Four months later, March 1964.
Walburga hosted a tea party. Nominally a spring gathering for the ladies, it was, in reality, a chance for Walburga to showcase her sons' growth to her sisters.
Thirteen-year-old Bellatrix arrived first. She wore a dark green velvet dress, her hair combed meticulously into place, her eyes critical as if scanning everyone for flaws.
"I heard you blew up the drawing room," she said, walking straight up to Sirius.
Sirius lifted his chin. "I can control my magic now!"
Nine-year-old Andromeda and eight-year-old Narcissa followed their mother, Druella, into the room. Andromeda smiled gently at Regulus, while Narcissa eyed the new decorations in the drawing room.
The tea party began. The adults discussed tedious topics: personnel changes at the Ministry of Magic, the engagement of a daughter from a certain pure-blood family—her bloodline wasn't pure enough, but wealth could compensate.
The children sat at a designated small table set with child-sized cutlery. Sirius was restless, eager to show off the new magic he had learned.
Regulus, meanwhile, was pondering a question: Why does Transfiguration require imagining a specific form? If I simply want to change the state of matter without specifying a shape, what would happen?
"Watch this," Sirius said, focusing his attention on his silver spoon.
Magic surged forth.
The spoon began to bend. Good, an elegant curve.
But Sirius was too excited. He thought, Bend it a little more, that would be even prettier!
More magic poured out, and the spoon bent too far.
It was a mistake. He glanced at Bella, wanting to see if she had noticed. In that split second of distraction, his control wavered.
The stream of magic, like a flood bursting a dam, rushed toward the entire set of cutlery.
Regulus suddenly felt a violent fluctuation of magic. He looked up to see all the silverware on the small table changing color. The silver-white faded, replaced by a fleshy pink hue, and ringed textures appeared on the surfaces.
They turned into earthworms.
Twelve fat, fleshy pink earthworms wriggled on the tablecloth.
The adults had already been drawn by the commotion. Walburga's face had gone from red to white.
Druella set down her teacup, her expression stiff.
Bella raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise as she covered her mouth with a theatrical "Ah!"
Sirius froze. He looked at his creation, his lips trembling.
"I..." He opened his mouth but was too embarrassed to speak.
Walburga reached for her wand. Regulus saw the fury in his mother's eyes—not just anger at the ruined tea party, but the shame of losing face in front of her sisters.
Trouble, Regulus thought. If she loses her temper, the tea party will end badly, Sirius will be punished, and I'll have to listen to her complain for three days.
He stood up, walked to the small table, and looked down at the pile of writhing creatures.
I have to admit, these earthworms are very complete, he critiqued inwardly.
Analyze the structure first. His brain began working automatically. The Transfiguration spell didn't completely destroy the material base; it only reorganized the molecular arrangement.
The silver atoms are still there. The shape-memory effect should still be present. The key is to find the memory of the last stable form before the transformation...
He raised his hand, palm down, hovering ten centimeters above the earthworms, and began to output magic.
Unlike the way ordinary wizards channeled magic, Regulus found that his magical control could achieve microscopic precision.
He didn't even need to rely on emotion like conventional spellcasting. Instead, he relied on calculation. His brain automatically constructed different dimensional models, calculated the flow of magic, and adjusted the output frequency.
It was as if he had a supercomputer in his head. He had once joked to himself that perhaps this was his "transmigrator perk."
In the next moment, silver light shone from within the earthworms. They stopped wriggling, levitated one by one, and arranged themselves in mid-air into a perfect hexagon.
A stable hexagon, he thought. This conforms to the optimal distribution of magic.
Bella leaned forward, her eyes wide.
Narcissa covered her mouth in surprise.
Andromeda whispered, "Merlin..."
The transfiguration reversal began. The earthworms contracted, stretched, and a silver luster emerged from within.
Ten seconds later, the cutlery had returned to its original form, suspended in the air with silver light flowing over the surfaces.
With a slight movement of Regulus's finger, the cutlery followed the shortest path, avoiding all obstacles, and settled back into their original positions in an orderly fashion.
Spoon, fork, knife, teacup, saucer, small plate—not a millimeter out of place.
Finally, there was the bent spoon. The crease was deep; the metal was fatigued.
Regulus extended his index finger and lightly touched the crease.
Rearrange the metal crystal structure. Local heating to recrystallization temperature is required, but do not exceed the melting point. Magic simulates the thermal effect; frequency adjusted to resonate with silver atoms.
The crease began to vanish as atoms returned to their places, as if time were reversing.
Five seconds later, the spoon was as perfect as new.
Regulus withdrew his hand, sat back in his seat, and picked up the unfinished biscuit, keeping his face expressionless the entire time so no one would think he was deliberately showing off.
But inside, he was quite smug. As expected of me!
"Merlin's beard!" Druella blurted out, nearly dropping her teacup.
Bella stood up, walked to the small table, and picked up the spoon to inspect it. She turned it over, looked at it against the light, and tapped it with her fingernail, producing a crisp metallic sound.
She looked up at Regulus, her eyes filled with shock. "How... how did you do that?"
Regulus chewed his biscuit and mumbled vaguely, "They wanted to go back."
"What?"
"The cutlery wanted to go back to being cutlery. I just helped."
The explanation was laughably childish, but coming from a three-year-old, it actually seemed normal.
Of course I know how I did it, Regulus thought. But I can do it; I just can't say it.
Wizards can do many incredible things based on intuition and talent. But at my age, if I could not only do it but also explain the principles, that would be far too excessive.
Narcissa whispered to Andromeda, "He looks so relaxed."
Andromeda nodded, a certain worry in her eyes.
Walburga's expression underwent a rapid transformation: shock, confusion, and then ecstasy.
But she restrained herself. The mistress of the House of Black could not lose her composure in front of outsiders.
She simply picked up her teacup, took a sip, and said in the calmest voice possible, "Regulus has a special intuition for Transfiguration."
Druella gave a somewhat strained, dry laugh. "Special? Walburga, this is a miracle. He's only three! What was Orion doing at three? He was still smearing jam on the house-elves."
Everyone's gaze drifted toward Regulus from time to time, but he just quietly ate his biscuit as if nothing had happened.
Sirius kept his head down. Regulus glanced at him, knowing his pride had been wounded.
After the tea party ended and Druella left with her daughters, only the immediate family remained in the drawing room.
Walburga finally couldn't hold it back. She picked up Regulus. "My genius!"
She whispered excitedly in her son's ear, "I knew it! The future of the House of Black!"
Over his mother's shoulder, he saw Sirius.
Sirius stood at the doorway of the drawing room, gripping the doorframe. It was hard to imagine a four-year-old having such a complex expression: shock, hurt, confusion, and a little jealousy?
Double trouble, Regulus thought. A four-year-old doesn't understand 'necessary measures.' He only knows his little brother stole his thunder.
Sirius turned and ran away, his footsteps thumping up the stairs.
Walburga put Regulus down, frowning. "He's throwing a tantrum again. Ignore him, Regulus. You did the right thing."
He is only four, Regulus thought, but he didn't say it aloud. After all, he was only three himself.
That evening, Orion knocked on Regulus's door. He had just returned home; as a member of the Wizengamot, he often worked late.
"I heard about today," Orion said, sitting opposite Regulus. "Masterful skill."
"How did you do it?" he asked.
Regulus thought for three seconds before giving an answer. "I don't know. I just... saw what needed to be done."
"Saw?" Orion was puzzled. This was an answer he hadn't expected.
"I saw what the worms were supposed to be, so I let them change back."
Orion stared at him thoughtfully. This could be explained by talent—rare, but not unheard of.
Sirius's power was strong but uncontrolled, stemming from emotional instability.
In comparison, Regulus demonstrated a tendency toward control and precision operation.
"An interesting explanation," he finally said. "But remember, do not show too much in front of others. Genius invites jealousy, and it also invites fear."
"Cousin Bella seemed very excited," Regulus said, steering the topic toward Bella.
"Bella..." Orion's brow furrowed. "She is obsessed with power. And that rising 'great figure' is also obsessed with power. Be careful not to be noticed."
Regulus nodded. He certainly knew who that great figure was: Tom Riddle, the future Voldemort.