After dinner, Regulus returned to his room.
He stood at the window, watching the London street outside dusted with a thin layer of snow.
Farther off, Muggle lights blurred into soft halos behind the snowfall. They looked almost dreamlike, and Regulus could feel the faint dividing line where that ordinary world met the invisible magical barriers around Grimmauld Place.
He thought of Walburga's expression at the table.
It wasn't that she lacked maternal affection. It was simply that it always came second to honor.
Her eyes always held that particular shine, something hot and stubborn that never truly cooled.
She'd praised him for the way he'd carried himself at the Malfoys' dinner, said he'd brought glory to House Black, said the other families now understood the Blacks had an heir with a dazzling future ahead of him.
Regulus dragged a finger across the cold glass and drew a smiley face.
He did understand Walburga, or rather, he understood people like her.
She didn't want her son to be happy and comfortable. What she wanted was for him to become the finest badge she could display in her social circle.
Family honor was her faith, and her children were offerings placed on its altar. The brighter the offering, the higher she believed it lifted her in the eyes of that faith.
A mother like that wasn't difficult to handle, though. You listened to what she said. You told her what she wanted to hear.
The important part wasn't how much truth he spoke.
It was whether his words made her believe, more deeply than ever, that she'd raised a son who could lead House Black back to its peak, or even beyond it.
If he gave her enough material to boast about, she'd sink into the glorious fantasy she'd woven for herself, satisfied, and she'd stop interfering with what he actually needed to do.
Regulus stepped away from the window and sat at his desk.
His Verdant Magic practice was finally settling into a steady rhythm.
Magical plants truly did carry natural tendencies in their magic, as instinctive as water flowing downhill or flame climbing upward. Wizards usually took those tendencies and turned them into drinkable potions through boiling, mixing, fermenting, and ritual.
Regulus skipped all of that and guided the raw magic itself.
The direction was right, but the efficiency was laughable. A whole dittany plant's magic could only heal a small cut, and growing a single dittany plant took a full three months.
Still, Eldrin's memories told him it wouldn't stay like this forever.
Once he could stir the life of an entire forest, draw on the surging power of a river, even touch the natural force hidden in storms and lightning, then it would become something truly worth devoting himself to.
Right now, he was still at the starting line. He only held a few seeds in his hands, but at least he knew where to plant them.
He leaned back in his chair and let his mind drift.
His current magic system felt like something assembled from spare parts. Star Guided Meditation laid the foundation, and everything else was stacked on top.
He could do a bit of everything, but nothing ran deep. Nothing, not yet, could become the kind of absolute power that decided a battle on its own.
When a wizard's strength was still developing, learning a handful of powerful spells really could boost combat ability quickly. A Disarming Charm could still drop plenty of people, and Protego could block most attacks.
But if he wanted to climb higher, spells alone wouldn't be enough. That was like building a tower out of sand. No matter how high you stacked it, it was still sand, and one wave could wash it away.
He thought of Dumbledore and Grindelwald. Neither of them had been powerful because of a single spell. They had their own understanding of magic, a complete system, and the ability to weave different branches together.
He wasn't sure whether Voldemort counted the same way. Dumbledore had said clearly that Voldemort had gone farther down the road of Dark magic than anyone, and that his understanding of death ran deeper than anyone else's.
But Voldemort did love to open with the Killing Curse, and he rarely relied on much else.
Harry Potter's habit of winning everything with a Disarming Charm didn't count. That was just ridiculous.
Regulus brought his thoughts back and kept going.
He was still in a rapid growth phase. His talent meant his ceiling was high, and aside from magic that required a specific gift, he had almost no obvious weaknesses.
So until he found his true core path, developing broadly was the best answer.
Space magic was a good direction, and Apparition was the first step into that field.
In the original course at Hogwarts, Apparition was taught in sixth year, and you had to pass a Ministry of Magic test to use it legally.
That, in itself, was interesting. Space magic should've been high-level power, yet it had become something students could learn.
The most likely reason was that Apparition's principle was relatively straightforward. You moved your wand, fixed your destination, held your will steady, kept your intent clear, and you could tear space and relocate.
For Regulus, those conditions were already met. Learning it shouldn't be difficult.
More importantly, Apparition would let him brush against the nature of space itself, laying groundwork for exploring more complex spatial magic later.
He needed the skill, not only for mobility, but for understanding the rules of space, the same way Verdant Magic helped him understand the nature of natural magic.
He stood, straightened his robe sleeves, and left his room.
Orion was in his study, working through a backlog of Wizengamot documents. His quill scratched softly across parchment as he marked a clause without even glancing up.
When Regulus knocked, Orion said, "Come in," and kept writing.
Regulus stepped inside and stopped in front of the desk.
Orion finished the last few words, set the quill down, and leaned back in his high-backed chair, looking at his son and waiting.
"I want to learn Apparition," Regulus said plainly. "I need you to supervise."
He wasn't terrified of splinching, but he wasn't reckless either. More than that, the house had anti-Apparition wards, and Orion would have to lift them.
Orion studied him for two seconds, then nodded. He closed the open file, stood, and said, "Training room."
The black iron door to the family training room opened slowly. Orion crossed to a rune array by the wall, raised his wand, and a streak of silver light flashed.
"The anti-Apparition charm is lifted," he said. "Only for this room. Don't try to jump outside."
The training room settled back into stillness. Regulus walked to the center, his wand sliding into his palm.
For no good reason, he suddenly thought about what this old house would become twenty years later.
The Weasley twins would turn this training room into their workshop, filling it with bizarre experiments and inventions, blasting the walls and floor into worse ruin than even Regulus's last duel with Orion had left behind.
By then, the Fidelius Charm would probably be the only thing still holding, assuming it hadn't been placed later. The other protections, including the anti-Apparition charm Orion had just lifted, would have long since failed.
Like the house itself had died, leaving only an empty shell. All the magic that once felt alive would have vanished with its masters.
Sirius… what a wasteful idiot.
Regulus pulled himself back and focused on the present.
Orion stood near the door, voice even as he laid out the rules. "Three things you must remember. Your destination must be clear, your will must be firm, and your intent must be sharp.
Miss any one of them and you can splinch. Best case, you leave behind a few hairs. Worst case, you leave behind an arm or a leg."
Regulus nodded, eyes settling on the stone platform in the far corner. That was his target.
He drew in a breath and held his wand level.
"Apparition!"
The squeeze hit instantly from every side.
That strange sensation of rubber tubing returned. The walls of the invisible tube pressed inward all at once.
The air was forced out of his lungs. His ribs creaked under the pressure. His vision dimmed, and a sharp ringing filled his ears.
Then, in the next heartbeat, it vanished.
He was standing beside the stone platform, wand still in hand.
Orion was watching him. His face stayed blank, but something like approval flickered in his eyes.
One try, one success. Of course.
Regulus stayed where he was, carefully replaying every sensation from that single moment.
This was different from side-along Apparition with Orion. Back then, Regulus had been a passenger, dragged along, forced to endure the squeeze and release with no control at all.
It was also different from Kreacher's space travel. A house-elf's magic felt like it had no process, like you blinked and the world changed around you.
This time, Regulus had been the one in control.
He'd felt space forced open by sheer power, a seam pried apart. He'd pushed into that seam and pushed out the other end.
Tearing space open and crawling through from one side to the other worked, but it was rough, blunt, and completely inelegant.
Orion walked over. "How does it feel?"
"Like getting stuffed into a pipe," Regulus said, rolling his shoulders as if to loosen his body. "And then having to shove myself out the other end."
"That's exactly it." A faint smile touched Orion's mouth. "Do it a few more times and you'll get used to it. Once you're used to it, it won't feel so awful."
Regulus didn't answer.
He lifted his left hand and slowly traced his fingertips through the air, as if drawing an invisible path.
Because in that instant…
He'd seen something.