Chapter 77: The Lively Regulus
This was a shared class between Slytherin and Hufflepuff, and before long students from both houses had gathered round to stare.
Avery sat beside Regulus with pride written all over his face.
Alex looked both startled and impressed, his eyes wide with wonder.
Hermes curled his lip, yet his gaze kept flicking back in spite of himself.
The Hufflepuffs wore more complicated expressions. Envy. Curiosity. Even a touch of longing.
Professor McGonagall walked over, and with a single glance she grasped the essence of it.
"This is not a magical creature," Professor McGonagall said, addressing the clustered young witches and wizards in a firm, serious tone.
"The Transfiguration of magical creatures concerns a far deeper level of change. It requires going a step beyond ordinary Transfiguration. That is an advanced field, and quite beyond your present level."
She examined the winged rabbit with care, and though her expression remained composed, a trace of admiration showed in her eyes.
"Mr. Black has merely altered the existing physiological structure of the rabbit," she continued.
"He has added organs for flight and adjusted the relevant muscles and bones. The Transfiguration itself is not especially advanced, but it demands a very deep understanding of the target form."
"You must know the normal structure of a rabbit, know how to modify it without destroying its overall balance, and know how to preserve vital function after the alteration."
Then she looked at Regulus.
"Very good Transfiguration. Precise control, a sensible structure, and a great deal of imagination. Ten points to Slytherin for a creative application of Transfiguration."
"Thank you, Professor," Regulus replied politely.
Professor McGonagall gave a short nod and moved off to guide the other students.
Yet the moment she turned away, a faintly puzzled expression crossed her face.
Black seemed... livelier.
Not in temperament, she thought. Not in that sense. It was something more subtle, almost as though his mind had grown more active in a different direction.
Last term, every question he asked had been solemn and technical, all of them concerning material Transfiguration. The discussion of graphite and diamond had left a particularly deep impression on her. It was a line of thought she herself had never once pursued.
Then, on the first day of this term, he had produced that utterly peculiar question about coelenterates. She could still picture Filius's face when he recounted it to her.
And now this winged rabbit.
Technically, it was excellent. Yet there was something playful about it, almost mischievous in its imagination.
Professor McGonagall could not decide whether that was good or bad.
But of one thing she was certain. Something had changed in Black over the holiday.
Perhaps an experience. Perhaps a particular piece of magic.
She could only hope it was change for the better.
Regulus, of course, had no idea Professor McGonagall had gone so far in her thoughts. He was simply trying to balance two modes of thinking: rational analysis and emotional creativity.
The rational part handled the rabbit's internal structure.
The creative part gave rise to the idea of a flying rabbit.
Then he combined the two and used them together in the Transfiguration.
The result was good.
Once he had fully digested Professor McGonagall's notebook, he intended to ask a more advanced question in order to gain higher level understanding of Transfiguration.
The earlier discussion about turning graphite into diamond had benefited him enormously. Next time, he ought to ask something deeper.
For instance, where exactly the limit of living Transfiguration lay.
Or where the boundary stood between Transfiguration and the creation of life.
Thoughts like these allowed his understanding of Transfiguration to deepen without pause.
And in the same way, they allowed his strength to continue growing.
The bell rang, and the students began packing up to leave.
Regulus turned the winged rabbit back into a handkerchief, folded it, and set it neatly back on the desk before heading toward the Slytherin common room with Avery and the others.
The corridors were full of movement. First years were still scrambling to find their next classroom, while older students gathered in little knots to talk. Portraits either dozed or gossiped in their frames, and the suits of armour stood silent in their alcoves.
As Regulus reached the corner of the staircase on the second floor, he felt something.
A subtle shift in space.
About ten metres behind him, the air gave an almost imperceptible ripple.
It was soft and natural, like the faint disturbance made when a drop of water merged with the surface of a pond.
He recognized it instantly.
A house elf.
There were more than a hundred house elves at Hogwarts, busy in the kitchens, the dormitories, and every unseen corner of the castle. They came and went freely, using that unique form of spatial magic. In itself, that was perfectly normal.
But as Regulus continued walking, the ripple continued as well.
It kept roughly ten metres behind him. It turned when he turned. It climbed the stairs when he climbed them. When he paused and bent as if to tie his shoelace, it stopped too.
Regulus understood at once.
It was surveillance.
But why observe him?
Several possibilities flashed through his mind.
Had something from Knockturn Alley during the holidays leaked out? The Cruciatus Curse?
Unlikely. In a place like Knockturn Alley, nobody cared if a few people died, and his father had already cleaned everything up.
Had it been the conversation at the Malfoy dinner?
Also unlikely. Those exchanges had been too vague and too lacking in substance to justify this sort of attention.
What, then, had he done?
Another possibility came to him.
This observation might have started last term.
After all, his performance at Hogwarts had been too conspicuous. Top of the year. Crushing a fifth year student. Holding discussions with professors on advanced topics. Any one of those might attract notice.
And within Hogwarts, who had both the greatest reason and the greatest ability to keep an eye on a gifted student?
Without question, Dumbledore.
Given the history between Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort, given Dumbledore's early interest in Tom Riddle and his later opposition to him, it made perfect sense that the headmaster would keep watch over unusually talented young wizards.
Not from malice.
From caution.
From a desire to prepare in advance.
Regulus did not mind.
If anything, it was useful.
Let them watch.
He had no intention of hiding very much in public, at least not the sort of things that mattered here.
In class, he was an excellent student. Diligent. Thoughtful. Hardworking.
In front of professors, he was polite, respectful, and eager to learn.
Among his peers, he kept his companions in check, prevented needless conflict, and helped maintain order inside Slytherin.
All of that could withstand scrutiny.
And in truth, this was less surveillance than observation.
Dumbledore wanted to know what sort of person he was, which road he would choose, and what kind of decisions he would make.
Very well, then.
Let him watch.
Watch him attend class seriously. Watch him study magic. Watch him maintain basic relationships with others.
Watch him grow as a gifted young wizard who might one day influence the shape of the wizarding world.
That was all acceptable.
But not the dormitory.
Regulus did not believe Dumbledore would push observation that far. The headmaster had limits, and he would not lightly violate the most basic private space of a student.
Besides, there were too many things in the dormitory that could not be seen.
His practice of Starry Sky Meditation.
His digestion of magical inheritances.
The dangerous knowledge he had learned from the Restricted Section.
His private notes and private thoughts.
None of that could be allowed before Dumbledore, though it would not matter much if his roommates saw fragments of it. They would not understand what they were looking at.
And that led his mind to a particular place.
The Room of Requirement.
He had known of its existence for a long time, but had never gone to it.
At first, he had no special need.
Second, he had not wanted to touch those hidden secrets too early.
Now, however, the time seemed right.
On Halloween night, the Bloody Baron had mentioned that Hogwarts concealed a place that could only be found by someone who truly understood the essence of magic.
Clues had been left there by Lady Ravenclaw, concerning wisdom, the soul, and the possibility of transcending life and death.
If it had anything to do with Lady Ravenclaw, then the Room of Requirement was very likely an entrance, or at least one of them.
Regulus had no intention, for now, of pursuing those clues. His present understanding of soul magic was nowhere near deep enough, let alone enough for anything concerning life and death.
More importantly, something else was hidden in the Room of Requirement.
Lord Voldemort's Horcrux. Ravenclaw's Diadem.
He had no wish to come into contact with that yet.
There was no need to seek anything, disturb anything, or provoke anything.
He required only one thing.
A perfectly private room in which to practise without interruption.
That would be enough. Just a room for magic. No more.
Regulus made his decision. He would go tonight.
By the time he reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, the faint spatial fluctuation disappeared.
The house elf had likely completed this stage of observation and gone back to report to Dumbledore.
Regulus entered the common room.
The fire was burning. In one corner, several seventh years were speaking in low voices. When they saw him come in, they gave him a brief nod of greeting.
Narcissa was not there. She was likely either in class or out on prefect duty.
Regulus returned to the dormitory and set down his books.
Hermes was already back. He sat on his bed reading an old volume with no title on the cover.
When Regulus came in, Hermes glanced up once, then lowered his head and continued reading.
Regulus noticed that the book in his hands carried a very faint, very peculiar magical fluctuation.
It felt like a curse.
And the material of the cover might well have been human skin.
He did not ask.
Everyone had secrets. So long as Hermes's secrets did not interfere with him, he did not care.
He remained in the dormitory for about half an hour. Once he was certain the house elf had not returned, he rose and headed for the Great Hall for dinner.
After that, he would spend some time reading in the library.
And once curfew drew near, he would go and see the Room of Requirement for himself.
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