Regulus walked to the corner of the training room. A few objects were laid out there: a palm-sized stone, a glass bottle, and an old key.
They were props for practicing the Space Anchor Charm.
He had fully digested the inherited knowledge. He understood the principles now, truly understood them, and had built a complete framework in his mind.
Regulus closed his eyes and let his awareness sink inward.
In that inner space, he had constructed something like a library catalog. Each category of knowledge had its own section. Every "book" had its place.
Verdant Magic occupied one wing.
Spatial magic another.
Transfiguration theory had its own shelves.
Dark magic was separate.
Standard spells had their own orderly rows.
Cross-references connected them. There were pathways linking related concepts.
It was not some mystical memory palace. It was simple information management.
Organize the chaos. Sort it. Connect it. Make retrieval effortless.
Like a potions cabinet. Every ingredient stored in its assigned compartment. When needed, you reached for it directly instead of rummaging through clutter.
The system required upkeep. New knowledge had to be categorized, linked, woven into the existing structure. Updates meant revisions across connected fields.
But it was efficient.
Before, recalling a spell's detail meant searching through memory.
Now, he only had to focus on the right section. The information surfaced instantly.
Regulus opened his eyes and raised his wand.
"Space Anchor Charm."
Magic flowed from the tip, tightening into focus. Half a meter in front of him, the air condensed into an invisible point.
The anchor formed.
It could not be seen, but it could be felt. The spatial structure at that point had been nailed in place, unnaturally stable.
He cast Wingardium Leviosa toward the anchored space.
The spell worked, but its effect dulled. The quill rose one-third slower than usual, and when it drifted near the anchor, it trembled faintly.
It worked.
The anchor interfered with spatial structure. It indirectly affected any magic that relied on spatial stability. Apparition, Portkeys, even the transmission path of ordinary spells would be disrupted if they passed through the anchor's range.
But maintaining it required constant magic.
Right now, he could sustain three at most, each for ten minutes.
In real combat, he would have to choose. Spend magic maintaining anchors, or unleash offensive spells directly.
Either way, he needed more practice.
He dismissed the anchor and moved to the training dummy.
Star Guided Meditation began to turn. Four stars lit within his awareness. He felt the starlight that had traveled billions of years through cold emptiness. He sensed the slow drift of constellations across the universe. The vastness, and his own smallness within it.
Then he cast, "Incendio."
His wrist turned slightly, wand tracing an arc. In his mind, he pictured a supernova. The final blaze at the end of a star's life. An instant releasing more energy than its entire lifetime combined.
Flames burst from the wand tip.
They were no longer the usual orange-red. They burned white, incandescent and searing, hissing as they tore through the air.
The fire did not stream forward in a steady jet. It detonated outward.
It struck the dummy.
The leather surface carbonized instantly, blackened but never truly ignited. The heat was too extreme. It burned straight through.
A fist-sized hole opened in the dummy's chest. The edges were clean. The wood inside had already turned to ash. The air in the room grew stifling.
The magic cost was triple that of a standard Fire Spell.
Regulus lowered his wand and studied the hole.
The power was astonishing.
The cost was worse.
Three times the expenditure, far greater than Protego.
It required deep meditation to prepare. In real combat, he would rarely have the chance to use it.
But it was possible.
When emotion and imagery intertwined with structured spellwork, mutation occurred.
He just needed balance. A balance between power and cost. Between the depth of imagery and the speed of invocation.
He sat down and began to think.
He thought about the inherited magic he had just absorbed.
The memories within the crystal spheres were not simple knowledge transfer. They carried ancestral insight, experience, even traces of soul imprints.
That required extraordinary magical mastery and strength of soul. The ancestor who created a legacy had to refine a lifetime of learning into its purest essence, seal it into crystal, and ensure the recipient could safely receive it.
Not every family could accomplish that.
The Blacks were ancient, with deep foundations. Only that was why several inheritances remained.
Other families might have them. Or they might not. Even if they did, such things would be the highest secrets, never spoken of.
He himself had not known his family possessed inherited magic until he was told.
To obtain another family's inheritance was nearly impossible.
Unless the family fell. Or the inheritance was lost. Or it was taken by force.
Voldemort could certainly do it. With his power, forcing a family to surrender its inheritance would hardly be difficult.
A thought flickered through Regulus's mind.
If one day he needed knowledge from another family's inheritance, what would he do?
Coerce them? Tempt them? Negotiate?
Or wait for them to offer it willingly?
He did not know.
But for now, his paths to power were abundant.
The Black family inheritance. The Hogwarts library. Guidance from professors. His own research and practice.
Then another thought came to him.
What could he leave behind for the House of Black?
Regulus rose and walked toward the door.
It was still early. He was only twelve. His magical journey had barely begun.
One day, when he was truly powerful, when he had developed his own understanding and creations, perhaps he too would leave an inheritance.
Perhaps he would not repeat the path of his ancestors.
Perhaps he would carve a new one.
He pushed the door open. The walls of the Room of Requirement sealed behind him.
The corridor lay empty. The castle slept.
The feeling of having fully digested the inheritance was unmistakable. It was like setting down a heavy burden he had carried for too long. His mind felt lighter and sharper.
The knowledge that had once been forced into him now belonged to him.
He could call on it freely. Reflect on it deeply. Extend it. Create from it.
He suspected his father had received an inheritance as well.
As head of the Black family, Orion Black would not be ignorant of such things.
But what exactly it was, whether he truly had, his father had never said. Regulus had never asked. In time, he would know.
---
Late in January, deep night.
In the training room of the Room of Requirement, Regulus sat cross-legged at the center of the floor and closed his eyes.
Star Guided Meditation turned.
Orion spread across his awareness.
The three belt stars, Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka, shone steadily, forming the framework.
Betelgeuse burned at the upper left, red light fluctuating, brightening and dimming, representing change and eruption.
The four-star system circulated smoothly. Magic cycled along the stellar paths. With each revolution, his body was tempered a fraction. His mind strengthened a degree. His total magic increased, imperceptibly but steadily.
Now he would attempt to ignite the fifth star for the second time.
Bellatrix.
Orion's left shoulder. Blue-white. In the star chart, it symbolized the warrior, the guardian, the boundary.
Regulus focused. In his awareness, he constructed a model of Bellatrix: its position, its brightness, its relationship to the other four stars, its orbital trajectory.
The model formed successfully.
But ignition failed again.
The second failure felt clearer than the first.
His magic was sufficient. His mind was steady.
But something did not align.
Bellatrix's symbolic meaning did not match his current state of mind. That star required the will to guard. The resolve to stand firm for something, or someone.
What did he guard?
The answer came immediately.
He guarded himself. His magical path. His family's interests.
But those were benefits, not belief.
Bellatrix demanded something different.
A conviction-level defense. The choice to stand firm even when the cost exceeded the gain.
Regulus could not do that.
Not yet.
He stopped trying and instead recalled how he had ignited Betelgeuse.
Back then, he had not thought deeply about astronomy. He only knew it was a red supergiant, a variable star, destined to explode. It represented instability, but tremendous power.
At the time, irritation and aggression had churned within him. Pressure from Bella's letters. Residual emotion after battle. That unstable yet potent state resonated with Betelgeuse, and ignition had followed.
But after summoning a Patronus during the holiday, after experiencing the power of the mind's light, after Professor Flitwick guided him to accept magic's irrational side…
Perhaps he had been approaching this wrong.
Igniting a star was not about building a model and pouring magic into it.
It was about finding resonance between inner state and symbolic meaning.
Understanding this, Regulus relaxed. He stopped forcing Bellatrix's model into place.
He sensed Orion as a whole instead. The steady belt. The eruption of Betelgeuse.
And the empty left shoulder.
There should be a star there. One that bore defensive responsibility. The shield of the constellation.
He imagined what that star should feel like.
A concrete vow of protection?
No.
Something more abstract.
The posture of standing one's ground.
Like a castle wall. Like a boundary stone at the edge of a nation. Like the sky itself, never striking first, but anything that trespassed would meet an invisible barrier.
As the image deepened, it resonated with something buried in the furthest reaches of his heart.