Flamel's last words hung in the air, and the room went quiet.
A log popped in the fireplace. Sparks leapt and fell back. The alchemical instruments continued their work, tick-tick-tick, like some ancient clockwork.
Regulus finished processing what he'd heard, but other thoughts were already rising to take its place.
Flamel had said his Patronus was so bright because there was light inside him.
True. But not the whole truth.
His Patronus was bright, yes, but not for something as simple as inner light. The protective image of Bellatrix, the stars spinning ceaselessly through his mental landscape... those were the real source of its radiance.
He hadn't given it much thought since that first time on the Irish cliffs, when the Starlight Kite had burst into existence.
The Patronus's significance to him had never been about the glow. Never about what it could drive away.
Its greatest meaning lay elsewhere.
Standing on that cliff, watching the sunset, feeling magic flow through him in time with his emotions. That was the first time he'd let feeling take the lead.
Before that day, magic had been formula and logic. A mechanism to disassemble and understand.
The Patronus taught him that magic could also be alive. That it could be emotion, could be something beyond precise articulation.
After that, he'd begun to sense magic's own vitality.
After that, he'd found his path.
The Patronus had given him that.
But to say the Starlight Kite represented pure light? Regulus didn't entirely agree.
He remembered everything about that day. The cliff. The sunset. The awe at how vast the world was. The impulse to launch himself toward the horizon.
Magic surging through his veins, something straining to break free, and then the Patronus appeared.
Had he been happy?
Of course.
The Patronus Charm was the purest crystallization of positive emotion. He'd never doubted that.
The Starlight Kite could banish darkness and dissolve despair. Its existence was a rejection of every constraint.
It was light. But that was only part of him.
There was another part, one the Starlight Kite didn't hold.
The moments when killing intent rose. The cold calculations about how to make an enemy's death more thorough, more clean, more traceless. Those were him too.
The Starlight Kite was freedom and exploration and yearning for the vast unknown.
Light and warmth served that purpose. They were fuel, not the destination.
Dumbledore valued his Patronus because the old man believed that as long as this kind of light existed within someone, a little darkness couldn't overturn anything.
Regulus understood the reasoning. He didn't entirely share it. The Patronus was part of him. Not the whole.
None of which he'd say out loud.
He wasn't about to stand up and announce, No, I have a Patronus, but I'm not all light.
That would be idiotic.
If they wanted to see light, fine. Let them see light. It wasn't wrong, exactly. He could play the role of the bright young wizard they expected.
His mind moved on.
Something more important had been buried in Flamel's earlier words.
Magic could convert into mass.
If that was true, then E=mc² should have a magical counterpart.
Energy equaled mass times the speed of light squared. The number was absurd. A palm-sized lump of matter, fully converted to energy, could level a city.
Had Flamel spent six hundred years performing exactly this kind of conversion to sustain his life? Using magic to replenish the mass his body lost?
If so, how much magical energy did the man burn through daily?
Speculation. No evidence.
But regardless of how Flamel maintained his life, regardless of the Elixir's mechanism, the confirmation alone was enough. Magic and mass were interconvertible.
Regulus thought back to his theories about magical conductivity from studying the Whomping Willow's magical inclinations.
Put those two things together, and the implications were staggering.
A wave of Flamel's hand interrupted his thoughts. The cups on the table began moving on their own.
A silver teapot floated upward and poured amber liquid into one cup, then deep red wine into another. A smaller pot drifted up last, filling the third cup with Hot Chocolate, steam still curling from the surface.
The teacup glided to a stop before Dumbledore. The wine settled in front of Flamel. The Hot Chocolate floated to Regulus.
Dumbledore lifted the teacup, sipped, and closed his eyes in satisfaction.
Flamel took a sip of wine, then looked at Regulus, eyes full of warmth.
A second-year. Asking those questions. Hearing those answers. Then sinking into genuine thought.
For a wizard who'd been having conversations for this long, the sight was probably worth savoring.
Regulus came back to the present and wrapped his hands around the Hot Chocolate. He took a sip.
The temperature was perfect. The sweetness balanced. And there was an aroma underneath it all that he couldn't quite place.
He set the cup down and looked at Flamel. "Thank you, Mr. Flamel. Today has been... immensely valuable."
Flamel waved it off. "Don't thank me. I told you what I could. Understanding it is your own doing. What you can't grasp yet, no amount of explaining would fix."
He studied Regulus, then smiled. "Tell me, child. How long do you think is long enough to live?"
Regulus blinked. The shift in topic was abrupt.
His mind was still tangled in questions about magic and mass, about the Patronus and light, about the soul's growth. And he had so many more things he'd wanted to ask.
But this question landed well. He just wasn't sure whether Flamel was asking on his own, or at Dumbledore's prompting.
It didn't matter. The question was a good vehicle for showing his hand.
He made a show of thinking it over carefully.
Then answered honestly. "Haven't thought about it. I'm twelve."
Dumbledore cut in with a smile. "Nicolas, that question's a bit premature for him."
Flamel shook his head. "Not at all. When I was twelve, I was already wondering if I could outlive everyone."
Regulus looked at him and turned the question around. "Mr. Flamel, do you still wonder?"
Flamel went quiet.
Firelight played across his face. Those eyes fixed on some middle distance, or perhaps on nothing at all.
Dumbledore watched him too.
A long moment passed before Flamel broke into a sudden smile. "I do. But it's different now."
"When I was young, I wanted to live forever because I was afraid. Afraid that dying meant losing everything."
"Now I want to live forever because... I want to see what happens next."
Regulus picked up the thread. "I've never thought about how long I want to live."
Both old men looked at him.
He ducked his head, as if embarrassed. "I'd settle for not getting killed."
That drew laughter from both of them. Flamel's eyes crinkled into slits. Dumbledore's beard quivered.
Regulus waited for the laughter to subside, then added, "As for later, when I can't walk anymore and it's my time, then I die. Nothing dramatic about it."
Curiosity sharpened Flamel's gaze. "How can you be so at ease with that?"
"It's not that I'm at ease. I just think living is for doing things, not for the sake of living itself."
"Of course, that's only how I see it now. Who knows what I'll think later?"
A sly, youthful grin. "I am only twelve, after all."
Both old men laughed again.
Dumbledore's eyes softened. "Regulus, I'm glad you think that way."
"Life is for experiencing. Go through what's meant to be gone through. Feel what's meant to be felt. Death..." He paused. "Death is just another adventure. But it's not something to dwell on now."
Regulus nodded. His thoughts, though, had already drifted.
Living is for doing things. That was true enough.
But what if, one day, everything worth doing was done?
If death truly came, if he truly had to enter that space between life and death, and keep walking deeper...
His mind circled back to everything he'd theorized about the soul.
If he could maintain a whole soul, rather than tearing it apart and hiding the pieces like Voldemort.
If he could nurture his soul slowly, grow it until it could leave the body and affect the physical world.
If he could cultivate powerful magical instruments within that glowing little figure, let them grow alongside the soul.
And further still, if the soul itself became powerful enough to cast spells...
Then when the time came to walk into that place, what would it be like?
Total annihilation, without a trace?
Or something else?
He didn't know. But he figured that place was best avoided.
And if circumstances ever forced him there, he'd go prepared.
Walk in. See if he could walk back out.
Regulus was still drifting through these thoughts when Flamel's voice reached him again.
"So what are these things you're living to do?"
He surfaced.
What things?
Where to even begin. Developing magic. Researching space. Lighting stars. Growing his soul. And then...
Mid-thought, he stopped. Something about Flamel caught his attention.
Outwardly, nothing had changed. The smile was the same. The tone was the same. But underneath, Regulus sensed something.
Like a man walking a road who'd stopped mid-stride. Still standing. But with no intention of taking another step.
He replayed Flamel's earlier words. Now I want to live forever because I want to see what happens next.
Looking at it now, those words carried no warmth. They'd sounded like something said for someone else's benefit.
A quiet resignation beneath the surface. Everything worth seeing has been seen. Nothing ahead is worth the trouble.
The earlier guess resurfaced.
Flamel would destroy the Philosopher's Stone in fewer than twenty years. He'd give up on living. That decision might already be taking shape.
Regulus glanced sideways at Dumbledore. The old wizard had been watching him the whole time.
Their eyes met. Dumbledore's expression didn't change. Same gentle, listening smile.
But Regulus read something else in those eyes.
You felt it too, didn't you?
Understanding clicked into place.
This visit wasn't just about broadening his horizons. Wasn't just about asking questions. Wasn't even just about testing his attitude toward death.
Part of the reason Dumbledore had brought him here was for Flamel. To let the old alchemist see something he hadn't seen before.
Regulus said nothing. He weighed his words internally.
What to say? How to say it? How much?
There was nothing improper about it. Everyone had their little ambitions. First-years declared they'd become Minister of Magic. He was in second year. Wanting to reach the stars... so what?
Besides...
He glanced at Dumbledore again.
Whatever the Sorting Hat had seen inside his head, Dumbledore certainly knew about it.
Saying it aloud now wasn't revealing a secret. It wasn't a big deal.
Regulus took a deep breath. "I want to see what's out there."
Flamel studied him. "Out there? Outside Hogwarts?"
Regulus shook his head. He lifted his chin and pointed upward.
Flamel stared. He exchanged a look with Dumbledore, then quickly turned back to Regulus.
"Those stars," Regulus continued. "They're far away. Light takes thousands of years to reach us. Tens of thousands. Some of the stars we see are already dead by the time their light arrives."
"I want to know what's there."
"Whether those stars have planets like ours orbiting them."
"Whether anything lives on them."
"If something does, do they have magic?"
"And if they do, what does their magic look like?"
Flamel was quiet for a long time. He glanced at Dumbledore again.
Dumbledore said nothing. He sat there with that easy smile.
But his eyes were saying, See? I wasn't exaggerating.
Flamel turned back to Regulus.
Six hundred years. Countless wizards' stories. Ambitions for power, for authority, for immortality. He'd heard them all.
Albus had told him this child wanted to walk beyond the boundaries of the world. That was a first.
Hearing it from the boy's own lips hit differently.
"Maybe I'll never get there in my lifetime," Regulus said. "But if I don't think about it, I definitely won't."
A long silence.
Then Flamel laughed, sudden and bright. "All this time, I thought I'd seen everything there was to see..."