Chapter 77: A Livelier Regulus
This class was Slytherin-Hufflepuff shared, so students from both Houses crowded around to watch.
Avery sat beside Regulus, face beaming with vicarious pride.
Alex was stunned and admiring, eyes wide.
Hermes curled his lip — but his gaze kept sliding over.
Several Hufflepuff students wore complicated expressions: envy, curiosity, and something approaching covetousness.
Professor McGonagall walked over. A single glance told her everything.
"This is not a magical creature." McGonagall spoke with weight, addressing all the young wizards.
"Transfiguring a magical creature involves the deepest level of transformation — a step beyond standard Transfiguration. That is a profoundly advanced domain, well beyond your current abilities."
She studied the winged rabbit, a flicker of approval in her gaze.
"Mister Black has simply altered this rabbit's existing physiology." McGonagall continued. "Added flight organs, adjusted the relevant musculature and bone structure. The Transfiguration itself isn't particularly advanced — but it requires very thorough knowledge of the target form.
Knowing the rabbit's normal anatomy. Knowing how to modify it without breaking overall balance. Knowing how to sustain biological function after the modification."
She looked at Regulus. "An excellent piece of Transfiguration. Precise control, sound structure, full of imagination. Ten points to Slytherin — for creative Transfiguration."
"Thank you, Professor." Regulus replied politely.
McGonagall nodded and turned to guide other students.
But in the instant she turned, a fleeting expression crossed her face — something close to puzzlement.
She had the vague sense that this Black boy had become... livelier.
Not in temperament, McGonagall thought. Perhaps liveliness of mind.
Last term, his questions had concerned serious matters of material transformation — those two diamonds and the graphite had left a deep impression; it was a direction even she had never pursued.
This term, on day one, he'd first asked that bizarre question about cnidarians — she still vividly recalled Filius's expression when he relayed it.
Now this winged rabbit. Technically impeccable, yet suffused with... a sense of play?
McGonagall wasn't sure whether that was good or bad.
But she was sure of one thing: over the holiday, something had changed in Black.
Perhaps an experience. Perhaps a spell.
She could only hope it was for the good.
Regulus had no idea McGonagall was thinking so much. He was simply enacting his philosophy in practice — rational analysis and creative intuition side by side.
Rational analysis of the rabbit's physiology. Creative intuition to conceive the fun idea of a flying rabbit.
Then the two combined to produce the Transfiguration.
The result was satisfying.
He planned to ask an advanced question once McGonagall's notes had been fully digested — to extract more high-level Transfiguration knowledge.
The graphite-to-diamond discussion last term had been enormously rewarding. Next time, something deeper.
For instance: where did the limits of living-body Transfiguration lie? Where was the boundary between Transfiguration and the creation of life?
These inquiries kept deepening his grasp of Transfiguration.
And kept his strength on a steady climb.
The bell rang. Students packed up and filed out.
Regulus reverted the winged rabbit into a handkerchief, folded it, set it on the desk, then followed Avery and the others toward the Slytherin common room.
The corridors bustled. First-years rushed about in search of their next classroom; upperclassmen clustered in twos and threes, chatting.
Portraits dozed or gossiped within their frames. Suits of armor stood motionless in their niches.
At the second-floor staircase landing, Regulus sensed something.
A subtle perception — a spatial shift.
Roughly ten meters behind him, the air produced the faintest ripple — almost imperceptible.
Soft. Natural. A spatial fluctuation like a droplet merging into still water.
He identified it instantly: a house-elf.
Hogwarts had over a hundred house-elves — working in the kitchens, cleaning dormitories, performing chores throughout the castle.
They came and went freely, using their unique spatial magic to Apparate at will. Perfectly normal.
But as Regulus walked on, the spatial ripple followed.
Maintaining roughly ten meters' distance. When he turned a corner, it turned a corner. When he climbed stairs, it climbed stairs. When he stopped to pretend to tie a shoe, it halted too.
He understood. Surveillance.
But why surveil him?
Possibilities flickered through Regulus's mind.
Had the Knockturn Alley incident leaked? The Cruciatus Curse?
Unlikely. A few deaths in Knockturn Alley drew no attention, and his father had cleaned up thoroughly.
Talk at the Malfoy banquet?
Those conversations had been veiled, devoid of substance — hardly enough to warrant surveillance.
What else have I done?
Then another possibility hit him: this surveillance might have been in place since last term.
Last term he'd been conspicuously outstanding — Head of House, outperforming fifth-years, debating advanced topics with professors. All of which could have attracted notice.
And at Hogwarts, who was most likely — and most justified — to keep tabs on a talented student?
Dumbledore, without question.
Recalling Dumbledore's history with Voldemort — the early attention he'd paid Tom Riddle, the later confrontation.
It made perfect sense that the headmaster would maintain observation of a young wizard displaying exceptional gifts.
Not out of malice. More a form of precaution — a preemptive strategy.
Regulus was unbothered. This might even be advantageous.
Let him watch. Regulus had never intended to hide too much — at least not in public.
In the classroom: an outstanding student — diligent, inquisitive, thoughtful.
Before professors: courteous, deferential, eager to learn.
Among peers: disciplining companions, preventing conflicts, maintaining internal Slytherin order.
All of that withstood scrutiny.
Besides, surveillance was perhaps too strong a word — observation fit better.
Dumbledore wanted to see what kind of person he was, what path he'd walk, what choices he'd make.
Then let him see. See Regulus attending class diligently, studying magic, maintaining basic social relationships.
See a normal, talented young wizard — one who might someday influence the wizarding world's balance — and how he grew.
All of that was fine. But the dormitory was off-limits.
Regulus trusted Dumbledore wouldn't push surveillance that far.
The headmaster had lines. He wouldn't violate a student's most basic privacy.
And the dormitory held too many things that must not be seen: star-orbit meditation practice, legacy digestion, dangerous knowledge from the Restricted Section, his own notes and reflections.
None of those could reach Dumbledore's eyes. Roommates glimpsing something was harmless — they wouldn't understand.
Then another place came to mind: the Room of Requirement.
He'd known about the room for a long time but had never gone.
First, no pressing need. Second, he hadn't wanted to engage with those secrets too early. Now, though, the time was right.
On Halloween night, the Bloody Baron had mentioned that Hogwarts concealed a place only someone who truly understood the essence of magic could find.
Clues left by the Lady Ravenclaw — concerning wisdom, the soul, the possibility of transcending life and death.
If it related to Ravenclaw's Lady, the Room of Requirement was very likely one of the entrances.
But Regulus had no rush to chase those clues. His understanding of soul magic was still too shallow, let alone transcending mortality.
And the Room held other things — Voldemort's Horcrux: Ravenclaw's Diadem.
He didn't want to touch that. Not yet.
For now, the Room of Requirement served one simple need: an absolutely private space, undisturbed by anyone, for practice.
Regulus didn't want to hide anything. Didn't want to find anything. He just needed space.
That would be enough. It wouldn't disturb the Horcrux — just an ordinary room for practicing magic.
His mind was made up. Tonight.
Reaching the Slytherin common room entrance, the spatial ripple vanished.
The house-elf had presumably completed this phase of observation and gone to report to Dumbledore.
Regulus entered the common room. The hearth crackled. A few seventh-years conferred in low tones in a corner; seeing the newcomers, they nodded in greeting.
Narcissa wasn't there — probably in class or on prefect patrol.
He returned to the dormitory and set down his books.
Hermes was already back, sitting on his bed reading a battered volume with no title on the cover.
Spotting Regulus, he looked up briefly, then returned to his reading.
Regulus noticed the book in Hermes's hands gave off a faint but distinctive magic.
Curse-like. And the material — possibly human skin.
He didn't ask. Everyone had secrets. As long as Hermes's secrets didn't affect him, he didn't care.
He stayed in the dormitory for about half an hour, confirmed the house-elf hadn't reappeared, then went to the Great Hall for dinner.
After eating: the library for some reading. Around curfew: the Room of Requirement.