Dumbledore leaned back into the sofa, listening to the exchange.
Regulus's first question, the one about magic converting to matter, struck him as basic. That material appeared in Hogwarts textbooks. Advanced Transfiguration in sixth year, theoretical Potions in seventh. Both covered it.
Magic could serve as a medium to alter matter. Matter absorbed magical energy during transformation. That was alchemy's foundational principle.
He couldn't quite see the purpose behind the question.
Maybe it was just idle curiosity.
The boy's understanding of alchemy was probably limited, and that was fair enough. He was twelve.
But Dumbledore reconsidered almost immediately.
Regulus wasn't the type to ask idle questions. Every question he posed had something behind it.
Magic and matter could convert into each other.
That conclusion, combined with the boy's understanding of spatial magic, or of verdant mMagic... what could it lead to?
Dumbledore couldn't picture it.
Young minds moved fast.
The second question, though, caught his attention.
The soul?
His eyebrows shifted.
He looked at Regulus, then at Nicolas. His body adjusted slightly, right elbow propped on the armrest, chin resting on his hand. Listening now. Properly listening.
Nicolas Flamel sat with the question for a moment after Regulus finished.
He repeated it back. "Is the soul matter?"
His tone carried weight. "Alchemy has been wrestling with that question for six hundred years. There's no definitive answer. But I can tell you how I see it."
Regulus listened intently.
"From the perspective of alchemy," Flamel continued, "I treat it as matter."
He reached out and closed his fingers around empty air.
"It takes up no space. You can't touch it. But only by treating it as matter can I do anything with it at all. That's the essence of alchemy. Doing something with matter. Changing it. Transforming it. Reshaping it. If I don't treat the soul as matter, I have nowhere to begin."
A smile crossed his face. "When you probed me with your magical sense earlier, I felt you looking. Do you know how I noticed?"
Regulus thought about it. "Because magical perception creates fluctuations?"
Flamel shook his head. "No."
"Because you're too powerful? Your senses are sharper than mine?"
Another shake. "Also no."
Regulus hesitated. "Then... some kind of instinct, built over centuries?"
Flamel waved it off with a grin. "Wrong on all counts."
Regulus stopped guessing. But a word was already forming in his mind.
Observation.
Maybe it wasn't that his magical perception had been detected. Maybe it was the act of observation itself that the observed had observed.
The same way that when he watched the little soul figure, it watched him back.
He kept the thought to himself and waited for Flamel to explain.
The amusement in Flamel's eyes deepened. "It's nothing mysterious. You were looking at me, and I knew. That's all."
Blunt. But Regulus understood.
Flamel leaned closer and dropped his voice, as if sharing a secret behind Dumbledore's back. "But I could feel it. Your looking wasn't just magical perception. Am I right?"
A blink. "You can already see it, can't you?"
Something stirred in Regulus's chest.
From that one moment of magical perception alone, he'd been found out?
Of course.
A wizard who'd lived six hundred years was bound to be extraordinary.
Then again, being discovered by Flamel wasn't particularly surprising.
Six centuries was more than enough time to become exquisitely sensitive to being observed.
And what Flamel had said confirmed his earlier guess.
Observation itself was interaction.
Every day he spent looking at the little soul figure was a confirmation of its existence. Each glance was potentially an exchange.
Those exchanges accumulated, deepening the connection between him and his soul over time.
That was what Flamel meant. You were looking at me, and I knew.
His guess was right. Observation and being observed were never one-directional.
Regulus turned all of this over internally.
Flamel glanced at him, then at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore hadn't moved. His expression was unchanged, but a flicker of comprehension passed through his eyes. He said nothing. Just listened.
Flamel turned back to Regulus. "You can already see it. That means it's there. That's the starting point."
Regulus straightened. "Mr. Flamel is right."
Flamel smiled and shot Dumbledore a satisfied look.
Regulus noticed the little exchange and found it amusing.
These two old men had an entertaining dynamic.
"But," Flamel continued, his smile fading, his tone growing serious, "being able to see it doesn't mean you can keep it."
"The soul is a flimsy thing. It drifts. Disperses easily. You need to give it an anchor. Something to hold it in place."
He extended his hand, making the same grasping gesture as before. "In alchemy, everything you refine needs a core first. Crystals grow from a seed. The soul works the same way. Without a core, it's fog. One gust and it scatters. With a core, it can solidify. It can grow."
He looked at Regulus. "What's your anchor? I don't know. Maybe it's something you hold onto. Maybe it's someone you can't let go of. Maybe it's the thoughts spinning through your head every night. But there is one. Otherwise, you would've scattered long ago."
Regulus considered that.
What was his anchor?
What he held onto was the desire to push outward. To see what lay behind the stars. To learn what existed beyond the boundaries of this world.
That urge had been there since he was small. It had never faded.
It was bigger than any single goal. Big enough to contain everything else.
The thoughts spinning through his head each night were his growing understanding of magic, his exploration of the world, his probing at the rules that governed it. Spells refined late into the night in the Room of Requirement. Stars seen during Star Guided Meditation. Possibilities imagined through the little soul figure.
And someone he couldn't let go of?
He skipped that one. He was twelve. Not worth thinking about.
All of these were anchors. Things that pinned his soul in place.
Flamel was right.
He pressed on. "Mr. Flamel, can the soul be strengthened?"
Satisfaction flickered in Flamel's eyes. "Of course it can. Think of alchemy. Matter feeds on magic to transform. So what does the soul feed on? It feeds on what you experience. The choices you make. The things you refuse to surrender, no matter what."
"Albus tells me you have a Patronus. Have you ever wondered why yours is so bright?"
Regulus tilted his head, puzzled.
Because I'm good?
"Because there's light inside you. That's the soul feeding. It's consuming the things that make you shine."
His mind raced through Flamel's words.
The brighter the Patronus, the better-fed the soul. So the Patronus was... an appetite indicator for the soul?
The happy memories, the moments of being moved, the things he wanted to protect. All of it was food.
But another question surfaced.
What Flamel described could be taken as a definitive answer, but was it the only one?
The Patronus was born from light. What about its exact opposite?
Darkness... destruction. The collapse of order. If those could also nourish the soul, what did that mean?
If the soul could feed on those things too...
The moments of fury. The instants when killing intent surged. The cold commands toward destruction. If all of that could become nourishment, what would the result be?
Would the darkness consume you? Or would you consume the darkness, make it part of yourself?
If the Patronus fed on light, then Dark magic fed on shadow.
If both fed the soul at once, what would it become?
Creation and destruction could form a cycle. Did that mean light and darkness had to be opposites?
Regulus sank into thought. No answer came.
But the question felt worth holding onto.
Flamel didn't rush him. Just watched.
Dumbledore said nothing either, studying Regulus, though his thoughts ran in a different direction.
This child can already see his soul. And he's thinking about how to strengthen it?
A thread of surprise ran through him.
Seeing the soul wasn't something raw talent alone could achieve. It required a depth of self-awareness, a distance traveled inward, that most wizards never reached in a lifetime.
Regulus had managed it in his second year.
But watching the boy sit in contemplation now, Dumbledore understood. He'd taken it in. And he was still moving forward.
His eyes shone with quiet admiration.
Flamel's held the same look.
After a long silence, Regulus surfaced.
He noticed both old men watching him and dipped his head slightly. "Sorry. I drifted off."
Flamel waved it away. "No need. Figured it out?"
Regulus paused. "Some of it. The rest is still forming."
Flamel nodded, satisfied. "Good. The ones who understand everything at once are usually wrong."
He smiled. "So these three things are inseparable. You can see it, which means it's there. You can hold it steady, which means you have an anchor. You can nourish it, which means you know what to feed it."
He held up three fingers.
"Seeing, anchoring and feeding. You need all three. And you're already doing it. You just hadn't realized it was alchemy."
Regulus repeated the three words in his mind. They fit together like interlocking gears.
The clearer the seeing, the steadier the anchor.
The steadier the anchor, the more the soul consumed.
The more it consumed, the clearer the seeing.
A cycle.
And if that was the case, he couldn't afford to be passive about it. He had to choose deliberately. Seek out the things that strengthened his anchor. Actively feed his soul.
That didn't conflict with lighting Saiph. Not at all.
Exerting influence on the world was itself a kind of experience.
The deeper the experience, the more the soul consumed. The more it consumed, the steadier the anchor. The steadier the anchor, the greater the chance of lighting Saiph.
No conflict. They reinforced each other.
Regulus sorted through all of it until the pieces aligned.
Flamel watched him. "Six hundred years taught me one thing. Some questions don't need answers before you start. You can begin first. Keep going, and the answers come on their own."
Regulus inclined his head. "Thank you, Mr. Flamel."
Flamel waved it off. "Don't thank me. You asked good questions. That's what made the answers interesting."
He glanced at Dumbledore. "Better than those pointless ones you ask."
Dumbledore chuckled, beard bobbing, and offered no rebuttal.