In the spring of 1969, Regulus turned eight.
The room on the east side of the third floor of Number 12, Grimmauld Place officially became his bedroom and study.
Orion gave him more space, a wall full of bookshelves, a heavy oak desk, and a window facing east.
But now, Regulus wanted to enter the storage room in the deepest part of the mansion.
That room was at the end of the kitchen corridor, locked year-round; Walburga said it was filled with useless things, the belongings of disowned family members that were inconvenient to destroy but could not be displayed.
There were the belongings of Alphard Black, sealed in 1960.
Alphard, disowned a few years ago for his hobby of collecting Muggleitems and his clear friendly tendencies toward Muggles; Regulus had only heard the name in Walburga's curses.
After several years of study, Regulus finally succeeded in breaking the protective magic on the room's door, which was far from being as simple as an Alohomora.
There were no magical items inside, only Muggle things: an old-fashioned vacuum tube radio, several copies of National Geographic magazine dated 1950, a stack of The Times, and a few hardcover notebooks.
It took him two days to successfully repair the radio; the moment the current flowed, the vacuum tubes emitted a warm orange light, and a rustling static sound came from the speaker.
Regulus turned the tuning knob until a voice emerged from it.
"This is the BBC, broadcasting 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.
Yet most people in the Wizarding World didn't even know about it, or didn't care if they did.
To them, the moon was just a silver disc in the night sky, used to calculate lunar phases for brewing Potions or 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 do it—real 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 tried.
Or perhaps, something Wizards couldn't do.
Where were the limits of a Wizard?
Muggles were breaking boundaries we considered impossible; if magic and science were combined, perhaps even greater boundaries could be broken.
These thoughts were buried deep in his heart, yet they occupied a significant place.
July 20, 1969, late at night.
Regulus didn't sleep; he sat in the chair by the window, holding that old vacuum tube radio.
The voice in the radio came with 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 tightly.
"Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You've got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We're breathing again. Now preparing for EVA."
Then came a long wait, with the sounds of instruments, commands, and occasional snippets of dialogue from 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, like a powder... I'm going to step off the LM now."
There was an even longer pause.
Regulus stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open; the warm summer night air rushed in, carrying the distinct smell of coal smoke and brickwork from London.
He looked up; the moon hung in the sky, nearly full, its silver-white light cold and constant.
The voice from the radio rang out again, clearer and more powerful this time.
"That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."
Regulus stared at the moon—that silver disc, that tool Wizards used to calculate Potion times, that romantic symbol in poetry—at this moment, two Muggles were standing on it.
Naturally, Regulus felt a sense of shock.
Muggles, with their limited lives, fragile bodies, and magicless hands, had gone to the moon.
While Wizards, who possessed the power to change reality, the ability to cross space, and lifespans that could last hundreds of years...
What were they doing?
Fighting for power and profit, researching how to better harm their own kind, arguing over whose blood was purer.
Cursing each other for illusory power on a small island.
And he was right in the middle of it.
Thinking of this, Regulus suddenly smiled; since he had come here, he naturally had to change something.
One evening in late August, Regulus found Orion in the study; his father was reviewing documents. Recently, the atmosphere at the Ministry of Magic had become increasingly tense, as Death Eater activities shifted from secret to semi-public.
"Father, I have a question."
Orion put down his quill and rubbed his brow. "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 record for a broomstick is fifteen thousand feet above sea level; any higher and the air becomes thin, making it hard to breathe. Thestrals can fly higher, but even they have limits. Why do you ask?"
Regulus didn't answer; instead, he asked, "What if one wanted to fly even higher? High enough to leave the atmosphere?"
Orion stared at his son. "Why would you want to leave the atmosphere?"
"Just curious," Regulus said, keeping his tone calm. "Books say ancient Wizards tried to fly to the sun and the moon, but they all failed."
"Those aren't books; they're 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's no air, no pressure, extreme temperatures, and unknown energies."
"A Bubble-Head Charm only lasts a few hours at most, protective charms are ineffective against certain types of radiation, and Apparition has distance limits and requires familiarity with the destination."
He paused for a moment, looking at Regulus. "What are you thinking?"
I'm thinking you actually know about radiation? And even something about vacuum environments? Regulus muttered to himself.
Regulus chose to be somewhat honest; his father was someone he could communicate with. "I was thinking, Muggles landed on the moon this year. They don't have magic, but they did it."
Orion was silent for a long time, the candlelight in the study crackling.
"I know," he finally said. "The Daily Prophet had a brief report in an obscure corner; the editor thought it was just a Muggle trick, not worth paying attention to."
"But that's 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's not a place; no one wants to go there."
"Why?" This was what Regulus found most baffling. It was right there; why didn't anyone want to go?
Orion turned around, his expression complex. "Because a Wizard's eyes only see magic. magic is on Earth, in life, in the soul."
"The starry sky... it's too far, too cold, too alien. It's not our domain."
"Domain can be expanded."
"Perhaps." Orion walked back to the desk. "But at what cost? What must a Wizard give up to explore the stars? How much risk must be taken? More importantly, who would support it?"
He looked at Regulus. "Tell me your real thoughts. Don't hide one question behind another."
"I'm thinking," Regulus took a deep breath, "if Wizards used the energy spent on power struggles, the wisdom used to study the Dark Arts, and the obsession with maintaining pure-blood glory on something else—for instance, on exploring the stars—how far could we go?"
Orion didn't answer immediately. He sat down, fingers interlaced on the desk.
"Very far." After thinking for a long time, he said, "But only if Wizarding society solves its own problems first."
"Voldemort is creating division, the Ministry of Magic is escaping through weakness, and 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 were far enough—far enough that the struggles on Earth seemed small—perhaps we could transcend them."
Orion smiled, a tired smile tinged with sadness.
"Idealism," he criticized bluntly. "I had similar thoughts when I was young. But the reality is, it's hard for people to transcend the level they are on. Wizards are trapped on Earth, trapped in flesh and blood, trapped in social relationships."
His tone then turned serious.:"besides remember, this idea is heretical in the current wizarding world.."
"Pure-blood families will think you've been deluded by Muggle technology, radicals will think you're weak, and Voldemort will think you're distracted. Until you are strong enough, keep it hidden."