Regulus could sense it. The magic inside Sirius was active, surging through him like a current driven by some fierce emotion, cycling fast and hot.
Good. Whether it was the humiliation of getting beaten driving a need for payback, or the raw spectacle of what he'd just witnessed, it didn't matter. As long as Sirius walked away wanting to be stronger, the goal was achieved.
He let it go. If Sirius voiced that desire, their father would handle the rest.
Back in his room, he showered and changed into clean robes.
Scouring Charms and Mending Charms could fix anything, but life shouldn't run entirely on magic. Magic was convenient, but living itself deserved to be felt.
After a quick change, he headed to the study.
Orion was already behind the desk, working through documents. A quill scratched across parchment, the sound steady and familiar.
In Regulus's memory, his father was never idle. There was always more work. Wizengamot filings, estate financial reports, correspondence within Pure-blood circles, and an endless stream of matters requiring the Black family's stance or allegiance.
It occurred to him, with the kind of power Orion had displayed in that training room, this was the man hamstrung by paperwork and politics.
If he'd poured all his energy into magical development instead, how far could he have gone?
Regulus dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it formed.
Impossible.
The seat of Head of House demanded balance between magic and mundane affairs. Raw power could protect a family, but networks, holdings, and political capital mattered just as much. Without the latter, the former was isolated force, easily cornered, besieged, ground down.
Unless you reached the level of Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or Voldemort. And his father, formidable as he was, couldn't touch that tier.
Besides, Orion had managed the family well. At least so far.
Footsteps announced his arrival. Orion didn't look up. "Sit. Give me a moment."
Regulus settled into the armchair opposite the desk. A row of ancestral portraits lined the wall above. Phineas Nigellus had his eyes closed, dozing. The others murmured among themselves, their gazes drifting to Regulus now and then.
Five minutes later, Orion set down his quill and pushed the documents aside.
He leaned back, fingers laced over his stomach, and opened with Sirius.
"Regulus, how is Sirius performing at school?"
The tone was flat. Emotionless on the surface.
But Regulus heard what lay beneath it.
Dissatisfaction.
Comparison was a ruthless thing.
Without Regulus as a measuring stick, or if Regulus hadn't been quite so exceptional, Sirius would have been considered impressive in his own right. Coasting on natural Black family talent, fooling around, and still ranking among the best in his year at Hogwarts.
But stacked against peers who combined talent with disciplined, systematic self-improvement, the gap showed.
Pure-blood families compared their children. Compared their heirs. Sirius was not a favorable entry in that contest.
Rebellious and refusing to come home for holidays. The firstborn son of House Black, Sorted into Gryffindor.
He knew all of this. And there was no pretending it didn't sting.
That was why Sirius had been called home for the long holiday. Partly for appearances, partly to sharpen his skills. Even after confirming with Regulus that Sirius's role would be the family's foothold on the light side, Orion still wanted his son to stand on firmer ground.
He was still his son.
But what was Regulus supposed to say? That Sirius spent his nights prowling the castle, pulling pranks, and losing house points in scraps alongside James Potter?
A slight shake of his head. "I'm not sure. I haven't paid much attention."
He genuinely hadn't tracked Sirius's day-to-day at school.
Orion didn't push further. He already knew. Even without actively seeking reports, information found its way to him.
Just as he knew every detail of Regulus's performance. Academically, socially, magically.
Sirius, on the other hand... any parent who cared even slightly about their child's education would have found those reports migraine-inducing.
Regulus studied his father's face. Blank.... But he was certain of one thing: Sirius was in for a miserable holiday.
That was fine. The question was whether Sirius's newfound hunger to improve could outlast whatever training regimen their father had in mind. And for how long.
The subject of Sirius closed.
Orion's gaze shifted. "Any plans for the holiday?"
A subtle tension coiled in Regulus's mind. His father asking meant he already had something in mind, or their mother did.
Better to state his own preference first. If this was about social engagements, he'd rather decline.
He didn't dislike socializing. He recognized its value. But he'd only just finished his first year. Last year's Christmas party at Malfoy Manor had served as his public debut. Everyone worth knowing already knew him.
Factor in his reputation at school, and he could predict exactly what another round of events would look like. More socializing offered diminishing returns at this point.
More importantly, given the attention he'd attracted, he needed to cool down. Stay quiet. At least through the holiday.
He was fairly confident his father had reached the same conclusion.
"Practicing magic," he said, meeting Orion's eyes. "I've had some new ideas on a few spells. They need time and work."
Orion followed the thread. "The house-elf spatial magic?"
He was referring to the moment during their duel when Regulus had made a curse appear out of thin air at the decoy position.
The attack hadn't landed, but the effect itself, a spell materializing from nowhere, had been extraordinary.
Regulus nodded. Then he raised an eyebrow slightly, a silent question. Want to see?
Orion leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and answered with a look. Show me.
Regulus lifted his left hand, index finger extended.
A flash of silver at the fingertip. The air ahead rippled, a clean, visible distortion spreading outward.
At the center of the ripple, a semi-transparent window formed. Through it, he could see the ink bottle sitting at the far end of Orion's desk.
His right hand made a gentle sweeping motion. The ink bottle rose, drifting slowly, its trajectory deliberately clear and unhurried.
It passed through the window and vanished into the ripple.
In the same instant, a second distortion shimmered above the stack of documents to Orion's left. The ink bottle emerged from empty air, descended, and settled on the desk without so much as a wobble.
The whole thing took less than a second.
This was only a demonstration. He'd slowed it down and made the window visible so his father could follow the process. In actual combat, there was no window, no visible transition. Just disappearance and arrival.
Orion's eyes widened a fraction. He stared at the ink bottle.
During the duel, he'd suspected Regulus had developed some form of spatial transference. But watching a physical object teleport across the room hit differently than guessing at it. His breath quickened for just a moment.
He remembered what Regulus had told him once. Two points on a map. Fold the paper. Bring the points together.
It had sounded abstract at the time. Now he was looking at exactly what it meant.
But a question surfaced. Object transference alone shouldn't support spell transmission. Moving matter and moving a curse through folded space were fundamentally different problems.
Orion noticed the silver glow at Regulus's fingertip hadn't faded. He said nothing and kept watching.
Regulus gripped his wand in his right hand and aimed at the window's position.
The wand traced a complex pattern in the air. The Space Anchor Charm.
Once the anchors were set, he turned his wand toward the window and fired a Disarming Charm. Not as an attack. Purely for demonstration, the spell's speed deliberately reduced, gliding through the air as though moving through water.
The red light entered the window, passed through the ripple, and with no visible interval, struck the side of a bookshelf against the far wall. A soft thud.
Spell transference.
Orion's composure cracked.
His eyes went wide. His body had drifted so far forward he was nearly pressed against the desk, staring at the spatial channel and its deliberately rendered window as they began to dissolve.
Even having guessed that Regulus had achieved spell transference, watching it happen, watching the fundamental rules of magic bend, the impact was visceral.
Regulus watched his father's expression and felt a quiet spark of satisfaction. Faint, but undeniable.
Opportunities to put that look on Orion's face were rare. Normally it was his father teaching him. Having the roles reversed felt... good.
Want to learn? I'll teach you.
But this was his father. So instead of saying it, he launched straight into the explanation.
"The spell structure has three parts." His wand traced lines in the air.
"First, perceive the spatial structure of the target area. Second, channel magic to fold the space and form the corridor. Third, stabilize the corridor's edges to prevent collapse. The wand motion goes like this..."
He slowed each gesture, letting Orion see every pivot and transition clearly.
He walked through the incantation's pronunciation, then emphasized the critical point: "Don't force the fold. Push too hard and the space tears. Anything in transit gets stuck halfway."
"That's the Space Warp." He kept his tone level, careful not to let the satisfaction leak through. "It can only transport objects. Size and range scale with proficiency. On its own, it can't carry a spell through. For that, you need the Space Anchor Charm to stabilize the corridor."
He cast the Space Anchor Charm in demonstration. "The anchors have to be set along the corridor's inner walls. Plant one in the center and you'll pin the corridor shut. Nothing gets through."
Whether his father had received the ancestral inheritance for the Space Anchor Charm, Regulus didn't know. But even if he hadn't, the inheritance was right there in the family legacy. Learning it would be trivial.
He ran through the demonstration twice. Orion watched with total focus, his fingers tracing the wand movements unconsciously against the desktop.
Midway through the third demonstration, Orion cleared his throat. "That's enough."
Regulus fought down the twitch at the corner of his mouth, stowed his wand, and picked up his teacup. One sip. His expression settled back into something appropriately serious.