McGonagall turned, walked a few paces, and looked back. "Albus, do you truly believe in him?"
Dumbledore considered the question. Then he asked one of his own. "Minerva, do you know what that child has been doing this past month?"
She shook her head.
"He's been trying to fuse his will into the fabric of Hogwarts's space," Dumbledore said. "Trying to make a protective intent become part of the space itself."
McGonagall froze. "He..."
"It didn't work," Dumbledore said. "But he tried. Many times."
"Minerva, do you know what that means?"
She said nothing.
"Manifesting one's will and imposing it on the external world. That isn't something ordinary wizards can do. Many go their entire lives without finding that door. He's knocking on it in his second year."
McGonagall remained silent.
Dumbledore went on. "The Fiendfyre tonight. Did you sense it? That level of control. That submission. The Fiendfyre obeyed him, and it did so because it chose to."
He met her eyes, expression warm. "That child's will is already formidable. The protective intent, the tamed Fiendfyre, both point to the same thing. A will like that won't be swayed by outside forces. Won't be manipulated. Won't stray. He has his own ideas, his own choices, his own road. Minerva, perhaps you can try believing in him. Give him time."
A final thought, quiet. "A will rooted in protection. That's a beautiful thing, isn't it?"
McGonagall was silent for a long while. Then she nodded. "I understand."
She turned and walked toward the castle.
Dumbledore stood watching until her figure vanished, then turned to face the Forbidden Forest.
Fusing will into space. Making protection an extension of self. Flying on Fiendfyre.
Taken individually, each was astonishing. Taken together, they reminded him of someone else.
He, too, could tame powerful flame. His will, too, burned so fiercely it demanded attention. He, too, preferred taking ordinary things and bending them to extraordinary purpose.
Regulus's Fiendfyre was orange-red, but tamed by will. The same trajectory.
Add a bit more. A bit of judgment. A bit of ruthlessness. Could it turn blue?
Dumbledore shook his head, the corner of his mouth curving, his beard twitching.
Heh. Overthinking it.
Regulus had never even seen it. How could he possibly?
He turned and walked toward the castle.
---
Regulus opened his eyes feeling sharp and rested. Half the night spent pushing himself to extremes, but the sleep had been good.
He sat up, rolled his neck, and sensed someone watching him.
He turned.
Hermes sat in the chair beside his bed, staring straight at him, an expression of deep, simmering reproach.
Hair a disaster. Clothes crumpled into a wad. Dried sweat streaked across his face.
He looked like someone who'd been fished out of a river and left on the bank to dry overnight.
The reproach was justified.
Last night, Regulus had left early. Before going, Hermes had asked if he was coming back.
Regulus said yes, maybe late.
Hermes hadn't thought twice about it. Trained until collapse as usual, dropped to the floor, and waited to be collected.
He waited all night. Nobody came.
He'd pushed so hard that he didn't recover enough strength to move until near dawn, then dragged himself back on his own.
Regulus's face betrayed nothing. Internally, not a ripple. Maybe a faint urge to laugh.
He threw off the covers, stood, and headed for the washroom.
Passing Hermes, expression perfectly neutral, voice perfectly even: "Morning."
Hermes's eyes went wide. He stared at Regulus's retreating back, mouth opening and closing without producing sound.
Morning?
That's it? Morning?
He got up and followed into the washroom, planting himself in the doorway, watching Regulus wash up.
Every movement smooth and unhurried. Not a shred of guilt.
Hermes leaned against the doorframe, saying nothing.
He'd stayed awake all night for this. To be the first thing Regulus saw when he woke.
And Regulus had glanced at him, said "morning," and carried on with his routine.
Hermes was out of moves. He could hardly demand an apology, could he?
The thought conjured an image in his head.
Regulus standing before him, expression grave, tone sincere: "Hermes, I'm sorry."
A shudder ran through him.
No. That image was terrifying.
If Regulus ever apologized for real, it would mean something had gone catastrophically wrong. Wrong enough that he felt he had no choice.
That kind of apology would be unbearable.
Never mind. Things were fine as they were.
Regulus finished washing, dried his face, and caught Hermes's reflection in the mirror. "Aren't you going to clean up?"
Hermes took a breath, straightened, walked in, pulling off his shirt as he went.
The afternoon bell rang. Regulus headed for Slughorn's office.
October twenty-first. This Saturday. A weekend.
With his current abilities, getting to France was a matter of a few Apparitions. But inside Hogwarts, you couldn't operate that way.
Procedure had to be followed. Submit a leave request. Inform your Head of House. Leave a record. Rules existed for a reason.
The office door stood half-open. Regulus knocked.
"Come in!"
Slughorn sat behind his desk, a goblet of mead in hand, several dishes of candied fruit arranged before him.
His eyes lit up when Regulus entered. "Regulus! Come, sit."
Regulus settled into the chair across from him.
Slughorn nudged the dish of candied fruit closer. "Try some. Fresh shipment. Italian."
Regulus took a piece and popped it in his mouth. "Good. Sweet."
Slughorn beamed at him. "Well then, what brings you?"
Regulus set the fruit aside. "Professor, I'd like to request two days' leave this weekend."
Slughorn's eyebrows climbed. "Leave? Where to?"
"France. Personal matter."
Slughorn didn't press. A nod. "Two days enough?"
"Plenty."
Slughorn picked up a quill and scratched across a sheet of parchment on his desk. "Done. Saturday and Sunday, correct?"
"Yes, Professor."
Slughorn finished writing, set the quill down, and leaned back in his chair.
He studied Regulus, and something subtle shifted in his expression. "By the way, Regulus."
Regulus looked at him.
Slughorn raised his goblet, took a sip, tone deliberately casual. "Last night was quite the commotion."
He went on. "Minerva, Filius, Pomona. All roused. If Minerva hadn't held them back, we'd all have marched into the Forbidden Forest for a look."
The corner of Regulus's mouth twitched.
He knew what the professor was doing. A gentle reminder. Whatever he'd done last night, the faculty knew about it.
He'd realized as much himself once the adrenaline faded. At that hour, Dumbledore would have been near the Shrieking Shack. And now hearing that the other Heads of House had been alerted... not surprising.
But Slughorn was the only one who'd mentioned it, and his tone was light, as though discussing something trivial.
Which meant the Fiendfyre, the midnight excursion, the Forbidden Forest, all of it had been noted and filed away. Case closed.
The only takeaway: keep it quieter next time.
His gaze dropped. A mental note, added silently.
The flight system needed another feature. Suppression of magical fluctuations.
Otherwise the next flight would draw the same audience.
Slughorn watched him, eyes twinkling. "That thing. That was yours, wasn't it?"
Regulus dipped his head, a soft "Mm," as though embarrassed.
Slughorn didn't press for details. Another sip of mead, tone relaxed. "Keep it down next time. Don't make such a racket."
Regulus looked up, voice apologetic. "Professor, I'm sorry for disturbing your rest."
Slughorn waved a hand. "No harm done. Young people having energy is a good thing. Just don't burn down the Forbidden Forest."
"Off you go, then. Enjoy the weekend. Back for class Monday morning, on time."
---
Join my Patreon for early access to chapters: patreon.com/rivyura
Next Target 400PS :)