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In the spring of 1969, Regulus turned eight.
The room on the east side of the third floor at Number 12, Grimmauld Place officially became his bedroom and study.
Orion gave him more space than before. An entire wall was lined with bookshelves, a heavy oak desk stood near the center, and a tall window faced east, catching the first light of the rising sun each morning.
But right now, what Regulus wanted most was to go deeper into the house, to the storage room hidden away from view.
The room lay at the very end of the kitchen corridor and remained locked throughout the year. Walburga said it was filled with useless objects, relics left behind by disowned family members. They could not be destroyed, yet they were just as unfit to be displayed.
Alphard Black's belongings were in there, sealed away in 1960.
Alphard. Disowned several years earlier for his fondness for collecting Muggle objects and for his openly friendly attitude toward Muggles. Regulus had only ever heard that name spoken in Walburga's furious curses.
After several years of quiet study and repeated attempts, Regulus finally succeeded in breaking the protective magic on the door. It was far from something as simple as an Alohomora and resisted every careless approach.
There were no magical items inside. Only Muggle things: an old-fashioned vacuum tube radio, several issues of National Geographic magazine dated 1950, a stack of The Times newspapers, and a few notebooks bound in hard covers
It took him two full days to repair the radio. When the current finally flowed through it, the vacuum tubes lit up with a warm orange glow, and a soft crackle of static spilled from the speaker.
Regulus slowly turned the tuning dial, listening with careful focus, until a human voice finally emerged from the noise.
"This is the BBC, bringing you the news."
"NASA has announced that the Apollo 10 mission has successfully completed its lunar orbit, making the final preparations for a manned Moon landing..."
Regulus sat behind the oak desk, one hand resting on the radio's warm wooden casing, completely still.
The Moon — Muggles were about to go to the Moon.
And most of the wizarding world either did not know, or knew and simply did not care.
To them, the Moon was nothing more than a silver disc in the night sky. Something used to calculate lunar phases for brewing potions, or to serve 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 truly do it? Real space travel?
Crossing the vacuum, resisting radiation, surviving for long periods of time?
He didn't know. But he knew one thing: Muggles, using nothing but pure science and engineering, had accomplished something wizards had never even attempted.
Or perhaps something wizards could not accomplish at all.
Where, exactly, was the limit of magic?
Muggles were breaking through boundaries that wizards considered impossible. If magic and science were combined, perhaps even greater boundaries could be shattered.
He buried these thoughts deep within himself, yet they occupied a place of quiet importance in his heart.
…
July 20th, 1969, late at night.
Regulus didn't sleep; he sat in the chair by the window, the old vacuum tube radio held tightly in his hands.
The voice coming from the radio crackled with static, yet every word was unmistakably clear.
"...Houston, Tranquillity Base here. The Eagle has landed."
After a brief moment of silence, a sudden eruption of cheers burst through the radio.
Regulus tightened his grip on it.
"Roger, Tranquillity. We copy you on the ground. You've got a bunch of people down here who were holding their breath. We're breathing again now. Prepare for EVA."
What followed was a long stretch of waiting. The radio carried the sounds of instruments, clipped commands, and occasional fragments of conversation.
"...I'm at the bottom of the ladder now. The lunar module's footpads have only sunk an inch or two into the surface. Even though the surface looks very, very fine, almost like powder, I'm going to take this first step now."
Then came an even longer pause.
Regulus stood up and walked to the window, pushing it open. The warm air of the summer night rushed in at once, carrying with it London's familiar scent of coal smoke and old brick, grounding and unchanged.
He lifted his head. The Moon hung in the sky, nearly full, its silver light cold and unchanging.
The voice from the radio sounded again, clearer this time, and filled with weight.
"For one person, this is a small step, but for mankind, it is a giant leap."
Regulus stared at the Moon. That pale silver disc. The object wizards used to calculate potion timings. The romantic symbol that filled poems and old songs. And now, at this very moment, two Muggles were standing upon it.
Amid what felt almost inevitable, Regulus was struck by a fresh sense of awe.
Muggles, with their limited lifespans, their fragile bodies, and their hands that held no magic at all, had reached the Moon.
And wizards, who possessed the power to bend reality, who could cross vast distances in an instant, who might live for hundreds of years…
What were they doing?
Fighting for power and profit. Studying ever more efficient ways to harm their own kind. Arguing endlessly over whose blood was purer.
Cursing one another over illusory authority on a small island.
And he was part of it.
At that thought, Regulus suddenly laughed; since he was here, then naturally, something had to change.
One evening toward the end of August, Regulus found Orion in the study. His father was reviewing documents. Lately, the atmosphere in the Ministry had grown increasingly tense, and Death Eater activity was shifting from secrecy toward something almost public.
"Father, I have a question."
Orion set down his quill and rubbed at his brow. "Go on."
"How high can a wizard fly?"
The question came out of nowhere, almost nonsensical. Orion paused for a moment. "That depends on the method. The highest recorded altitude for a broom is fifteen thousand feet. Any higher and the air becomes too thin to breathe properly. Thestrals can fly higher than that, but there are limits. Why do you ask?"
Regulus did not answer. Instead, he continued. "What if someone 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 said, keeping his tone even. "Books say that ancient wizards once tried to fly to the Sun and the Moon, but they all failed."
"Those are not books; they are myths," Orion corrected him. "The myth of Icarus exists among Muggles as well. Its meaning is a warning against arrogance.
Wizards have magic, but magic has limits. Leaving the atmosphere... there's no air, no pressure, extreme temperature, and unknown energies."
"The Bubble-Head Charm can last only a few hours at most. Shield Charms are ineffective against certain kinds of radiation, and Apparition has distance limits and requires familiarity with the destination."
He paused for a moment, looking at Regulus. "What are you really thinking?"
I'm thinking you actually know about radiation?? And even something about vacuum environments? Regulus muttered silently to himself.
He chose to be more honest. His father was someone he could speak to. "I'm thinking that Muggles landed on the Moon this year. They don't have magic, yet they did it."
Orion fell silent for a long time, the candle flames in the study crackled softly.
"I know," he said at last. "There was a brief mention in the Daily Prophet, tucked away in an unremarkable corner. The editors thought it was a Muggle trick, not worth paying attention to."
"But it's the Moon," Regulus emphasized.
"To wizards, the Moon is just the Moon." Orion stood up and walked to the window, his back to his son. "It affects werewolves, it affects potion brewing, it affects the tides.
But it is not a place. No one thinks of going there."
"Why?" This was what baffled Regulus most. It was right there. Why did no one want to go?
Orion turned around, his expression complicated. "Because wizards only see magic. Magic is on Earth, in life, in the soul.
The stars are… far too away, too cold, too unfamiliar. They are not our domain."
"Domains can be expanded."
"Mayhap." Orion returned to the desk. "But at what cost? What would wizards have to give up to explore the stars? How much risk would they need to take? And more importantly, who would support it?"
He looked at Regulus. "Say what you truly think. Do not hide a question behind another question."
"I'm thinking," Regulus took a deep breath, "if wizards took the energy they spend fighting for power, the intelligence they devote to studying Dark Magic, the obsession with defending pure-blood honour, and used it elsewhere, for example, to explore the stars, how far could we go?"
Orion didn't answer immediately. He sat down, his fingers interlaced on the desk.
"Very far," he said after a long while. "But only if wizarding society first solves its own problems.
Voldemort is creating division. The Ministry is weak and evasive. The conflict between pure-bloods and half-bloods is intensifying. At a time like this, no one will spare a thought for the stars."
"But maybe the stars are the way out," Regulus insisted. "If our vision were distant enough, so distant that struggles on Earth seemed small, perhaps we could rise above them."
Orion smiled. It was a tired smile, edged with sorrow.
"Idealism," he criticized bluntly. "I had similar thoughts when I was young. But the reality is that people find it hard to rise above their own level. Wizards are trapped on Earth, trapped in flesh and blood, trapped in social bonds."
Then his tone grew serious. "And remember this. Ideas like this are heretical in the wizarding world right now. Pure-blood families will think you are bewitched by Muggle technology. Radicals will think you are weak. Voldemort will think you are distracted. Until you are strong enough, keep it hidden."
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[CHAPTER END]