Regulus suddenly thought of Snape.
Snape's Patronus had to be something he kept hidden. Otherwise, he never could've used it to guide Harry Potter to the Sword of Gryffindor.
That had been for destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes. If Snape's Patronus had been exposed early on, and even one person from the "hero" side got caught… Snape would've been finished.
Orion's tone shifted as he went on. "Of course, if you truly need to use it, then you use it."
"You can't put yourself in danger just to look weak," he added. "But there's one thing. If you do cast it, you should hide the… unusual parts."
He pointed at the Starlight Kite. "Make it look like a normal bird of prey. It's close enough already. Keep the wings a bit tighter. Let the starlight fade. Darken the eyes.
An eagle works too. Wisdom and strength. Suits you. Most people won't be able to tell the difference."
Regulus focused inward for a moment, testing it, and realized Orion was right.
A Patronus's core form was fixed, but details could be adjusted. The intensity of the glow could be controlled. Making the Starlight Kite resemble a silver-white eagle was entirely doable.
"I understand." Regulus nodded, serious as he promised it.
Orion let out a quiet breath of relief. He trusted his son's judgment.
Regulus turned his attention back to the Starlight Kite, studying the silver bird hovering near him, and another thought slid into place.
Maybe he simply wasn't meant to become an Animagus.
An Animagus form often matched a wizard's Patronus, or at least came close.
His Patronus was the Starlight Kite, a legendary magical creature. There was no world where he was turning into that.
Which meant that if he ever learned the transformation, he'd either fail… or end up as something else entirely.
But once the thought settled, he found he didn't care as much as he expected.
Being an Animagus was useful, yes, but it wasn't necessary. With a Patronus, a lot of those functions could be replaced.
And a Patronus was pure, concentrated positive energy. It didn't come with the risk of animal instinct bleeding into your mind the way an Animagus form could.
On top of that, the training took a ridiculous amount of time, and the uncertainty was brutal. It depended too much on weather and luck, and if you made one mistake, you could end up back at the beginning.
Besides… what was so amazing about turning into an animal anyway? If he really wanted a different body, why wouldn't he just pursue human transfiguration?
Animagus training.
He could live without it.
Regulus flicked his wand gently. The Starlight Kite scattered into silver motes and vanished, leaving the air faintly warm, like starlight lingering on skin.
He held on to what he'd felt today. The quiet ache of watching the sunset from the cliff. The way his magic had flowed, bright and eager, following his emotions. The deep, soul-level resonance when he'd called the Patronus into being.
None of it changed his path. He'd still calculate. Still plan carefully. Still treat power as the foundation of everything.
But something was different anyway.
Magic wasn't only a tool.
It was part of him.
The world was worth looking at, worth experiencing. And he, too, was a living person. He could be moved. He could yearn. He could feel real joy at beautiful things.
That was… good.
They returned to 12 Grimmauld Place by Portkey.
The old teapot lid yanked them through a whirl of color and noise, then dropped them into the entrance hall of the Black townhouse. Kreacher was already waiting, holding hot towels and steaming tea.
"Welcome back, Master. Welcome back, Young Master."
Orion took a towel and wiped his face, then looked at Regulus. "Tomorrow is the last day. We'll go to Knockturn Alley to collect what's owed. Get to bed early tonight."
Regulus nodded and went upstairs to his room.
He stood by the window, looking out at London's nightscape. Compared to the raw sweep of the Irish coast, it was almost plain.
And yet, what had happened today felt like the first streak of color painted into a world that had always been black, white, and gray.
It was only a light brush, but it was enough.
The world was big. The world was beautiful. It was worth seeing.
And he had time. He had resolve.
He would climb high enough to see it all.
---
On the last day of Christmas break, with the holiday warmth reduced to the faintest aftertaste, Orion brought Regulus to the entrance of Knockturn Alley.
Unlike the clean brick wall that hid Diagon Alley, the way into Knockturn Alley was wedged between two leaning buildings, as if the city itself wanted to squeeze it shut.
The walls were stained a dark brown with grime Regulus didn't want to think about. The air carried a sour blend of rot, mold, and something sharper, chemical enough to burn the throat.
Regulus followed his father into the passage, and the light died almost instantly.
The walls on either side were slick with damp. He didn't need to touch them to know they'd feel sticky.
A few battered oil lamps hung overhead, their flames jumping behind dirty glass, casting a sickly green glow that stretched shadows long and warped.
The ground was uneven, littered with puddles of different depths. An oily rainbow film floated on the surface like spilled poison.
After twenty steps or so, the corridor opened up, and Knockturn Alley revealed itself.
It was a completely different world from Diagon Alley, like stepping from something civilized into something rotting and lawless.
Buildings leaned toward each other on both sides, cramped and crooked, their walls crawling with dark moss.
Most windows were nailed shut with boards. Behind the few panes of intact glass, heavy black curtains hung, hiding whatever was inside.
The alley itself was narrow, barely wide enough for two carriages side by side, and the street was choked with junk.
Broken crates.
Torn sacks.
Rusted metal barrels.
Even a few animal skeletons, so picked clean Regulus couldn't tell what they'd once been.
There weren't many people, but the ones there kept their heads down. Everyone was wrapped in dark robes, hoods pulled low, moving fast and keeping close to the walls, avoiding eye contact like it was a curse.
In a place like this, Regulus's gift for sensing magic sharpened until it felt like a blade.
He could feel the magic rolling off the shops and the passersby.
Most of it was murky and chaotic, threaded through with scraps of bad emotion.
It was almost absurd.
You could read all the descriptions you wanted about illicit trades and dark artifacts, but none of them did this justice. Every brick, every breath of air, every corner felt soaked in disorder and decay.
The only rule here was power.
The strong spoke. The weak disappeared.
If someone died in Knockturn Alley, their body would probably be dragged away immediately and put to use.
No one would ask questions. No one would care. Like a fox taking a rabbit in the woods. Just nature.
And the truly ridiculous part was that all of this was illegal under British wizarding law.
Everyone knew Knockturn Alley was illegal.
The Ministry of Magic knew. The Wizengamot knew.
Even Muggle families with a magical child probably heard about it through whispered stories. A horrible place beside Diagon Alley.
And yet it still existed. It had existed for centuries. It was still here.
The Ministry, or rather the upper levels of wizarding society as a whole, acted as if it was simply… accepted.
They preached the sanctity of law and order, and then left a huge lawless pit right beside the biggest shopping district in the country.
The statutes were written in ink. Clear as day. What was allowed. What wasn't.
But Knockturn Alley sat here anyway, an open secret, a lie everyone knew was a lie and no one bothered to challenge.
A thought flashed through Regulus's mind.
This was probably politics.
The law's "meaning" seemed to be nothing more than a declaration: everything here is illegal. And that was all.
Declaring was one thing. Enforcing was another.
Regulus wasn't naïve. Knockturn Alley existed because it had value.
Pure-blood families needed a place to handle business that couldn't survive the light. Dark wizards needed resources and information.
The Ministry needed somewhere to shove the people and objects that were difficult to control. Pack it all into Knockturn Alley, and as long as you didn't look too closely, you could pretend it wasn't your problem.
Britain had always been… Britain.
But none of that really mattered to Regulus.
As a wizard, as the heir to the House of Black, he would need Knockturn Alley too.
Or rather, everyone needed it.
Pure-bloods did. Half-bloods did. The Ministry did. Even the so-called righteous light wizards probably did, sooner or later.
There had to be somewhere for inconvenient things to be dealt with.
This was another ecosystem of the wizarding world. The other face of order.
Light and darkness were never cleanly separated. Most of the time, they fed into each other, tangled together until you couldn't fully tell where one ended and the other began.
Knockturn Alley was Diagon Alley's shadow. Without shadows, light didn't mean anything.
In the end, maybe the simplest truth was this: if it exists, there's a reason.
Orion stopped, then leaned slightly toward Regulus and spoke in a low voice. "While we're here, only look. Don't talk. Don't touch anything.
Every object you see could have a curse on it. Every patch of ground you walk over could be trapped. Every person you meet could be carrying malice."
His voice stayed calm as he emphasized, "Knockturn Alley is the back of order. There's only one rule here. Stay alive. Everything else is nonsense."
Regulus nodded.