At nine-fifty on Saturday morning, Regulus stood before the stone gargoyle on the eighth floor.
Regulus knew a password was required, but Dumbledore hadn't given him one.
He waited a few seconds. The gargoyle stirred on its own, stone joints grinding with a low, heavy scrape. It hopped aside, and the wall behind it rotated open to reveal a spiraling staircase.
The stairs turned upward of their own accord. Regulus stepped on and let them carry him up until they stopped before a heavy oak door.
A brass knocker shaped like a griffin hung at its center.
He knocked three times. The door swung open by itself.
The Headmaster's office was a spacious, circular room.
Portraits lined the walls, former Headmasters of Hogwarts sitting or standing in their frames. Some read books, some dozed, and some watched Regulus enter with open curiosity.
Below the frames ran dark wooden shelves packed with heavy tomes and instruments.
A massive desk dominated the center of the room, its surface buried under parchment, ink bottles, several intricate mechanical devices, and a crystal ball giving off a thin curl of steam.
By the window stood a tall gilded perch, and on it sat the phoenix Fawkes.
When Regulus entered, Fawkes turned to look at him. Dark, bright eyes reflected his silhouette.
The phoenix let out a soft call, clear and ringing, like a bell struck once.
The air held a layered scent: the mustiness of old books, the dry bite of parchment, something sickeningly sweet from candy, and beneath it all a faint trace like singed feathers.
And magic. The room smelled of magic.
Regulus's gaze swept the portraits along the wall and quickly found the one he was looking for. Phineas Nigellus Black.
His great-great-grandfather. One of the least popular Headmasters in Hogwarts history, a wizard who had managed the unprecedented feat of uniting all four Houses... against himself.
Phineas sat in an armchair inside his frame, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet from some indeterminate era, his eyes peering over the top of the newspaper at Regulus.
Their gazes met. Phineas gave the faintest nod, so slight it was nearly invisible.
He said nothing, lifted the newspaper higher, and hid behind it.
Regulus understood.
These Headmaster portraits were sustained by the castle's own magic. As long as Hogwarts stood, they would endure. They could travel between connected frames throughout the castle, seeing and hearing a great deal.
Phineas certainly knew about the Astronomy Tower incident. He might know even more than Dumbledore, because there was a matching portrait of him at the Black residence. Both frames were his territory.
But Phineas had clearly said nothing. Family interests above all else. Even in death, reduced to pigment and enchantment, he was still a Black.
With one condition, of course: nothing that endangered Hogwarts.
Regulus received the signal. He understood. Dumbledore wouldn't make things difficult for him.
Behind the desk, Dumbledore looked up from a pile of documents.
Today he wore deep blue robes embroidered with silver stars. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes were warm and bright.
"Ah, Mr. Black. Right on time." Dumbledore rose and came around the desk. "Please, sit."
Regulus settled into the armchair across from the desk. The cushion was soft, the armrests carved with elaborate patterns.
"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore," he said politely.
Dumbledore returned to his seat and picked up a jar from a silver tray on the desk. "Sherbet Lemon? Cockroach Clusters? Or perhaps some Fizzing Whizzbees?"
He opened the jar, revealing an assortment of brightly colored sweets.
The Cockroach Clusters stood out among them. They were genuinely squirming, packed together in a dense, writhing mass, producing that faint rustling sound unique to arthropods in motion.
Regulus looked at the writhing candy. Two seconds of silence passed. He couldn't resist. "Headmaster, I have a question."
"Please, ask."
"When you eat Cockroach Clusters, do you check first to make sure a real cockroach hasn't gotten mixed in?"
Dumbledore's hand froze in midair, jar and all.
He blinked. Looked at the jar. Looked at Regulus. Looked at the jar again.
Then, slowly, he set it down. His fingers stroked his beard once, and his gaze drifted sideways.
"Hmm." His eyes wandered elsewhere. "That is... an interesting question."
He considered it for several seconds, his expression as serious as if he were puzzling through the principles of some complex enchantment.
In the end, he decided to move on and pushed the jar aside.
But Regulus noticed that Dumbledore's crooked nose seemed to have gotten slightly more crooked.
"Perhaps tea would be better today." Dumbledore waved a hand, and a teapot appeared on the desk with two cups. The pot tilted on its own, pouring steaming red tea. "Sugar? Milk?"
"Plain is fine, thank you." Regulus took the cup.
Under cover of drinking, his eyes made a quick sweep of the room. The portraits observed in silence. Fawkes preened on his perch. Through the window, the sky stretched a clean blue, the outlines of the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest visible in the distance.
Dumbledore sipped his tea. The cup clinked softly against the saucer as he set it down.
He leaned forward slightly, hands folded on the desk. "First, Regulus, may I call you that?"
"Of course, Headmaster."
"Good." A smile. "Though I do prefer when students call me Professor. The title of Headmaster always makes things feel a bit distant."
Something shifted in Regulus's mind.
Professor. A more intimate address, more like a conversation between teacher and student than between administrator and subject.
And a professor, by definition, was someone who taught.
"Professor Dumbledore," he said, adapting smoothly.
The creases at the corners of Dumbledore's eyes softened, clearly pleased.
"There's nothing terribly serious about today's meeting," Dumbledore said, his tone easy and light. "I only wanted to chat. You know how it is. As Headmaster, I like to get to know my students better, especially the exceptional ones."
Regulus sipped his tea and listened.
"You handled the Astronomy Tower well." Dumbledore continued, a note of genuine approval in his voice. "Calm, decisive, prioritizing the safety of your companions in a crisis. That isn't easy. Many adult wizards couldn't manage it."
"I only did what needed to be done," Regulus said.
"What needed to be done." Dumbledore repeated the phrase, fingers tracing the rim of his teacup. "Many people know what needs to be done. When the moment arrives, they can't follow through. Courage isn't the absence of fear. It's choosing to act in spite of it."
His gaze settled on Regulus's face. "Your Patronus is beautiful. That's quite rare."
"Thank you," Regulus said.
Dumbledore had said this before. Bringing it up again was deliberate.
And there it was.
"A Patronus reflects the deepest desires of the heart," Dumbledore said. His tone was conversational, but the words carried weight. "The stars, freedom and exploration. A grand ambition."
Regulus thanked him again and raised his teacup for another sip.
What he wanted to say was: Yours isn't bad either, Professor Dumbledore. Rebirth and Protection. A noble ambition in its own right.
The portraits on the wall held their silence, but Regulus could feel their attention. Phineas still hid behind his newspaper, though the edge had crept downward just enough to expose half of one eye.
Fawkes spread his wings on the perch, gold-and-crimson feathers gleaming in the light.
He let out another call, longer this time, carrying a cadence like music.
Dumbledore looked toward the phoenix and smiled. "Fawkes seems quite taken with you. Phoenixes can see the soul. They're drawn to hearts that are pure and warm."
Regulus wasn't sure how to respond. The compliment felt excessive.
His soul was neither particularly pure nor particularly warm. At least, that was his own assessment.
As for Fawkes... perhaps birds and humans simply saw things differently.
"Professor," he said, opting to redirect, "the Resentment Plague Wand. What became of it?"
"Sealed." Dumbledore's answer was brief. "Something like that has no business existing. The crimes Valentino Solito committed should not become a tool for future generations chasing power."
His tone was calm, but Regulus could feel the weight behind the words.
Seventy thousand people's suffering. Seventy thousand budget Dementors. Centuries of curse, all sealed away by Dumbledore with the casual finality of closing a book.
That was power.
Regulus studied the old man across from him. The greatest Light wizard of the century. Perhaps the most powerful wizard in history, or at least among them.
In the wizarding world, power was everything. It transcended political authority. It was pure, personal might.
Dumbledore could have single-handedly reshaped the world order if he'd chosen to. He could have become a king, or something closer to a god.
But he hadn't.
He'd chosen to stay at Hogwarts as Headmaster. Teaching, chatting with students, eating Cockroach Clusters, occasionally stepping out to deal with the wider world's problems.
In the original story, Dumbledore had once said: "I don't dare touch power, because I'm afraid I might come to enjoy it."
Regulus didn't know what state of mind the Headmaster had been in when he'd spoken those words. Perhaps it was genuine fear. Perhaps an excuse. Perhaps nothing more than a clear-eyed understanding of his own desires.
But regardless, the result was the same, Dumbledore possessed the power to change the world and chose to use as little of it as possible.
Regulus didn't judge whether that choice was right or wrong. Everyone had their own logic for how they lived. All that mattered was being willing to bear the consequences.
"Professor," he set down his teacup, "you didn't ask me here today just to compliment my Patronus."
Dumbledore's smile remained warm and grandfatherly, but something more serious had crept in around the edges.
Regulus had the distinct impression of a fisherman who'd finally felt a tug on the line.
"No, I didn't," Dumbledore admitted. "I have a question I'd like to ask you. You may answer it, or you may not. That's entirely up to you."
Regulus sat up straight.
Dumbledore looked at him, "How do you view magic?"