For the next three days, Regulus didn't practice Apparition anymore; once you've mastered such a thing, you've mastered it.
He spent all his time in his room, with his desk covered in all sorts of cluttered items.
A few quills, two ink bottles, a roll of parchment, a few Galleons and Sickles, and the House of Black brooch he usually wore.
Regulus picked up the brooch and placed it in his palm.
He closed his eyes, and his perception expanded.
The spatial structure of the room appeared in his perception in a peculiar way—an invisible web composed of countless nodes and connections.
Every object occupied a specific node on the web, with varying densities, strengths, and vibrations.
The brooch's node was right in his palm, dense and stable.
He wanted to make the web move on its own.
Just like Kreacher did—folding the web, bringing two nodes closer together, and then passing the "bead" from one to the other.
The theory was simple, but doing it was another matter entirely.
On the first day, the brooch didn't budge an inch.
On the second day, the air around the brooch began to show slight distortions, and the edges of the object would flicker faintly.
But the brooch itself remained firmly in his palm, not moving even a millimeter.
On the afternoon of the third day, Regulus changed his approach.
He stopped thinking about folding the entire space—that was far too difficult—and instead focused on moving just the small patch of space around the brooch, even if only by a tiny bit.
With intense concentration, magic condensed in his palm. No incantations were used; it was a pure combination of will, perception, and magic.
He watched the node where the brooch was located, imagining it like a buoy on the water, sliding gently toward another vacant node nearby, letting it glide naturally along an invisible slope.
The air around the brooch fluctuated violently, and the spatial structure rippled in circles invisible to the naked eye.
At the center of the ripples, the brooch began to turn blurry and transparent, and then, it vanished.
Regulus snapped his eyes open; the brooch was no longer in his palm.
It wasn't on the desk, not on the carpet, nor in any corner of the room; not a single trace was left behind.
Three seconds passed. Time felt stretched, each second passing incredibly slowly.
Until, with a soft "pop" sound.
The brooch dropped onto the edge of the desk, about five centimeters away from its original position. The silver surface felt somewhat hot to the touch.
He had succeeded.
Though it had only moved five centimeters, though he had nearly lost the brooch to who-knows-where, and though the magic consumption was ridiculously high, he had indeed succeeded.
This was something he had figured out himself, a rudimentary application based on his understanding of space.
Regulus picked up the still-warm brooch, his fingertips brushing over the Sirius pattern on it.
In wizarding combat, mobility is one of the most vital advantages.
No matter how ruthless your spells or how strong your magic, if you can't hit your target, it amounts to zero.
The reason Apparition is classified as an important magic is that it allows a wizard to appear and disappear suddenly, striking and then fleeing, making them impossible for an opponent to defend against.
But Apparition has its limitations: it requires preparation time, cannot be used continuously, has distance limits, and can be completely blocked by an Anti-Apparition Jinx.
If he could master this Spatial Warp ability in the future… it wouldn't necessarily have to be his whole body jumping around, though that would be ideal.
It could be the spell itself—firing off an Expelliarmus that vanishes halfway and reappears behind the enemy.
Or a Shield Charm wrapped directly around an enemy from afar, a reverse protection that prevents them from even casting a spell.
Even thinking further ahead.
If his spatial perception grew stronger, could he see directly into the internal structure of an enemy's body?
Could he make a spell bypass all external defenses and detonate directly inside an enemy's organs or brain?
Then all those Shield Charms, Protection Charms, and Salvio Hexia would become mere ornaments.
Moreover, with no travel time in between, to strike would be to hit—it would practically be a causal strike.
Regulus set down the brooch and walked to the window.
Outside, the sky had already darkened. Snowflakes began to fall again, landing one by one on the glass and quickly melting into tiny droplets of water.
The lights of London blurred into patches of hazy light behind the veil of snow, making it impossible to tell which were Muggle and which were wizarding.
The ideas were good, but it was still too early.
These thoughts were currently just castles in the air; even the foundation hadn't been laid yet.
He had only just touched upon spatial magic, Nature Magic was barely at the entry level, and Transfiguration was still in its foundational stages. None of them were solid enough, and each required time and energy to refine.
But at least he had a direction.
A path no one else had walked, a path he carved out himself from his understanding of the essence of magic…
At dinner, Walburga brought up Sirius once again.
"That unfilial son!" She cut her steak with such force it was as if she were hacking at an enemy, her cutlery clattering harshly against the porcelain plate.
"Not coming home for Christmas, and not even writing a single letter! What kind of bewitching potion did the Potter family feed him to make him abandon even his own surname!"
Orion lowered his head and ate the roasted potatoes on his plate without saying a word.
Regulus also quietly cut his portion of lamb chops, slicing the meat into uniform small pieces before sending them into his mouth one by one.
They both knew that Walburga didn't actually want to discuss anything with them; she just needed to vent.
As long as someone engaged her, she could follow the thread and rant for half an hour.
But if ignored, she would eventually tire herself out and stop; her anger came quickly and left just as fast.
Regulus, however, thought to himself that this was only the beginning.
Sirius hadn't come home for Christmas this year, and Walburga would rant for an evening; if he didn't return next year, she would rant for three days.
When he eventually stopped coming back altogether and moved into the Potter home, she would have to review this entire script every Christmas.
From calling him an unfilial son to a traitor, from saying he didn't want the name to saying he wasn't worthy of it.
It was like a regularly performed play where the lines were memorized and the actors' emotions were rehearsed.
Walburga ranted for about ten minutes before finally stopping.
She set down her knife and fork, picked up her glass, and took a large gulp of red wine. The anger on her face hadn't completely dissipated, and her cheeks were flushed with agitation.
Then she turned to Regulus: "By the way."
Her tone suddenly softened, carrying a forced casualness as if she had just happened to remember some minor matter.
"Several people have praised you to me lately—Mrs. Malfoy, Mrs. Nott, and Mrs. Yaxley. They were all hinting that you're bound to achieve great things in the future."
She looked at Regulus, her eyes containing not just curiosity, but that frequently appearing expectation tinged with a desire to show off.
Regulus was all too familiar with that look; he had seen it since he was a child.
"Just how far…" Walburga leaned forward, her voice dropping as if she were inquiring about a secret.
"…have you progressed now? They were being so mysterious about it, as if you could walk into the Ministry of Magic and become the Minister tomorrow."
Regulus set down his fork, picked up his napkin to wipe the corners of his mouth, and then looked toward Orion at the other end of the long table.
With Walburga, he couldn't tell the whole truth.
She wasn't like Orion; she wouldn't rationally analyze pros and cons, nor would she cautiously keep a secret.
If she knew, it meant every lady in her tea party circle knew.
Tell her today, and by tomorrow the entire pure-blood circle would be abuzz with how formidable the younger son of the House of Black had become.
But he couldn't say nothing at all.
She needed concrete things to boast about, to prove her son was better than everyone else's.
If he didn't give her something to talk about, she would keep prying or start making wild guesses, which would be even more troublesome—who knew what outrageous conclusions she might jump to.
Orion caught his son's look and set down his wine glass.
"Regulus does indeed have some talent," he said, his tone as steady as if he were delivering a report at a Wizengamot meeting.
"He has already mastered most of the first-year curriculum at Hogwarts, and he's self-studying some of the upper-year content."
Walburga's eyes immediately lit up. "For example?"
"For example, Apparition," Orion stated truthfully. "I took him to practice a couple of days ago, and he succeeded on his first attempt."
"Really?" Walburga's voice rose an octave, her face full of pleasant surprise. "He's only eleven!"
"Yes." Orion nodded and continued his list.
"In Potions, Professor Slughorn says his current level has already surpassed that of a fifth-year student. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall is personally tutoring him and even gave him a copy of her own research notes.
In Charms class, Professor Flitwick often gives him extra points, saying his standard is far beyond that of his peers."
With every item he mentioned, the smile on Walburga's face widened, and the light in her eyes grew brighter.
By the time he finished, she seemed to be glowing; that internal joy and pride were almost overflowing.
"I knew it!" Her voice was filled with undisguised triumph. "My Regulus has been extraordinary since he was little! What do the sons of those other ladies amount to?
This one is good at Quidditch, that one is decent at brewing potions—but our Regulus is excellent at everything!"
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