When the bell rang, Professor Flitwick stopped Regulus before he could follow the others out.
"Mr. Black, could you stay a moment?"
Students filed past in a steady stream. Cuthbert glanced at Regulus, mouthed I'll wait outside, then slipped out with the rest.
In no time at all, the classroom was empty except for the two of them.
Professor Flitwick hopped down from his stack of books and walked over. He tilted his head up to look at Regulus, who towered over him, and the usual bright, bouncy excitement was gone from his face. In its place was something serious and intent.
"Your question today," Professor Flitwick said, "reminded me of the question you asked in your very first lesson. About the nature of Wingardium Leviosa. About the way magic distributes, and how it supports something against gravity."
Regulus dipped his head slightly and listened without interrupting.
"Back then, you were looking for principles. For the 'why.'" Professor Flitwick's voice stayed calm and measured. "Today, you were still asking why, but from a different angle.
"You weren't asking how the spell works. You were asking what it doesn't work on. That's deeper thinking. That's progress in understanding."
He kept his gaze fixed on Regulus, and behind his glasses, his eyes seemed to catch the light.
"Magic is simply there, Mr. Black," Professor Flitwick said, his voice turning softer, like he was sharing something old and carefully guarded. "It has existed since ancient times, like air, like water, like the earth itself.
Everyone understands magic differently. In the same school, with the same professor, using the same textbook, students can still grow into completely different paths.
Some excel in combat magic. Some in healing. Some in Transfiguration. Some in alchemy. None of those paths is better or worse. They're choices."
His bright eyes didn't waver. "But there is one thing they all share: you have to believe.
Believe that magic exists. Believe in your understanding. Believe in the power of the mind.
Because sometimes magic blooms when you least expect it, and answers when you need it most. That answer isn't always rational. It isn't always logical. But it's real."
Regulus stood still, and something inside him loosened. The thin haze of confusion he'd been carrying began to peel away.
Professor Flitwick noticed immediately.
This small professor, a master of charms with decades of research and teaching behind him, had seen the shift in Regulus before Regulus could fully name it himself.
From pure, cold analysis… to the first real acceptance that magic had an irrational side.
From trying to force everything into a neat scientific framework… to understanding that some things might simply refuse to be explained.
So Flitwick gave him this. Not a technique. Not a tidy answer. Something more fundamental, a way of approaching magic.
Regulus had, at the start, been thoroughly rational.
He'd always looked at the world the same way: gather information, compare it, find patterns, build models.
Even with magic, his instincts pushed him to drag it into a framework that could be understood, tested, and explained.
Everything had cause and effect.
Everything could be solved.
But the more magic he encountered, the wider the world became, and he'd started to see the cracks in that certainty.
Magic could follow rules, yes.
It could also be full of accidents and wonders.
Transfiguration dealt with changing the very nature of matter.
Soul magic brushed against the deepest mysteries of existence.
The Patronus Charm went straight to the most buried desire in your heart.
None of that could be reduced to a simple equation of energy conversion.
Even so, he'd still leaned toward logic. He kept trying to find the hidden structure underneath it all, the unified framework that would make even the most seemingly spiritual parts of magic fall neatly into place.
Right up until the moment he'd summoned a Patronus. The Starlight Kite.
In that instant, it had been pure sensation, pure certainty. Standing on a cliff along the Irish coast, watching the sun sink into the sea, feeling that rush in his chest, that longing for freedom, for a wider world, for endless possibility.
And then the Patronus had come, as naturally as if it had grown out of his soul.
That was the first time he'd truly touched the strength of the mind.
He'd chosen, after that, to walk a road where reason and feeling could exist together.
Use logic to plan the direction.
Use emotion to live the journey.
Use calculation to control magic.
Use the heart to feel it.
Now, hearing Professor Flitwick speak, it felt like the final piece clicking into place.
Magic was simply there.
No matter how he looked at it, no matter what road he took toward it, whether he tried to understand it or simply experience it, magic was still there.
It didn't change because he understood more.
It didn't shrink because he chose one approach over another.
It existed as naturally as the world itself.
He could study it like science.
He could sense it through the mind.
He could grasp it by instinct.
He could master it through experience.
None of those paths contradicted the others. They weren't at war. They were different routes toward the same destination.
What mattered was that he trusted the road he was walking, and treated magic with sincerity.
Regulus drew a deep breath, then bowed to Professor Flitwick, properly and solemnly, with genuine respect.
"Thank you, Professor," he said, voice steady and honest. "That meant a lot to me."
Professor Flitwick smiled, and the lively sparkle returned to his face like a lamp being lit.
"It's my honor to help you, Mr. Black."
He sounded almost cheerful again. "You're talented, and you think in interesting ways. Keep thinking, keep your curiosity, but also keep yourself open. The magical world is vast. There's a great deal waiting for you to discover."
Regulus thanked him once more and left the classroom.
Cuthbert and Alex were waiting in the corridor. The moment Regulus appeared, Cuthbert leaned in eagerly. "What'd he say to you?"
"Just… something about understanding magic," Regulus said.
"Oh." Cuthbert looked like he understood about half of that, and wisely didn't press.
The three of them headed for their next class.
Regulus walked in the middle, steps even, expression calm. But inside, that stubborn obsession he'd always carried, the need to trap everything inside a rational box, had finally begun to loosen for real.
He was grateful to Professor Flitwick.
Not only for the insight, but because Flitwick had been able to see the problem in his student, understand the confusion underneath it, and willingly share his own wisdom and experience.
That attention, that willingness to guide, that respect for teaching itself, made Professor Flitwick someone genuinely admirable.
Power mattered.
Skill mattered.
But a heart that wanted to lead students forward, a heart that didn't hoard knowledge, mattered too.
The next class was History of Magic.
Professor Binns drifted at the front of the room, lecturing in his flat, unchanging voice about medieval European wizard councils.
Most students were fighting sleep. A few were secretly reading other books under their textbooks.
Regulus sat near the window, quill in hand, drawing absent lines across parchment without realizing it.
Professor Flitwick's words kept echoing.
"Magic is simply there."
"Everyone understands magic differently."
"Believe in the power of the mind."
They were enlightening, but they weren't absolute.
Regulus wasn't the type to change his entire path because a professor had said something meaningful. He wouldn't swallow someone else's perspective whole and call it his truth.
His road was his to walk.
Every accomplished witch and wizard had their own understanding, their own way forward.
like Dumbledore, Grindelwald, Voldemort, Professor McGonagall, Professor Slughorn, Professor Flitwick…
Their paths weren't just different, sometimes they clashed outright, yet every one of them had reached remarkable heights.
You couldn't become someone like that by memorizing textbooks alone. You needed your own thinking. Your own understanding. Sometimes even your own creation.
He could learn from other people's experience, borrow their methods, but he couldn't copy them entirely. That would be their road, not his.
What Professor Flitwick had given him wasn't so much a direction as a confirmation.
Confirmation that the way he'd been thinking lately was right. That reason and feeling could coexist. That accepting magic's irrational side wasn't regression, but growth.
It made him more certain, not less.
When the bell rang, Regulus packed his books and stood.
He declined Cuthbert's invitation to go to the Great Hall for lunch, and instead turned toward the library.
---
On the first day back, the library was quiet.
Most students were still riding the warmth of the holiday break, preferring to stroll outside the castle and chat, or head back to their common rooms to trade stories.
Regulus walked between the shelves until he reached the Charms section.
He didn't have a specific target. He just moved slowly along the spines, fingertips brushing titles as his eyes skimmed over names, some new, some worn.
Common Spells and Their Variations.
Advanced Techniques in Magical Control.
Ancient Runes and Their Links to Modern Spells.
In the end, he pulled out a book called On the Nature of Magic, written by an author he'd never heard of.
He opened it.
No matter which path he chose, he still had to walk it with his own feet.
All the thinking in the world, all the understanding in the world, still had to land somewhere real: concrete knowledge, actual practice, and the steady growth of power.
Professor Flitwick's words were guidance on direction. But how to walk it, how quickly, what to do when he hit an obstacle… that was on him.
He sank into the book, and time slipped by.
About half an hour later, the chair across from him scraped back.
Someone sat down.