After Dumbledore asked his question, the office fell silent.
The portraits on the wall held their breath. Some pretended to read, others feigned sleep, but every pair of eyes drifted toward the desk.
Phineas Black still hid behind his Daily Prophet, the edge pulled low enough to expose only the tops of his eyes.
Regulus didn't answer right away. He was deciding how much truth to share.
This wasn't about political allegiance or picking sides. It was about the fundamental nature of magic.
The man asking was Dumbledore. If Professor Flitwick could sense the changes in him, the Headmaster certainly had. Deflecting or giving vague answers would be pointless, a waste of opportunity, even.
But he wouldn't say everything.
What he could share was direction. His understanding of what magic was at its core. The rough shape of his own path.
Saying it aloud to Dumbledore was also saying it to himself. A chance to test his own thinking.
He lifted his gaze and met the Headmaster's eyes.
"At first," Regulus began, his expression settling into something still and serious, "I believed magic could be completely deconstructed."
Dumbledore leaned forward, elbows on the desk, fingers laced beneath his chin.
"Spatial magic has structure. Transfiguration follows patterns. Even the magical properties of plants can be classified by tendency and attribute. I thought that if I mapped the principles, ran the calculations, and maintained precise control, magic could be fully mastered."
His pace was steady, unhurried. "I broke spellcasting into discrete steps. Used logic to derive spell variants. I was convinced that reason could encompass all of magic."
His gaze strayed briefly to the window. Beyond it, the treetops of the Forbidden Forest rolled like a dark sea in the wind.
"And I succeeded." There wasn't much pride in his voice, but Dumbledore caught it all the same.
"I'm good at it. Sensing how magic flows, calculating output intensity, adjusting precision of control. None of that is hard for me."
One of the portraits muttered under its breath: "Another theorist..."
Someone next to him hissed for quiet.
Regulus ignored them and continued.
"Until I cast my Patronus."
He drew his wand and looked up at Dumbledore. The Headmaster's eyebrows rose, his face settling into a look that said by all means, blue eyes bright with anticipation.
"Expecto Patronum."
Silver-white light bloomed from the wand tip, gathering and stretching until it took the shape of the Starlight Kite.
The Patronus circled the office once, wings scattering fine points of starlight, its clear cry ringing through the round chamber.
Fawkes lifted his head from the perch. His gold-and-crimson feathers ruffled open, and he answered with a call of his own, warm and bright.
The Starlight Kite glided to the phoenix's side. They regarded each other across the empty air.
Two magical creatures. One real. One conjured.
Fawkes tilted his head. The Kite beat its wings gently.
Regulus watched them and kept talking.
"On the cliffs in Ireland, I hadn't meant to summon it. It was the longing for freedom, the pull of a wider world. Standing there looking out at the ocean and the sky, something moved in me. The world was so vast. Magic could do so much."
The Starlight Kite drifted back and settled on the top of his chair.
"That was when I understood. Magic isn't just another form of energy to be calculated, controlled, and exploited."
A trace of memory softened his voice. "It's alive. It shifts with the wizard's emotions. When I'm calm, it runs precise and stable. When I'm moved, it surges and brightens. Those two states don't contradict each other."
He raised his left hand, palm up. A thread of silver-white magic rose from his fingertips, spinning slowly, tracing intricate geometric shapes that shifted and reformed.
"Magic can be precise science. Calculation, logic, rigorous derivation."
He watched the strand of light. "The key is how the wizard sees it. How they choose to use it."
The magic dissolved. He lowered his hand.
"Later, Professor Flitwick told me that magic is simply there. Believe in its existence. Trust your own understanding. Trust the power of the heart. Because sometimes magic answers you when you least expect it. Not always rational, not always logical, but real."
He paused, gathering his final thought.
Across the desk, Dumbledore listened with full attention. Something shone in his eyes, a flicker of emotion, and he looked at Regulus the way someone looks at a reflection of their younger self.
His gaze grew distant, as if reaching back through decades.
Once, someone else had sat across from him like this, talking about magic, sharing how they understood it.
The memory stretched on, but Regulus's voice pulled him back. The Headmaster reached up and quietly brushed the corner of one eye.
"Now I believe magic is two parallel roads." Regulus's tone was measured and firm, the kind of certainty you could hear. "On one side, the patterns that can be understood. Spatial magic, Transfiguration. Things you improve through study and practice. On the other, the mystery you can't pin down. The Patronus. Things that depend on emotion, belief, the deepest longings of the soul. Things logic can never exhaust."
He looked at Dumbledore.
"So I think magic is both a force that can be mastered and a mystery that deserves reverence. Wizards use the first to solve problems. They need the second to understand why those problems matter."
He finished and waited.
The office was quiet for several seconds.
The portraits exchanged glances. Some nodded. Others shook their heads.
Phineas Black lowered his newspaper, revealing his whole face. That expression, usually sharp with derision, held nothing now. He simply watched Regulus.
Dumbledore eased back in his chair. His fingers tapped the desk twice, and then he smiled.
He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and set it down again.
"Regulus," he said, his voice gentler than before, "you've touched the essence of magic earlier than most adult wizards ever do."
Regulus straightened in his seat.
"Too many people spend their entire lives caught on one question: should magic be analyzed, or should it be felt?" Dumbledore's fingers brushed lightly through the silver beard trailing down his chest. "Some cling to formulas and principles, reducing magic to cold calculation. Others lose themselves in intuition and mystery, turning magic into blind worship. They believe you can only choose one road, and once chosen, you walk it to the end."
He lowered his hand, his gaze settling on Regulus's face.
"You've seen what they haven't. The two were never opposed."
Approval filled Dumbledore's blue eyes. "Reason is the skeleton of magic. It keeps you steady, carries you far, and guards you against illusion. Feeling is its flesh and blood. It keeps you warm, takes you deep, and frees you from being shackled by rules."
On the wall, a portrait of a former Headmistress in a curled wig murmured, "Like a phoenix reborn. It needs both the tempering flame and the faith to rise again."
Dumbledore heard her and smiled, inclining his head in her direction.
Regulus looked up as well and gave her a polite nod.
"Calling magic a force that can be mastered. That takes courage." Dumbledore turned back to him. "Admitting it's a mystery worth revering. That takes wisdom. Many people forget reverence once they grow powerful. They want logic to conquer everything. But the most enchanting part of magic is precisely what resists analysis. The resonance between heart and power. The meeting of belief and miracle."
Something subtle shifted inside Regulus as he listened. It was the feeling of walking a road alone for a long time and suddenly finding someone further ahead, someone who turned back, saw you, and said: You're going the right way.
That confirmation mattered.
Even if Dumbledore had dismissed his thinking, he wouldn't have abandoned his path. He would have dug deeper, questioned harder, refined his reasoning.
But recognition from the greatest wizard of the century still hit like a shot of adrenaline. He didn't desperately need it, but it was worth something.
He decided to press the advantage.
"Professor," Regulus said, "at the Astronomy Tower, you mentioned that the light only carried a touch of radiance. Could I ask what you meant by that?"
Dumbledore's eyes lit up, the way they did when a student finally asked the question he'd been waiting for.
"Do you believe light must defeat darkness?" he asked, the question carrying the tone of a guide rather than a challenge.
"Attribute dominance." Regulus nodded. "A Patronus counters Dementors. Light magic counters dark curses. That's common knowledge."
"Common knowledge can narrow the view." Dumbledore leaned forward again, hands folded on the desk. "When I was young, I wanted to destroy darkness with spells, too. It took years to understand that darkness cannot be destroyed."
Regulus frowned. He already knew darkness couldn't be destroyed.
"Shadows always follow the light," Dumbledore continued. "But light doesn't need to chase shadows down. If the light burns bright enough, shadows lose their footing. They retreat on their own."
He raised his right hand, index finger extended. A small, gentle white glow kindled at the tip, nothing like the blaze beneath the Astronomy Tower, but soft and steady.
The glow drifted toward Regulus and settled on his wand. The tip shimmered faintly for two or three seconds, then faded.
"When you used Protego to force back the grey mist, that was opposition," Dumbledore said. "If you had first let your wand become a vessel for radiance, the mist would have avoided you on its own. Light magic was never about attacking darkness. It's about refusing to be consumed by it."
Regulus stared at his wand, mind racing.
Opposition versus presence. Active assault versus natural repulsion.
The first spent magic to cancel out negative energy. The second used the caster's own nature to create an environment where darkness simply couldn't exist.
That was a higher order of magic entirely. Not brute force clashing head-on, but innate suppression at the level of fundamental nature.
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