Flamel rose, his movements as unsteady as ever.
"It's getting late." He looked at Regulus, his gaze soft. "Time for the boy to head back."
Regulus blinked. He'd assumed he'd be staying the night.
So many questions still unasked. The specifics of magical conversion. The intersection of Alchemy and Transfiguration. The limits of life-alchemy, and whether the soul could be refined at all.
But Flamel had spoken, and he wasn't about to overstay his welcome.
Besides, this first meeting had gone well. Flamel's impression of him should be favorable.
There would be other chances.
"Next time," Flamel said, his voice gentler than before, "don't wait for Albus to bring you. Come on your own."
He turned and walked to the broad desk, rummaging through a pile of objects until he produced a metal sphere the size of his palm. Silver-grey, its surface covered in dense runic script that seemed to flicker and dance in the firelight.
He brought it back and held it out. "Take this. When you want to visit, give it a turn."
Regulus accepted it with both hands.
The sphere was warm to the touch, as if it generated its own heat.
One glance told him it wasn't a Portkey. More like a locator. An invitation.
He inclined his head. "I will, Mr. Flamel."
Flamel waved them off. "Right, go on. Albus, take him home."
Dumbledore stood with a smile. "Gladly."
They walked toward the door together. At the threshold, Regulus looked back.
Flamel stood by the fireplace, the flames casting his shadow long against the wall.
The alchemical instruments kept their rhythm. Tick-tick-tick. As if seeing them off.
The door closed behind them.
Outside the unassuming little building, night had fallen.
Paris glowed. Warm yellow light spilled from windows onto cobblestones, gentle on the eyes. A horse-drawn carriage clattered past somewhere in the distance, hooves sharp against the quiet streets. The occasional automobile hummed by, engine purring, then vanished around a corner.
The smell of roasting chestnuts drifted from some unseen shop.
Regulus and Dumbledore walked side by side. Neither spoke.
His thoughts stayed with Flamel.
A wizard past six hundred. How much had he witnessed? How many people had he known? How much magic had he mastered?
Regulus didn't flatter himself into thinking a few sentences from him could change anything.
A wizard at Flamel's level had long since fused his mind, his spirit, and his will with magic itself. Without Dumbledore's introduction, Regulus would have been just another child to him.
All that talk about stars and dreams beyond magic... to most ears, it was probably the rambling of a twelve-year-old.
A child says a few words about what's up in the sky, and a six-hundred-year-old alchemist suddenly wants to live again?
Impossible.
Even an ordinary adult wouldn't be swayed by a child's words, let alone Nicolas Flamel.
Regulus turned that over and allowed himself one private observation.
Dumbledore does love deploying young boys against old men.
In the original timeline, he'd sent Harry Potter after Slughorn to pry out intelligence about Horcruxes.
Now he was deploying Regulus against Flamel, hoping to rekindle some desire to keep living in his old friend.
Regulus glanced sideways at Dumbledore.
The old wizard walked with his hands clasped behind his back, moon-white robes conspicuous in the dark, though the Muggles around them saw nothing.
Whether any spark had been rekindled, Regulus couldn't say. He'd played his part either way.
They kept walking. Streetlamps passed one by one, stretching their shadows long, then short, then long again.
"Professor," Regulus said. "You didn't bring me here to broaden my horizons, did you?"
Dumbledore tilted his head, eyes bright with amusement. "What makes you say that?"
"A feeling. Mr. Flamel seemed... low."
Dumbledore said nothing. They walked on in silence for a stretch.
Then, with a note of something old and heavy in his voice: "Nicolas is my friend. Has been for a great many years."
Regulus listened.
"He's lived too long. Long enough to believe he's seen everything worth seeing, experienced everything worth experiencing. That kind of thought is more terrible than any curse."
A pause. "I never try to persuade anyone to keep living. Death is nothing more than the next great adventure."
He turned to Regulus, a smile in his eyes. "But if he decides on his own that he still wants to live, I'd be glad."
Regulus nodded. Right... death was an adventure.
"What you said tonight," Dumbledore continued, "about the stars, about wanting to see what's out there. A wonderful thought."
"I spend too much time staring upward," Regulus said lightly. "Hard not to wonder."
Dumbledore patted his shoulder and left it at that.
The words were casual, but Regulus's thoughts ran deeper.
Talking about the stars, about the sky... there'd been another layer to it.
An ambition vast enough to dissolve the question of sides.
My eyes aren't on the ground. They're pointed higher.
True or not, achievable or not, the message was clear.
It told Dumbledore: I can be reached. My attention isn't on earthbound conflicts. I don't even have a left or a right.
And that earlier line about not wanting to get killed? That was a statement too.
Killed by whom?
For what?
Given the current state of things, the answer was either Voldemort's side or Dumbledore's.
Dumbledore had certainly caught that, but he'd only smiled. Asked nothing.
Regulus understood Dumbledore's approach. Give time... Give guidance... Never force.
At least not yet. There was still time. The moment of real choosing hadn't arrived.
And frankly, Regulus's performance had been too good to pressure.
His thoughts continued.
If it ever came to choosing sides, Dumbledore could protect the Black family. Find a small house, cast the Fidelius Charm, seal the address inside his own soul. Voldemort would never find a single Black.
But the cost?
Abandoning Grimmauld Place. Abandoning the family's holdings. Abandoning centuries of accumulated everything, all for the sake of staying alive?
And it wasn't even his Black family. Not yet.
He was a twelve-year-old heir, not the Head of House.
The properties, the networks, the political capital, the wizards who'd attached themselves to the Black name... none of that was his to surrender.
And Voldemort's side, the Pure-blood faction... that wasn't something he could walk away from on a whim.
If he could see all this, Dumbledore saw it more clearly.
That was why there was no pressure. Only time. Only guidance.
They never discussed any of it. That silence was its own understanding.
Regulus thought that arrangement suited him well.
They stood at a street corner for a moment. Dumbledore gazed at the distant lights, then extended his hand.
"Your Patronus's spatial movement is remarkable," he said, "but it's late. We'll go straight back to Hogwarts."
He looked at Regulus and winked. "Once you're back, try sending it through the castle. I believe it should work."
Something sparked in Regulus's mind. Was Dumbledore granting him permission, or was the old man simply confident the Patronus could manage it?
No point overthinking. He'd test it when he got back. He reached out and gripped Dumbledore's arm.
Paris vanished. The Astronomy Tower materialized around them.
Regulus steadied himself and drew a deep breath.
Nothing specific had changed, but it felt like stepping back inside high walls.
Hogwarts and Dumbledore kept the outside world's chaos at bay.
The school was quiet. The anxieties about war, the fear of Voldemort, the arguments over allegiance... none of it reached here.
As for the minor restlessness within the castle walls? Background noise. Annoying when noticed, but not worth caring about.
This environment was exactly what he needed. Time to grow stronger.
Dumbledore didn't leave right away. They both tilted their heads back and looked up.
The sky was clean. Stars crowded every inch of it.
Dumbledore looked for a while. "I used to stare at the sky quite often. Its beautiful and vast."
He lowered his gaze to Regulus and smiled. "But I never thought about going up there."
"Stars are beautiful," Regulus said. "Looking at them is enough."
Dumbledore smiled and said nothing.
After another moment, he asked, "Magic can convert to mass, and mass to magic. Why did you ask about that?"
Something flickered behind Regulus's calm expression.
Why?
Because he'd thought of something else.
If magic could become mass, then mass could become magic.
If enough mass were converted to magic in a single instant, what would happen?
The mass would vanish, replaced by pure magical energy.
And if that energy were then released all at once, channeled through some method...
What kind of spell would that be?
He couldn't picture it. But he knew it would be terrifying.
He considered his answer, then chose the poetic route. "I want to make magic feel more like magic."
Dumbledore paused. Then he laughed. "What a delightful answer."
Regulus dropped his gaze and didn't respond.
But inside: When I figure it out, you can tell me how delightful it is then.
"Well then," Dumbledore said, pulling his eyes from the sky. "Goodnight, Regulus."
He vanished.
Regulus stood a moment longer, watching the stars.
Then he turned and descended the tower.
It was nearly ten when he reached the dormitory.
Cuthbert and Alex were both there, sitting at the table playing Exploding Snap.
Hermes was absent. At this hour, he was probably still grinding away in the Room of Requirement.
Cuthbert spotted him and sat up immediately. "Regulus, where were you all day? You were gone by the time we woke up."
Regulus gave him a look.
Slytherin had eyes everywhere. People watched him. Even if he trusted these roommates, there was no reason to broadcast everything.
"Library."
Cuthbert faltered. "The Library? But I was..."
Regulus cut him off. "What did you two get up to today?"
Cuthbert's mouth worked soundlessly. His gaze drifted elsewhere.
Alex looked away too, suddenly fascinated by the cards in his hand.
Regulus ignored both of them, gathered his toiletries, and headed for the bathroom.
A full day out. Not tiring, exactly, but he had no appetite for doing anything else tonight.
He washed up, came out, and collapsed into bed.
Cuthbert and Alex exchanged a glance. The Exploding Snap grew quieter. When a card detonated, even the explosion sounded muffled.
Regulus closed his eyes and let his thoughts unspool.
Two major takeaways from the day.
First: confirmation that magic and mass were interconvertible.
But that idea was enormous. It had to sit on the shelf for now.
How to do it? What method? How much magic would it require? How to control it? And if he ever succeeded... who would it be used against?
Nothing but questions.
In theory, if a lump of matter could have its mass fully converted to magic, the resulting force could tear Hogwarts off its foundations.
But how?
The Decomposition Curse broke systems down, dismantled them. It couldn't erase mass.
To make mass vanish, he'd need deeper logic. Maybe the ultimate expression of Transfiguration. Maybe another application of Alchemy. Maybe a fusion of both.
He didn't know. It could wait.
Second takeaway: the soul.
The soul wouldn't grow if he locked it away and tended it in isolation. It had to go out. Had to experience. Had to interact with the world.
What he lived through, the choices he made, the influence he exerted outward... all of it fed the soul.
That aligned perfectly with lighting the eighth star.
The path ahead had changed shape.
Go out. Do things.
He thought for a long time, then pulled the bed curtains shut and let his consciousness sink inward.
The star tracks turned. Stars held their positions. The little soul figure stood where all the light converged, glowing.
Brighter than yesterday.
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