That was the logic of it. Dumbledore had said it lightly, almost casually.
Regulus knew it wasn't that simple.
He replayed the scene in his mind. The white light passed through, and every face dissolved like frost beneath the sun.
Then he thought of himself, nearly drained dry just to hold the line.
The gap between them was so vast it was almost invisible.
But gaps could be closed.
"Macnair, Avery, and Mr. Rosier are all in the Hospital Wing," Dumbledore said, shifting the subject. He looked down at Regulus, his expression gentle.
"Macnair was injured and requires treatment. He will remember only that tonight's operation ended in complete failure, nothing more.
Avery and Rosier arrived safely. They were frightened, but Madam Pomfrey assures me a night's rest will suffice."
Then he asked, "Would you like to visit them?"
Regulus shook his head. The exhaustion was bone-deep, especially in his mind. "No. I'd like to return to my dormitory and rest."
He did not ask what would become of Macnair.
He did not ask about the truth behind Hermes's curse.
He would wait for Hermes to speak for himself.
"As you wish." Dumbledore did not insist. There was only understanding in his eyes.
"Saturday morning at ten. If you are available, perhaps we might speak further in my office."
He blinked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I happen to keep an excellent Ceylon tea. Quite worth the visit."
"I'd be delighted, Headmaster," Regulus replied with a nod.
Dumbledore extended an arm, inviting him to take hold. "Allow me to send you back. It will save you some time."
Regulus hesitated for half a second, then reached out and grasped the headmaster's sleeve.
In the next instant, space rippled violently around him.
Yet it felt nothing like Apparition's suffocating compression. Nor did it resemble the slipping sensation of Space Warp.
It was as though he had been wrapped in a thin, warm membrane. The space around him twisted, folded inward, and then exchanged places.
The corridor stretched like a canvas being pulled taut, and in the blink of an eye, it became the Slytherin Common Room.
The entire process flowed as naturally as breathing. No dizziness. No discomfort.
Dumbledore did not appear with him.
Regulus stood still for a moment.
Was that high-level spatial magic mastered by Dumbledore himself? Or some special privilege granted by Hogwarts to its headmaster?
Had the display been deliberate, or merely convenient?
Perhaps both.
Dumbledore had likely noticed his interest in spatial magic. This might have been a subtle hint.
The common room was quiet. The embers in the fireplace still gave off a faint warmth.
Regulus sat down on a sofa and replayed the night's events.
It had been reckless.
He had followed only Hermes's clue and Darren's suspicious behavior, then led Cuthbert and Alex straight into the passage.
He had not fully understood the danger beyond the stone door. He had not anticipated that the Resentment Plague Wand would be so far beyond expectation.
More than that, he had not expected Darren to be so impatient, to act without even mastering a method to suppress the wand. That miscalculation had disrupted his original plan entirely.
Next time, if anything similar occurred, he would gather sufficient information first. He would prepare thoroughly.
He would not rush in blind again.
Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind.
Only a beam of light, carrying a touch of light within it.
It reminded him of an idea that had once flashed through his thoughts. Light was not only illumination. It could transmit signals.
And as Dumbledore had implied, it could carry something more.
Light was light. But clearly he meant something aligned with positive magic.
Regulus's thoughts instinctively turned another way.
If light could carry light, could it not carry darkness as well?
Black light was still light.
Light cut through darkness. Darkness swallowed light.
That line of research deserved deeper exploration.
Then there was Dumbledore's conduct tonight. Watching from start to finish. Intervening only at the last moment.
Regulus gave a faint shake of his head.
That matched his impression of the headmaster.
What he had revealed was not much, but it was significant. That was on him. He had not been prepared enough.
Still, what had Dumbledore seen?
Covering his companions' retreat.
The Patronus.
It all aligned neatly with the headmaster's preferences.
If the Starlight Kite had arrived one second later, Dumbledore would have witnessed Fiendfyre.
The corner of Regulus's mouth twitched faintly.
He had imagined that his first serious conversation with the headmaster would take place before the Mirror of Erised, that mirror capable of revealing one's deepest desire.
He had not expected it to follow a crisis like this, unfolding in such a measured, peaceful manner.
But perhaps this was better.
The fatigue crashed over him like a rising tide.
He rose, returned to his dormitory, shrugged off his robes and tossed them onto a chair, then fell straight into bed.
Within minutes, his breathing evened out.
---
At dawn, the dormitory door opened quietly. Cuthbert and Alex returned.
They paused when they saw Regulus asleep, then moved carefully toward him.
Even so, the faint sound of their steps roused him. His eyes opened slowly.
"Are you all right?" Cuthbert leaned in at the bedside, his voice low and subdued.
Alex stood beside him. The usual timidity in his posture had softened. "Thank you, Regulus."
"I'm fine." Regulus sat up. "Just tired."
He looked at Alex, his tone gentle. "No need to thank me."
Then he glanced at Cuthbert. "I brought you with me. It was my responsibility to make sure you came back safely."
He could see it clearly.
The gratitude in Alex's eyes was sincere.
Cuthbert had volunteered from the start. He had been eager.
Alex had not. He had followed passively.
But now, there was no ulterior motive in him.
"The headmaster has handled it. There won't be any more danger," Regulus said as he rose from the bed. His voice was calm. "Macnair is being treated in the Hospital Wing. This matter ends here."
He added, "Don't speak of it."
Though he said it that way, he knew it was not truly over.
But what remained was no longer his concern.
It was Dumbledore's.
After all, he was the headmaster.
If someone caused trouble within Hogwarts and the headmaster did nothing, that would raise questions. Especially at a time like this. Failure to act could be perceived as weakness.
Unless Dumbledore had other plans.
Cuthbert and Alex exchanged a look and nodded. Neither pressed further.
After what they had experienced, their trust in Regulus had deepened. If he said it was over, they believed him.
Yet while the crisis had ended, something else had shifted.
Regulus could see it.
Cuthbert had shed some of his impatience. There was steadiness in him now.
Alex had cast off much of his timidity. There was resolve where hesitation once lingered.
And when they looked at Regulus, beyond trust, there was a quiet sense of belonging.
"Let's go. Breakfast," Regulus said, stepping toward the Great Hall.
They followed at once, their strides light and even.
He had not fully recovered. His mind still carried traces of fatigue. But his magic had replenished.
Classes proceeded as usual through the morning.
After Charms that afternoon, Regulus headed straight for the library.
Last night had sparked something.
He had developed a genuine interest in wands.
He had never cared much before. His wand functioned well enough without him putting much thought into it.
When Ollivander had sold it to him, the wandmaker had spoken at length.
Blackthorn wood. Dragon Heartstring core. Twelve and one-quarter inches. Reasonably supple.
Symbolic of strength, explosive force, courage. Suited for powerful spellcasting. Best matched to a wizard with abundant magic and a willingness to take risks.
Compatible with both dark and light magic. Its bond with its owner would deepen over time.
Ollivander had even remarked that he would accomplish great things.
Standard configuration. Nothing extraordinary.
At the time, Regulus had thought a wand was merely a tool. As long as it worked, that was enough.
Now he had changed his mind.
The Resentment Plague Wand had overturned his understanding entirely.
A wand was not merely a conduit for spells. It could be a vessel. A carrier of curses. The crystallization of a dark craft.
He wanted to know more.
In the deeper section of the library, along the shelves dedicated to Charms and wandlore, several rows were filled with books on wands.
Regulus scanned the titles.
On the Origins of Wandcraft.
The Resonance Between Wood and Core.
Biographies of Renowned Wandmakers.
He pulled out Non-Traditional Wands and Their Dangers. The book was of moderate thickness, bound in dark brown leather.
Carrying it to a seat by the window, he sat down and opened to the table of contents.
Chapter One defined what "non-traditional" meant. Any method of wandmaking that deviated from Ollivander's established system fell under that category.
Chapter Two outlined the risks.
Chapter Three began sorting them into distinct types.
Regulus flipped ahead.
The title at the top of the page read: Emotion-Infused Wands.
He leaned back slightly, the library window at his side casting pale afternoon light across the paper, and began to read.
The text stated:
"…Wands of this category are not founded upon the natural magical resonance between wood and core. Instead, they are forged by forcibly infusing intense emotion into the body of the wand itself, transforming it into a sustained source of emotional influence.
The crafting process commonly involves Dark Magic. Under specific conditions, emotion must be extracted and sealed within the wand. The preservation stage is often accompanied by the sacrifice of life…"