Chapter 425 - Time to Go See the Old Man

Chapter 425: Chapter 425 - Time to Go See the Old Man

Quiet settled over the office. A log cracked in the hearth.

Regulus turned to McGonagall.

"Professor, will Professor Dumbledore be returning to the school soon?" His tone stayed easy, the question direct. "There are some things I’d like to ask him about."

No reason to dance around it. Whatever understanding existed between him and Dumbledore, she already knew about it.

Dumbledore had left word for him. If he wanted to find him, he knew how, and she’d been the one to pass that along herself.

He was only following instructions.

Nothing in her face registered surprise, and she didn’t ask what he wanted to discuss.

She knew how much Albus valued this boy.

There had been that conversation of theirs about the nature of magic, which Albus had mentioned to her afterward.

He’d said the boy had light in him. Light bright enough that the will to protect had already taken visible shape, and he wouldn’t be easily swayed by outside forces.

The curfew business at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, when she’d stood beneath the old oak and watched him test his spatial passage.

She’d written to Albus about it afterward. Young Mr. Black was out past midnight on the border of the Forbidden Forest working spatial magic. Albus had written back saying only, let him try.

Every question the boy brought her, she passed on to Albus, in person or in a line or two of correspondence.

And every reply from Albus asked the same thing. How is Mr. Black getting on?

Absent from the school or not, his attention had never lapsed.

So Regulus asking after Dumbledore’s whereabouts today came as no shock at all. The day was always going to arrive. It had only come sooner than she’d expected.

She shook her head, brief about it. "Not soon, no."

Her eyes stayed on him, and she added, "The Headmaster did leave word, though. If you came asking, you’re to go. No need to hesitate."

Regulus nodded once. Exactly what he’d thought.

He’d never planned on catching the man inside the castle anyway. With Dumbledore away, seeing him meant leaving.

Coming here was about confirming one thing only. Whether it was a convenient time.

He had the phoenix tail feather and standing permission to use it. To find Dumbledore he need only hold the feather and think of Fawkes. Physical distance meant nothing to a phoenix.

But arriving unannounced wouldn’t do.

Suppose Dumbledore was tracking something critical, or standing somewhere he couldn’t afford an interruption, and phoenix fire tore open without warning. Rude at best. Possibly worse than rude.

So he’d asked first, to be sure there was nothing awkward on the other end.

Now he was sure. Dumbledore had left word, which left nothing to weigh.

Courtesy and caution never went to waste. A little wizard with light in his heart was thorough about these things.

"Understood. Thank you, Professor."

She waved it off. She’d only relayed a message.

Regulus didn’t press about what Dumbledore was occupied with. She wouldn’t say, and he didn’t need to know.

There was still one practical problem.

Dumbledore’s end was settled. He knew how he would arrive, carried by phoenix fire. Phoenix travel burned through the space between departure and arrival, erasing the distance in an instant.

The problem was Hogwarts.

Phoenix fire was impossible to hide. Golden flames erupted from empty air, accompanied by enough magical disturbance to draw attention.

The Slytherin dormitory was out. Too many eyes, too many corridors, and too many students who might report it straight to Voldemort.

The Room of Requirement was too unpredictable. The Forbidden Forest had too many creatures. The Astronomy Tower and Quidditch pitch were far too exposed.

He could simply leave the grounds and return to Grimmauld Place.

But Regulus had another idea.

Hogwarts itself seemed to possess a will, and his own protective will had never managed to enter it. No matter what he tried, the castle remained indifferent.

Phoenix fire, however, didn’t enter space.

It erased it.

For the instant the flames burned, that patch of space would cease to exist. And if the castle’s will was tied to that space, perhaps it would disappear with it.

When the flames died and the space repaired itself, there should be a brief gap before the castle reclaimed it.

That was his chance.

If Regulus could anchor a fragment of his own will there, the castle might either reject it or absorb it when the space closed.

If it rejected him, nothing was lost.

If it didn’t...

He would finally have a foothold inside Hogwarts.

A single node in the castle’s network of will that belonged to him.

Worth trying.

And if he had to attempt it inside the castle, there was only one place he trusted.

McGonagall’s office.

Flitwick and Sprout were unlikely to talk, and Slughorn probably wouldn’t either, but only McGonagall stood with Dumbledore as a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

She had fought beside him since the Grindelwald years and never once wavered.

More importantly, she was the one person in Hogwarts Regulus trusted without reservation.

If phoenix fire erupted in her office, she could contain it.

The choice made itself.

Regulus pulled himself back from the thought and looked at her, respectful. "Professor, I’d like to borrow your office this weekend."

Her eyebrow rose a fraction.

She knew what he meant. Phoenix tail feather. Crossing to Dumbledore’s side.

"That’s fine." A nod, no further questions. "When?"

"Saturday. Morning."

"Good."

He thanked her again, and she made a short sound of acknowledgment.

Regulus cleared his throat. "Professor, I may need leave of absence for a while after that."

Leaving school at the weekend, no telling how long he’d be gone, and it required going through proper channels. Better to tell her now. Slughorn would come later, with an entirely different story attached.

She nodded, then her expression hardened, the look behind those square spectacles gaining considerable weight. "Mr. Black."

He straightened in his chair.

"Your Transfiguration essay. On my desk before Friday."

"And next week’s as well. Leave of absence is not a reason to skip homework."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

One minute they were discussing Dumbledore’s movements, analyzing the theoretical window that opens after phoenix fire burns through space, working out how to drive a mental anchor into a seam in the castle’s will.

Frontier material by any measure in the wizarding world. And in a blink they were back on essays.

He wondered whether a note from Dumbledore would carry any weight.

Headmaster’s special dispensation, homework waived. Would Professor McGonagall accept that?

Probably not.

"No need to worry, Professor." His expression slid back into deference, his tone earnest. "I’ll finish it in front of Professor Dumbledore."

Her mouth moved, light and quick, and was under control again in the next instant.

Some of the severity went out of her voice. "Off you go."

Regulus rose and inclined his head. "Thank you, Professor."

She nodded, picked up the quill from her desk, and bent back over the work she’d set aside.

He walked toward the door without hurrying.

What he’d have preferred, in truth, was a conversation with Voldemort. Understanding power from the dark end of it.

The coexistence of light and dark. The boundary between the soul and Dark Magic. The fundamental layer the Decomposition Curse reached into.

Put those questions to Voldemort, and with his depth the answers would be worth more than anyone else’s.

The man had gone further into Dark Magic than anyone alive on this planet, pushing the boundaries of magic to heights others didn’t dare imagine.

Magic that kept functioning without collapse after the soul had been split. A sense of control and a sense of presence running simultaneously across separate dimensions. Legilimency refined to a precision that bypassed consciousness altogether and acted directly on the will.

None of it available from Dumbledore.

The old man wouldn’t teach him how to condense fear into power, or how to crush another person’s will beneath his own, and he certainly wouldn’t teach him how to take a living thing apart at the level of its existence.

For questions like those, only a specimen at the far limit of the dark end offered any reference.

But Voldemort wouldn’t discuss anything with him.

Knowledge, in Voldemort’s hands, was a reward for loyalty. Swear yourself to him, deliver what he demanded, and then he’d give.

Regulus had no loyalty on offer, so there was no knowledge to collect.

Showing Voldemort a need was dangerous in itself.

Whatever you want, he learns what you lack, and whatever you lack becomes the lever he uses on you.

Need is weakness. Weakness is a handle someone else can grip.

The more fundamental issue was that he placed himself as an equal.

I have a question I’d like to discuss with you. That sentence didn’t exist in Voldemort’s world.

Voldemort accepted two kinds of people. Those on their knees, and those standing still while they waited to die.

Going to him now was out of the question. Regulus lacked the standing and lacked the skill, short on every front.

But that day would come.

When he’d walked far enough down the road of magic, when he had ability and power enough, he’d sit across from Voldemort and say, I’d like to talk with you, and Voldemort would have no choice but to listen properly.

Until then, the old man.

The old man was good. The old man was happy to chat.

Dumbledore accepted discussion. He enjoyed it, even.

That first proper conversation beneath the Astronomy Tower. The long talk in the Headmaster’s office about the paths magic could take. The wandering speculation on transfiguration and flight during the journey to France. Werewolves. Death and what it was like to experience it.

Every single time, Dumbledore had sat across from him. Never above him.

Well, he did have light in his heart.

Certified by the Headmaster personally. Patronus as evidence. Starlight Kite, the genuine article.

He pushed open the office door and stepped into the corridor.

Sirius was propped against the wall at the corner, waiting.

Regulus raised his eyes, and gray met gray.