking up, his nib still marking a clause.
Regulus entered and stood before the desk.
Orion finished his last few words, set down the quill, and settled back into the high-backed chair, regarding his son. Waiting.
"I want to learn Apparition." Regulus stated his purpose directly: "I need you supervising."
Splinching was a concern — though not an overwhelming one. The main issue was the Anti-Apparition ward on the house, which required Orion to lift it.
Orion looked at him for two seconds, nodded, closed the file on the desk, and rose. "Training room."
The iron door to the family training room swung open. Orion crossed to the runic array in the corner and flicked his wand. Silver light flared.
"Anti-Apparition ward is down. Effective within this room only — don't try jumping beyond it."
The room had been restored. Regulus walked to the center and stood. His wand slid into his palm.
For an instant he pictured what this old house would look like twenty-odd years from now.
The Weasley twins would commandeer this training room as their workshop, test-detonating bizarre inventions, leaving walls and floor in worse shape than his duel with Orion had.
By then, probably only the Fidelius Charm — possibly cast later — would still function. The rest of the protective magic, including this very Anti-Apparition ward, would have long since failed.
As if the house itself had died, leaving nothing but a husk; the magic that once thrummed within it would have perished alongside its master.
Sirius — what a squanderer!
Regulus shook off the reverie and focused on the present.
Orion stood by the door, voice steady as he reviewed the essentials: "Three points you must remember: target clear, will firm, intent precise.
Fail any one and you risk Splinching — at best a few hairs left behind; at worst, limbs going their separate ways."
Regulus nodded. His eyes fixed on the stone dais in the far corner. That was the destination.
He drew a slow breath. Wand level.
"Apparition!"
Compression slammed him from every direction.
The rubber tube again — walls closing from all sides.
Air was wrung violently from his lungs. His ribs creaked faintly under the pressure. Vision went dark; a shrill buzz filled his ears.
The next instant, the pressure vanished entirely.
He stood beside the stone dais, wand still in hand. Orion watched him — face impassive, but a glint of approval crossed his eyes.
Success on the first attempt. As expected.
Regulus stood still, carefully savoring every sensation from that split second.
This was different from Side-Along Apparition with Orion, where he'd been a passenger — passive, subjected to compression and release with zero control over the process.
It was also different from Kreacher's spatial transit. The house-elf's magic seemed to bypass the process entirely — one blink and you were somewhere else.
This time, he was the one driving.
He had felt space being forcibly pried open — a crack wrenched into existence — and he had squeezed through it, emerging from the other side.
Brute-force tearing through space, tunneling from one point to another. Effective, but crude, blunt, utterly inelegant.
Orion walked over from the doorway. "How does it feel?"
"Like being stuffed into a tube." Regulus worked some stiffness from his body. "And then having to force yourself out the other end."
"That's exactly what it is." A trace of a smile crossed Orion's face. "Practice a few more times and you'll get used to it. Once you're used to it, the discomfort fades."
Regulus didn't respond. He raised his left hand, fingertips tracing slowly through the air, as though mapping an invisible path.
In that split second, he had seen something.