Spring, 1969. Regulus turned eight.
The room on the east side of the third floor of 12 Grimmauld Place officially became his bedroom and study.
Orion gave him more space: a wall of bookshelves, a heavy oak desk, and a window facing east.
But right now, Regulus was more interested in getting into the storage room in the deepest part of the manor.
That room was at the end of the kitchen hallway and was locked year-round. Walburga said it was piled with useless things, the belongings of disowned family members, which were inconvenient to destroy but could not be displayed.
It contained the belongings of Alphard Black, sealed in 1960.
Alphard, who had been disowned a few years ago for his fondness for and collection of Muggle artifacts, and for showing clear friendly tendencies toward Muggles. Regulus had only ever heard the name in Walburga's curses.
It took Regulus several years of study to successfully break the protective magic on the door. It was far more complex than a simple Unlocking Charm.
There were no magical items inside, only Muggle things: an old-fashioned vacuum tube radio, a few issues of National Geographic dated 1950, a stack of The Times, and several hardcover notebooks.
It took him two days to repair the radio. The moment the current flowed, the vacuum tubes emitted a warm orange glow, and the hiss of static came from the speaker.
Regulus turned the tuning knob until a voice emerged.
"This is BBC Radio, bringing you the news."
"NASA has announced that the Apollo 10 mission has successfully completed its lunar orbit, making final preparations for a manned moon landing..."
Regulus sat behind the oak desk, his hand resting on the warm wooden casing of the radio, motionless.
The Moon. Muggles were going to the Moon.
Most of the wizarding world didn't even know about this, or if they did, they didn't care.
To them, the moon was just a silver disc in the night sky, used to calculate moon phases for brewing potions, or serving as a romantic backdrop.
No one cared about the possibility of going there because wizards didn't need to.
They had magic.
But could magic achieve it? True space travel?
Crossing the vacuum, resisting radiation, surviving for long periods?
He didn't know. But he knew one thing: Muggles, using pure science and engineering, had achieved something wizards had never even attempted.
Or perhaps, something wizards could not do.
Where was the limit of a wizard?
Muggles were breaking through boundaries wizards considered impossible. If magic were combined with science, perhaps even greater boundaries could be broken.
These thoughts were buried deep in his heart, but they occupied a significant space.
July 20, 1969. Late at night.
Regulus didn't sleep. He sat in the chair by the window, holding the old vacuum tube radio.
The voice from the radio was accompanied by the crackle of static, but every word was clear.
"...Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed."
After a brief silence on the radio, a burst of cheering suddenly erupted.
Regulus gripped the radio tighter.
"Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We're breathing again. Now preparing for EVA."
Then came the long wait. Sounds of instruments, commands, and occasional fragments of dialogue came through the radio.
"...I'm at the foot of the ladder. The LM footpads are only depressed in the surface about one or two inches, although the surface appears to be very, very fine grained, as you get close to it. It's almost like a powder. I'm going to step off the LM now."
Then, a longer pause.
Regulus stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open. The warm summer night air rushed in, carrying the scent of coal smoke and brick peculiar to London.
He looked up. The moon hung in the sky, nearly full, its silver-white light cold and constant.
The voice on the radio spoke again, clearer this time, and with more power.
"That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."
Regulus stared at the moon. That silver disc. That tool wizards used to time their potions. That romantic symbol in poetry. At this moment, two Muggles were standing on it.
Amidst the sense of inevitability, Regulus felt a shock.
Muggles, with their limited lifespans, fragile bodies, and hands devoid of magic, had gone to the moon.
Wizards possessed the power to alter reality, the ability to span space, and lifespans that could last for centuries.
But what were they doing?
Fighting for power and profit, researching how to better hurt their own kind, arguing over whose blood was purer.
Cursing each other for illusionary power on a small island.
And he was right in the middle of it.
Thinking of this, Regulus suddenly laughed. Since he was here, naturally, things had to change.
One evening in late August, Regulus found Orion in the study. His father was reviewing documents. The atmosphere in the Ministry had been increasingly tense lately; Death Eater activities had shifted from secret to semi-public.
"Father, I have a question."
Orion put down his quill and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Speak."
"How high can a wizard fly?"
The question was sudden, even a bit nonsensical. Orion paused for a moment. "It depends on the method.
"The altitude record for a broomstick is fifteen thousand feet. Any higher, and the air becomes thin, making breathing difficult. Thestrals can fly higher, but they also have limits. Why do you ask?"
Regulus didn't answer directly. He continued, "What if one wanted to fly higher? High enough to leave the atmosphere?"
Orion stared at his son. "Why would you want to leave the atmosphere?"
"Just curiosity," Regulus kept his tone calm. "Books say ancient wizards attempted to fly to the sun and moon, but they all failed."
"Those aren't books; they are myths," Orion corrected. "Muggles have the myth of Icarus too; the moral is not to be arrogant.
"Wizards have magic, but magic has limits. Leaving the atmosphere... there is no air, no pressure, extreme temperatures, and unknown energies.
"A Bubble-Head Charm lasts a few hours at most. Protective charms are ineffective against certain types of radiation. Apparition has distance limits and requires familiarity with the destination."
He paused for a moment, looking at Regulus. "What are you thinking about?"
I'm thinking about how you actually know about radiation? And even know something about vacuum environments? Regulus muttered inwardly.
Regulus chose to be somewhat honest; his father was someone he could talk to. "I was thinking... Muggles landed on the moon this year. They have no magic, yet they did it."
Orion was silent for a long time. The candle in the study crackled.
"I know," he finally said. "There was a brief mention in the Daily Prophet, in an obscure corner. The editor thought it was a Muggle parlor trick, not worth attention."
"But it was the moon," Regulus emphasized.
"To a wizard, the moon is just the moon," Orion stood up and walked to the window, his back to his son. "It affects werewolves. It affects potions. It affects the tides.
"But it is not a place. No one wants to go there."
"Why?" This was the most baffling part for Regulus. It was right there, why did no one want to go?
Orion turned around, his expression complex. "Because a wizard's eyes see only magic. Magic is on the earth, in life, in the soul.
"The starry sky... is too far, too cold, too strange. That is not our domain."
"Domains can be expanded."
"Perhaps." Orion walked back to the desk. "But at what cost? What must wizards give up to explore the stars? How much risk must be taken? More importantly, who would support it?"
He looked at Regulus. "Speak your true thoughts. Do not use questions to mask questions."
"I was thinking," Regulus took a deep breath. "If wizards used the energy they spend on power struggles, the wisdom they use for Dark Arts research, and the paranoia they have for maintaining pure-blood glory on something else... like exploring the stars... how far could we go?"
Orion did not answer immediately. He sat down, lacing his fingers together on the desk.
"Very far," he said after a long contemplation. "But the premise is that wizarding society must first solve its own problems.
"Voldemort is creating division. The Ministry is weakly evading the issue. The conflict between pure-bloods and half-bloods is intensifying. At a time like this, no one will care about the stars."
"But maybe the stars are the way out," Regulus insisted. "If our vision is cast far enough, far enough that the struggles on Earth seem insignificant, perhaps we can transcend the struggle."
Orion laughed, a laugh filled with fatigue and sorrow.
"Idealism," he criticized bluntly. "I had similar thoughts when I was young. But the reality is, it is difficult for people to transcend the level they exist on. Wizards are trapped on Earth, trapped in bodies of flesh and blood, trapped in social relationships."
Then his tone became serious. "Also, remember: this kind of thinking is heresy in the current wizarding world.
"Pure-blood families will think you have been deluded by Muggle technology. Radicals will think you are weak. Voldemort will think you are distracted. Until you are powerful enough, hide it."