Three hundred kilometres per hour. Five hundred. Eight hundred.
The Protego shell hummed as air tore around it, the sound rising from a low rumble to a sharp, keening whine. But the awful high-frequency shudder from his first attempt never came. The redesigned shell spread the load evenly, and it held.
Regulus climbed.
The cliffs dwindled beneath him. The sea broadened into a vast sheet of grey-blue, its whitecaps thinning to pale threads.
One thousand.
Air began piling up in front of him, moving too quickly to get out of the way. Compression ripples formed ahead of the craft, one after another. Light bent through them, making the world outside shimmer and warp.
He pushed harder.
The ripples crowded together. The wall of air thickened, and the shell began to shake. Near the speed of sound, parts of the airflow had already gone supersonic. Their shockwaves hammered the shield in rapid succession.
Shockwave drag.
He increased the sweep of the wings. Magic tugged both surfaces back, shifting their leading edges past thirty degrees. The frontal area shrank, the compression spread along the wings, and the shaking eased.
Regulus narrowed the exhaust to its limit and poured more Fiendfyre into it.
The orange jet brightened, stretching behind him in a long tail of flame. As its heat rose, the colour deepened from orange-red to crimson.
The craft lunged forward.
The compression ripples shattered. White vapour exploded from the nose and wing edges, shockwaves suddenly made visible as a Mach cone.
The sonic boom hit.
And then, past the barrier, everything went quiet.
Wind noise vanished. He was moving faster than sound, so sound couldn't keep up with him. The shell stopped shaking too. The shockwaves now ran along its surface instead of battering it head-on.
The world sharpened into something simple: colour, direction, motion. The sea blurred below him in grey-blue streaks.
Fast. Properly fast.
Regulus grinned before he could stop himself and kept climbing.
Clouds loomed above, grey and heavy, with the sea far below. He punched through the layer, moisture striking the shell until the world became featureless grey-white.
A second later, he broke through.
The sky above the clouds was a deep, almost violet blue. Behind him, the unobstructed sun caught the Protego shell and turned it bright enough to hurt the eyes, its leading edges burning white.
Below lay an endless sea of cloud, white and churning, gold where sunlight touched it. Vapour rose in great hills and dipped into valleys. Wind combed ripples over the surface until it looked like a white desert rolling beneath him.
Far away, the horizon curved.
The Earth was round.
From up here, he could see it.
Regulus eased off the thrust. Fiendfyre redirected downward to counter gravity, and the craft slowed from supersonic to subsonic, then to a perfectly steady hover.
Silence settled around him. The air was so thin that only the faintest wisps drifted past.
Baruk climbed all the way out of the inner pocket. All eight amber eyes were wide as he stared at the clouds below and the dark blue sky above. His chelicerae hung open for a long moment before clicking shut.
"...Pret...ty."
Regulus looked out over the world and breathed in. The air was thin and cold enough to sting his lungs. He didn't care.
Freedom.
The word had never meant anything so real.
No one knew he was here. No Voldemort. No pure-blood circles. No Hogwarts timetable. No politics waiting beyond the school gates.
Just him, a spider, a fistful of Fiendfyre, and the open sky.
He stayed there for a long time. Where the cloud layer thinned, the ocean showed through, so far below it barely looked real. Elsewhere, the clouds piled into small mountains, their peaks gold-white in the sun and their slopes dark with shadow.
He reduced the Fiendfyre to the minimum needed to hover. A small orange glow spilled from the exhaust and painted a circle of light on the clouds below.
At some point, the Starlight Kite joined him. A thread of silver-white rose through the clouds, striking against the gold on their surface. It circled him once and cried out. With nothing around them to swallow the sound, the call carried impossibly far.
One wizard. One spider. One bird. Hanging above the world.
The sun dipped lower. The cloud sea shifted from white-gold to orange-red, while a faint band of darkness appeared at the edge of the horizon.
Night was coming from the other side of the planet.
Regulus began his descent.
Fiendfyre flared. He redirected the thrust, flipped the craft, and dropped nose-first through the cloud layer. Grey-white moisture swallowed him for a moment, then split apart.
The sea returned below, darker than before. The sun still shone above the clouds, but beneath them, evening had already started to win.
He skimmed the water at subsonic speed. His wake flattened the waves and left a white scar across the surface.
Regulus pulled up, slowed, and dropped toward the cliff edge.
The Protego shell dissolved into silver motes. Fiendfyre retreated into his palms, its orange glow sinking beneath his skin and vanishing.
He stood on the grass, breathing hard and rolling out his shoulders. His legs felt a little rubbery. The Anti-G Force Charm had burned through plenty of energy, and some of the force had still made it through.
Still, this was worlds better than last time. After a few deep breaths, the trembling stopped.
His grin returned.
Baruk scrambled from his shoulder onto his head, tangling all eight legs in Regulus's hair. His chelicerae clicked in rapid-fire excitement.
"Loud! Fast! Pretty! Again!"
Regulus plucked him off and put him back on his shoulder. "Loud. Fast. Next time."
"Come on. Let's see the professor."
By the time he reached the clearing, the sky had gone dark.
Professor Sprout was still on the north side of the plantation. Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, her hands caked in soil, and an apron, probably supplied by Agnes, covered what had once been clean robes.
Several shallow trenches exposed parts of the Whomping Willow's roots. Sprout traced each one with dirty fingers, muttering through her inspection.
She heard him approach and looked up. "What were you doing out there? Something boomed a few times."
"Testing a spell." The grin hadn't quite left his face.
Sprout made a vague sound and went back to the roots without pressing him. She waved him closer. "Have a look at this."
Regulus crouched beside her.
She touched a spot near the base of the trunk. "The circuit reconnected here, all on its own, and better than I expected. The part of the cycle you rebuilt with Verdant magic? The roots are already treating it as their own. It's spreading outward."
Her finger moved to another section. "This bit is trouble. The scar tissue grew crooked. Magic has to detour around it, so it loses efficiency. I'll correct it before the tree decides to make a bigger mess of itself."
She rose and brushed dirt from her knees. "But it'll live. This one's tough."
Sprout looked at the Whomping Willow with a softness that made her meaning clear.
Regulus glanced between the tree and the professor. "Professor, could you bring it back to Hogwarts? It'll do better in one of your greenhouses than sitting out here in Cornwall, and you won't have to make this trip every time."
One eyebrow rose. Then Sprout smiled.
She knew perfectly well that he was giving her an excuse. She was happy to have it.
The tree had fascinated her all afternoon. Its roots repaired themselves more readily than most magical plants, and its magical circuits regenerated in an unusual, gentle pattern. Likely a trace of Regulus's verdant magic.
"It can keep the one at the castle company," she said lightly, already planning the move.
She drew her wand. Its wood was worn smooth, its shaft marked by faint scratches from years of use. A long, quiet incantation passed her lips.
Magic flowed from the tip like dense water and sank into the soil around the Whomping Willow. The earth loosened from the outer edge of the roots inward, peeling away without damaging even the finest rootlets. Then it gathered again, compacting into a complete sphere around the roots and their soil.
The ball rose into the air. It was five metres across, with trunk and branches protruding from the top.
The Willow's branches swayed once. The finest tendril curled toward Sprout.
It didn't strike.
Maybe it lacked the strength. Maybe it simply didn't want to.
Sprout guided the floating mass with her wand as if she were moving an overgrown potted plant. She jerked her chin toward the exit. "Let's go."
Agnes appeared at her side, eyes bright as she watched the tree float past. "Professor Sprout, that temperature-regulation charm we discussed. Could you look at it next time you visit?"
"Of course. Draw up your greenhouse layout and send it to Hogwarts first. I'll review it, and when I come we can get right to work."
"Wonderful."
The two witches walked ahead, already deep in conversation. Regulus followed behind them.
Baruk lay flat on his shoulder with his legs tucked beneath him, watching Professor Sprout's back. His chelicerae clicked softly. This witch felt comfortable.
At the plantation entrance, Regulus and Sprout said goodbye to Agnes.
Regulus put a hand on the professor's shoulder.
Crack.
And Hogwarts.