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Dumbledore gazed silently at the young man before him, a boy who so often reminded him of the ghosts of his past, and did not respond immediately.
The silence in the circular office stretched, filled only by the rhythmic, metallic clicking of the silver alchemical instruments spinning on the shelves and the distant, soft trill of Fawkes the Phoenix.
Although Dumbledore did not consider himself a frightening person—in fact, most who knew him praised his unwavering gentleness and kindness—he knew the raw, suffocating weight his unblinking gaze could exert on others. The air in the room grew thick, the bright morning sunlight suddenly feeling a few degrees colder.
At this moment, he looked directly into Regulus's eyes, not like an elder Professor examining a curious student, but more like one ancient soul judging the very fabric of another.
Under this solemn, piercing gaze, even Horace Slughorn, who proudly boasted of having weathered countless political storms, would unconsciously begin to sweat and fidget with his waistcoat buttons.
But the black-haired young man sitting before him showed no sign of awkwardness or unease. Regulus met his gaze frankly, his shoulders relaxed against the wooden chair. His grey eyes maintained that unique, unwavering spirit and CEO-like calmness, analyzing the situation without flinching.
Ever since he discovered Regulus's rare tactical talent, and the unsettling similarities to a certain brilliant old friend, Dumbledore had resolved to take this young man under his wing, guide him carefully through the shadows, and ensure he didn't stray down the same dark path.
However, Dumbledore also knew the harsh truth of history: when a true genius is determined to explore the unknown, the whole world often clears a path for him—whether he seeks forbidden knowledge, raw power, or even ancient legends, just as they had done back in the summer of 1899.
In the magical world, this 'special destiny' possessing a strong gravitational pull on the material realm has long been a source of dangerous fascination for many ambitious Wizards. Even in the occult and theology of the Muggle world, there were similar concepts of so-called 'cosmic attractions'.
And this relentless pursuit always comes at a terrible price.
Thinking of this, Dumbledore subconsciously let his hand drift beneath his mint-green robes, his long fingers brushing the rough, knobby wood of the old wand holstered there—the very wand that had left countless bloody marks across the pages of magic history books.
In comparison, Regulus was merely exhibiting academic curiosity. Finding some theoretical information related to forbidden magic was not excessive for a mind like his, Dumbledore reasoned internally.
Moreover, although the vast majority of ordinary Wizards had likely never even heard the word 'Horcrux' and couldn't begin to understand the vile power of evil soul magic, the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was definitely not among that ignorant majority.
Although he vehemently disagreed with the Black Family's toxic notion of being 'born noble', it was undeniable that it was perfectly normal for Regulus, as an official heir raised within those dark, tapestry-lined walls, to have some baseline understanding of Horcruxes.
After all, the Black Family's lineage could be traced directly back to the bloody Middle Ages, and there were countless powerful Wizards in their family tree who were terrifyingly proficient in the dark arts.
If Regulus was truly interested in the subject, even the portrait of Phineas Nigellus could easily answer his grim questions. And Regulus had already casually mentioned the sprawling library of treasured, restricted books hoarded at Grimmauld Place.
During the pleasant days he had spent teaching the boy, the Headmaster had almost forgotten Regulus's inherently 'dark' background.
But since the boy could speak about soul-tearing magic so openly, with such clear, unburdened eyes, it meant there was no real corruption taking root.
Dumbledore's piercing gaze finally softened, the warmth returning to the room.
"Albus?"
After an unknown length of time, Phineas Nigellus, who had been gripping the painted armrests of his chair, genuinely worried about his great-grandson, finally couldn't help but speak up. The painted silk of his robes rustled loudly in the quiet office.
"I was momentarily distracted, Phineas." Dumbledore smiled, turning to nod reassuringly at the portrait on the wall, which looked unusually anxious.
Phineas stroked his pointed beard suspiciously, his painted eyes narrowing. Ha, who would believe that?
Dumbledore turned back to the desk and smoothly waved his wand. A large, heavy book materialized out of thin air, landing with a solid thud on the polished wood before Regulus. The tome was bound in flaking, dark brown leather that looked suspiciously like human skin, radiating a faint, sickening chill. Its yellowed pages automatically fluttered open to a specific, blood-stained chapter titled 'Horcruxes'.
It was Secrets of the Darkest Art.
"So, what do you think of 'Horcruxes'?" Dumbledore asked calmly. His blue eyes, backlit by the bright sun streaming through the window, appeared bottomless.
"I think the idea is profoundly stupid, Professor," Regulus glanced at the sinister page, his tone flat and utterly devoid of hesitation.
"Elaborate?" Dumbledore leaned forward, offering an encouraging, genuine smile.
"Firstly, according to the theories in The Power of the Soul, the soul itself is a complete, delicate entity. What we need to do is enrich our soul, making the vast potential within our nature a tangible reality. Violently splitting the soul in a desperate pursuit of physical power and longevity is abandoning the root and chasing the branch. It is an act of sheer panic against nature."
Seeing Dumbledore's smile deepen into true satisfaction, Regulus continued his CEO-style risk analysis:
"Leaving aside the massive biological risks of tampering with the fundamental source of life, and the severe cognitive drawbacks of existing in a fragmented state, just from the perspective of basic magical design, Horcruxes are full of logical loopholes."
Regulus shook his head in absolute disdain, tapping his finger against the desk.
"For example—purely hypothetically, say a mad Wizard decides to split his soul into a hundred pieces—"
Dumbledore's expression instantly froze, becoming terrifyingly serious.
"Ah! Merlin's white beard!" Headmistress Dilys Derwent gasped from her portrait, clutching her painted pearls in horror. "You child—isn't making one Horcrux evil enough?... Regardless... violently splitting the soul is already pure evil..."
"This is the greatest, most vile desecration of the soul!" another ancient portrait yelled, his painted face turning pale with shock and disgust.
"I agree with you all," Regulus said, maintaining a perfectly expressionless, innocent face. He turned his head and addressed the outraged Headmasters politely. "Headmasters, let's just hypothesize strictly from an academic, mechanical perspective. This kind of magic itself is full of fatal hidden dangers—"
Regulus's pragmatic words successfully piqued everyone's interest. Since the turbulent 1950s, such explosive, dangerous topics had rarely been discussed openly in the Headmaster's office. Every single occupant of the portraits woke up, their ears pricked in a strange mix of shock, unease, and morbid curiosity, listening intently to the twelve-year-old.
"Since souls of the exact same origin can be split, can they biologically devour each other to regain strength?"
Several portraits stopped muttering and nodded thoughtfully at the dark logic.
"If the same Wizard possesses multiple Horcruxes active at the same time, will the sentient fragments compete with each other for dominance, or even try to kill each other?"
Old Headmaster Everard couldn't help but let out a dry, barking laugh from his frame.
"If a Horcrux can absorb life force and grow independently, what happens if one day the fragment becomes stronger than the main body? Is it structurally possible for the item to take over the creator?" Regulus pressed, his gamer mind analyzing the boss mechanics.
"Not to mention, the physical Horcrux also needs to be hidden away for safekeeping—" Regulus spread his hands helplessly. "If a piece of your soul is thrown into the damp, filthy sewers of Hogwarts, wouldn't it be a useless, stranded asset?"
...
"Very interesting," Dumbledore murmured. Having listened carefully to Regulus's rather imaginative, pragmatic insights, the old wizard finally put down his heavy worries. He couldn't help but smile, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes as he added:
"Regarding the act of splitting the soul, as far as my extensive knowledge goes, no Wizard in history has ever split his soul into more than two pieces."
"Maybe they realized the terrible debuffs and regretted it as they were splitting it," Regulus tilted his head, feigning innocence. "It clearly shows that it must not be a good tactical choice."
"It seems you also inherently agree with Adalbert's Fundamental Laws of Magic." Dumbledore nodded with deep satisfaction, steepling his fingers. "But unfortunately, soul magic is extremely profound, and Hogwarts' official teaching in this specific area is very limited for safety reasons. Wizards who are genuinely interested in the mechanics generally enter the Department of Mysteries after graduation to study it in depth behind closed doors."
Regulus nodded in understanding—this was a reasonable institutional safeguard. Muggles also learned very general, sanitized subjects when they were minors. It was only after attending university, or even graduate school, that they could truly begin to develop their academic interests in highly specialized, dangerous areas.
"As for what you mentioned earlier about officially redefining dark magic based on the metric of soul damage, there have actually been historical precedents for that debate. The brilliant magical philosopher Bertrand de Pensées-Profondes discussed it extensively in his famous work A Study into the Practical and Abstract Results of the Natural Death, and particularly into the Reunion of the Material Substance with the Spirit."
"And Horcruxes," Dumbledore added, his voice dropping to a hard, unyielding tone, "undoubtedly belong to the darkest of dark magic."
"If you wish to learn the deeper theoretical knowledge of it, I would advise you to wait a few more years until your own soul is fully matured. I know a 'little' about this grim topic, and I can teach you the theory then."
"Thank you, Professor." Regulus reached out and lightly pushed the cover of Secrets of the Darkest Art, closing the sinister book spread out before him with a heavy thud. Although the general public's eyes may not be sharp, since this so-called 'advanced dark magic' is so heavily restricted, it must possess various significant, fatal flaws.
The smile of relief and satisfaction in Dumbledore's eyes deepened.
The tense discussion about Horcruxes seemed to pass like a small, stormy interlude.
Next, they smoothly transitioned back to discussing their previous topic regarding light and space, and both the ancient teacher and the young student enjoyed the intellectual conversation immensely.
At the end of the lesson, as the grandfather clock chimed the hour, Dumbledore asked, "Is there anything else you would like to ask today?"
"Of course, Professor," Regulus said sincerely, organizing his parchment notes. "It's really enjoyable to discuss theory with you, and I always learn more than I expect. The questions will never truly be finished."
The smile at the corner of Dumbledore's mouth deepened quietly, and a rare, genuine kind of paternal affection appeared in his bright blue eyes.
"People often say that many wild legends about you are actually true—" Regulus blinked, leaning forward slightly. "And in the legends—is it true you not only speak Parseltongue, but are also fluent in Mermish and Gobbledegook?"
Dumbledore laughed a rich, pleasant sound, the tension of the dark arts completely banished from the room. He nodded, his eyes twinkling mysteriously over his half-moon spectacles.
Regulus's grey eyes immediately lit up with sheer gamer greed.
"Then how do I get started with these foreign languages?"