Summer, 1967. Regulus turned six.
In the Black family, turning six meant the privilege of having one's own study space. Thus, the topmost attic of 12 Grimmauld Place welcomed its new master.
Regulus wanted to figure out several problems: Wizards could heal injuries with ease, yet why did the physical body remain so fragile?
If magic could repair the body, could it not also strengthen it?
Why had no one systematically researched this in a thousand years?
Regulus sat cross-legged on a soft cushion, eyes closed, sensing his own being.
He could feel the magic circulating within his body along established pathways.
Books claimed magic originated from the soul and was released through the body.
It was treated as that simple. As for how the body itself influenced this process, no one had delved deeply into it.
It was as if everyone knew water flowed from a pipe, but no one ever thought to replace the pipe with a wider, smoother material to see if the flow would become stronger and steadier.
Originally, this was a blind spot of the author of the original series, but now that he was living in it, he realized it was a blind spot of the entire wizarding civilization.
He walked beneath the skylight. The autumn sunlight slanted in, cutting bright shapes across the floor. He reached out, letting the sunlight fall on his palm, then closed his eyes to sense the flow of magic once more.
This time, he attempted to actively guide the magic toward his right arm, not by casting a spell, but simply by willing the magic to go there.
Initially, it was difficult. The magic seemed to have a will of its own, resisting deliberate guidance.
But Regulus had patience. An adult soul lacked nothing if not patience. He imagined the magic as water and his will as the riverbed, digging little by little, guiding it bit by bit.
Two and a half hours later, he succeeded.
His right arm felt slightly warm, not a thermal heat, but a sensation of being filled with energy.
He clenched his fist. His strength seemed... slightly increased?
Over the next few days, Regulus entered a mode of pure observation.
He observed everyone in the house with this perceptive gaze.
Walburga, her magic was powerful but unstable; it oscillated violently when her emotions fluctuated.
But Regulus noticed a detail: when she maintained complex protective wards for a long time, she would unconsciously rub her temples, her face turning pale.
From this, he concluded that the burden of magical consumption was ultimately borne by the body.
Yet, she never thought to exercise her body to increase her endurance.
Orion, his magic was deep and heavy, his control extremely strong.
But Regulus noticed that after his father lowered his wand following a spell, his fingers would tremble slightly. It was very faint.
That was a fatigue reaction caused by long-term, high-intensity use of magic. Magic could eliminate the symptom, but it would appear again.
Sirius was the best sample for comparison.
One afternoon, Sirius tried a newly learned spell in the garden to levitate stones and arrange them into a constellation. He succeeded, but barely.
Afterward, Sirius collapsed onto the grass, panting heavily, his forehead covered in sweat.
"I'm dying..." he muttered to himself.
Regulus walked over and handed him a glass of water. "High magical consumption?"
Sirius gulped down a large mouthful, but only nodded silently and gave a grunt of acknowledgment.
Regulus knew this was the aftermath of his speech at dinner; Sirius didn't want to talk to him.
Regulus said nothing more and turned to leave.
Late at night, one week later, Regulus knocked on the door of Orion's study.
"Enter."
Orion was reviewing documents, the candlelight at the corner of the desk illuminating his tired face.
The pressure on the Ministry had been immense lately. From snippets of conversation, Regulus deduced it was related to the activities of that "Important Figure."
The precursors to the Death Eaters had begun their activities, orchestrating several attacks. The Ministry was suppressing the news, but the ancient families already knew.
"Father."
"Speak. What is it?" Orion put down his quill and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"I am thinking about a question," Regulus said, sitting in the chair opposite him. "Where is a wizard's magic actually stored?"
Orion paused. "That is a basic question. Magic originates from the soul and is released through the medium of the body."
"But the body isn't just a medium, is it?" Regulus pressed. "If the body is damaged, magical output is affected. If the body is strengthened, would magical output increase?"
"Theoretically, yes," Orion said. "A healthy body is conducive to casting magic. But after reaching a basic level of health, further strengthening the body yields negligible gains for magic."
"Has anyone verified that?"
Orion was silent for a few seconds. "As far as I know, there is no systematic research. Traditional wisdom holds that magical talent is innate. Effort can only improve control techniques, not increase the total amount."
"But what if the total amount itself is limited by the body's carrying capacity?" Regulus leaned forward. "Like a cup that can only hold one cup of water. But if we make the cup bigger.."
"The soul is that cup," Orion interrupted him. "Not the body."
"Are you certain?"
Orion stared at his son for a long time before saying, "I am not certain, but it is the universally accepted theory."
"Is 'universally accepted' necessarily correct?" Regulus asked softly.
He continued, "Father, how many things in the wizarding world were 'universally accepted' but later proven wrong? For instance, it was once universally believed that Muggles were lower beings, but now Muggle technology.."
"Enough," Orion warned, his voice very quiet. "Regulus, I know you are clever. You are always thinking, and your ideas are different from others. But there are some questions you should not be thinking about right now."
"Then when should I think about them?" Regulus did not back down. "When Voldemort comes knocking on our door?"
Orion stood up abruptly.
"Who told you that name?" His voice turned stern.
"No one told me," Regulus said calmly. "I heard it. Cousin Bella, Mrs. Malfoy, and your whispered conversations with Mother.
"They call him 'That Lord,' or 'The Dark Lord,' but I looked up his name. Tom Marvolo Riddle. He calls himself Voldemort."
Orion slowly sat back down, his tone sounding exhausted. "You should not know these things."
"But I already know," Regulus said. "And I know more. He is recruiting. He is gathering power. The pure-blood families are picking sides. The House of Black will have to make a choice sooner or later."
After a long silence, Orion asked, "Are you afraid?"
Regulus answered decisively, "No. But I need power."
Orion closed his eyes, keeping them shut for a long time before opening them again.
"Your question earlier, about the relationship between the body and magic," he said. "I can tell you that someone in the history of the Black family has researched it. My great-grandfather, Arcturus Black. He believed wizards relied too heavily on magic and neglected the body."
Regulus held his breath. He hadn't expected anyone in the wizarding world to have realized this problem, let alone his own ancestor.
"He conducted some experiments." Orion's voice was heavy, as if recalling unpleasant memories.
"He attempted to use magic to strengthen the body, and in turn, use the strengthened body to contain more magic. The theory was circular enhancement."
Regulus asked eagerly, "And the result?"
"He lived to be one hundred and thirty-seven. He was one of the longest-lived members of the Black family, and he was very powerful," Orion said. "But he went mad in his later years. His journals were filled with chaotic symbols and warnings. The final entry read: The container is too solid; what is inside cannot get out. I have trapped myself."
Regulus listened, bewildered. It can work like that?
He asked directly, "What does that mean?"
"I do not know." Orion shook his head. "The journals are sealed deep within the Restricted Section. I once attempted to read them, but after only three pages, I had a splitting headache. That is not something for ordinary people to read."
Regulus's heart pounded. Someone had researched it, and there were results, albeit with a price.
"I want to see them." He knew Orion definitely wouldn't agree, but he made the request anyway.
"No." Orion refused categorically. Then he paused and added, "At least, not now. Arcturus's final state... was very bad. Promise me, Regulus, you will not seek out those journals on your own."
Regulus fell silent. He didn't want to promise.
"Promise me." Orion repeated, his tone heavier, containing even a trace of pleading.
"...I promise."
Orion sighed, knowing this 'promise' might not last long. He waved his hand to dismiss him. "Go."
Back in the attic, Regulus sat in the darkness, digesting the information.
Arcturus Black. One hundred and thirty-seven years old. Madness. The container was too solid.
Was it because the body was strengthened to the extreme that it, in turn, imprisoned the soul?
But what if the soul and body merged completely, becoming indistinguishable from one another? What would happen then?