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At Hogwarts, one of Regulus's absolute favorite weekly activities was his private, one-on-one teaching session with Albus Dumbledore.
From a tactical CEO perspective, the Headmaster—with his extraordinary intellect, vast political influence, and profound combat experience—was an incredibly rare conversational partner. Whether the topic was the obscure philosophy of ancient magic, the complex principles of Alchemy, or elaborate practical spell operations, this Legendary Wizard at least "knew a thing or two" about all of them.
Moreover, the Headmaster never looked down on anyone because of their youth. That kind of genuine equality and respect always brought Regulus an immense sense of peace and security.
One bright, warm spring morning, a light-footed Regulus once again ascended the spiraling stone staircase and stepped into the circular Headmaster's office.
An endless stream of bright, golden sunshine poured into the room through the tall, arched glass windows, making the gilded spines of the heavy tomes on the shelves gleam. The air smelled of old parchment, polished wood, and a faint hint of lemon drops.
Regulus and Dumbledore, as usual, sat opposite each other on either side of the massive claw-footed desk.
Today, the Professor was wearing a vibrant mint-green silk robe paired with a dark blue velvet ribbon, looking particularly fresh against the ancient backdrop of the room.
While the Headmaster focused his piercing blue eyes on reviewing Regulus's latest essay, the young Slytherin stole a quiet moment of leisure to gaze out at the expansive view from the high window.
His grey eyes swept over the deep, rippling surface of the Black Lake, trailing up towards the distant, lush mountains. He mapped the terrain from the sharp tips of the Forbidden Forest's ancient beech trees to the sprawling yews on the outskirts, their needles turning a vibrant green with the changing season—
I wonder if Mr. Ollivander also comes out here to the forest edge to source his wand materials, Regulus mused silently.
After a long, comfortable silence, accompanied only by the soft whirring of silver instruments.
"Regulus," Dumbledore's gentle, gravelly voice sounded, pulling the boy back from his thoughts. "You seem to like this office very much?"
"Yes, very much." Regulus nodded naturally, gesturing diagonally upwards in the direction of the Astronomy Tower. "Not only does it have a brilliant, strategic view of the grounds, but you also don't have to endure the freezing wind and biting sun to enjoy it."
And there's never a lack of people to chat with, he added internally, smiling politely at the snoozing portrait of his great-great-grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black, on the wall.
"I have finished reading your essay," Dumbledore said, setting the parchment down. He looked at the boy with his usual approving gaze. "Your theoretical understanding of 'light and space' is very novel, and your proposed concept of the magic-filtering crystal is quite interesting."
"Thank you," Regulus said happily. Earning Dumbledore's academic affirmation was in itself a massive reward.
"However, there is one fundamental misunderstanding here—" Dumbledore tapped a long, slender finger against a specific line of ink on the parchment. "You cannot treat light merely as a passive medium. It is, in itself, a tremendous, generative force. It existed independently long before responding to any Wizard's magical call."
Dumbledore paused subtly, his eyes adopting a distant, nostalgic sheen.
"A friend of mine once had an interesting, albeit dangerous, idea: that light and space themselves might simply be manifestations of time, and our fragile lives extend and stretch within these long, unbroken years."
"Regulus—what do you think of this theory?"
"It is indeed very interesting, Professor," Regulus said, leaning forward and steepling his fingers as he thought seriously for a moment. "A Muggle-born German Wizard once wrote: 'Time flows from eternity to the whole world like a river'—if eternity is seen as the essence of light itself, perhaps it does make sense."
Dumbledore listened patiently, nodding with slow satisfaction. "This friend even believed that it is light that makes reality real. However, I personally find such a rigid view a bit extreme."
"Professor, a Muggle writer once wrote—" Regulus responded, drawing on his vast reading from his previous life, "'Sunrise does not necessarily mean light, and the sun is nothing more than a morning star. It is only when we wake up that it is true dawn'. From an individual, conscious perspective, perhaps this can also hold true."
"Indeed," Dumbledore looked at him thoughtfully for a long moment, an ineffable, deep expression appearing in his blue eyes. "However, knowledge gained strictly through our physical senses can sometimes violently mislead us. The wise approach is—"
"Do not absolutely believe things that have once deceived us."
With that profound warning, the Headmaster waved his wizened hand. A strange alchemical device that looked like a heavy silver cigarette lighter suddenly materialized on the desk before Regulus.
"I have a small alchemical device that is very suitable for you," Dumbledore said, his eyes sparkling with a gentle, encouraging light. "Take it and study its mechanisms. It might help you gain a deeper, practical understanding of the magic bridging light and space."
"Thank you, Professor!" Regulus picked up the cold silver metal with sheer delight, examining its hinged lid and intricate runes with deep fascination.
Presumably, this was the famous—Albus brand·Good-for-doing-things-in-the-dark-and-windy-night·Automatic navigation·Smart home·Deluminator.
But maintaining his role as an inquisitive student, he still deliberately asked: "What is this?"
"A Deluminator," Dumbledore said briefly. "Simply put, it can absorb nearby ambient light sources. For its specific, deeper functions, it's best for you to try it yourself."
"Then is it chemically similar to Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?" Regulus immediately pressed on.
Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder could create a localized, impenetrable area of darkness. In another timeline, Draco Malfoy in his sixth year relied heavily on it, paired with the Hand of Glory, to smuggle Death Eaters out of the Room of Requirement.
Little Wizard Black, leveraging the sheer power of his family's money, had naturally already purchased two full jars of the illegal powder as one of his backup tactical plans for "blocking" the Basilisk's lethal gaze.
"Not the same. This Peruvian powder creates artificial darkness with magic to temporarily replace the light. However, this effect does not last and is not without a way to break it." Dumbledore looked at Regulus searchingly, his expression becoming profound and unfathomable.
"As is well known, darkness is also a force," the Headmaster said in a deep, resonant voice.
Regulus blinked. Every single time the theoretical power of darkness was discussed, Dumbledore would look intensely worried, clearly fearing the talented Slytherin boy was slipping down the wrong, familiar path.
He decided to rip the bandage off and simply asked directly:
"Professor, I'm very curious—about darkness and light—"
"Is that what Dark magic is like? Do you not allow Hogwarts to teach Dark magic simply because it might damage the soul?"
Dumbledore seemed not to have expected Regulus to ask this blunt, dangerous question. He slowly pushed up his half-moon spectacles, the twinkle vanishing from his eyes as his expression became deadly serious.
The sleeping Headmasters in the ornate portraits on the circular wall suddenly became exceptionally alert. They shifted in their painted chairs, whispering to each other behind their hands while staring intently down at Dumbledore's desk.
"Dubium sapientiae initium," an ancient, bearded Headmaster smiled at Regulus from a gilded frame, chanting the Latin phrase—Doubt is the beginning of wisdom—like a slow song.
Dumbledore remained silent for a long, heavy time before slowly speaking:
"Our soul rarely tells us directly what it needs to be satisfied. It is like when a thirsty person desperately needs water to survive, but turns and picks up a chalice of poisoned wine instead."
These wise and profound words did not satisfy the listening portraits. A strict-looking Headmaster from the seventeenth century who had notoriously taught Dark magic grumbled impatiently from his canvas: "Albus, are you saying my soul is damaged?"
A Headmaster in the frame next to him secretly nodded in agreement.
Regulus suddenly realized—he seemed to have stepped squarely into a historical forbidden area. This was a very, very easy question to offend centuries of pureblood legacy with.
Phineas Nigellus glared down fiercely, his painted eyes flashing a warning at his descendant. Regulus obediently lowered his eyelids, breaking eye contact, and closed his mouth.
Facing the varying, hostile expressions of the many portraits, Dumbledore answered without hesitation: "Yes, I do have such a conjecture."
The old Headmasters immediately started loudly discussing and arguing amongst themselves, canvas rustling.
Regulus couldn't help but praise the man inwardly. As expected of Dumbledore. Even when the political situation was unfavorable to him, he could maintain his firm stance and dare to speak from his moral heart.
Just as he felt a touch of genuine emotion about the old wizard's integrity, he heard the Headmaster continue.
"However, I have no definite proof of the mechanics." He turned his attention back to Regulus. "I believe that the world we live in, including our own inner selves, can be seen as a Lichtung."
Many portraits paused their arguing, showing puzzled expressions at the foreign term.
"Lichtung... a clearing in the forest," Regulus explained smoothly, recognizing the Muggle philosophy. "An open space in the dense forest, where light and darkness, brightness and shadow naturally meet. It's a philosophical concept."
Dumbledore gazed at the young boy sitting before him, and for a fleeting, tragic moment, he seemed to see the shadow of an old, brilliant friend.
He nodded, his gaze becoming even more approving, and continued:
"Absolute light, much like absolute darkness, can make one lose their sight entirely."
"Darkness goes without saying. And as for light—you must have seen the strong light mode of an alchemical lamp—in such blinding light, people also cannot see anything real."
"Both light and darkness are an inescapable part of us, and darkness itself also possesses a unique, necessary generative force."
The office fell into a heavy, contemplative silence. Amidst the gentle, trilling chirp of Fawkes the Phoenix from his golden perch, Regulus looked up at the quieted portraits on the wall, then his grey gaze returned squarely to Headmaster Dumbledore.
"Professor, I have an idea—"
Dumbledore steepled his fingers and gestured for him to continue.
"I think my analogy earlier wasn't quite right—" Regulus said, his voice steady. "Darkness and evil are fundamentally different."
"Evil cannot control a soul that does not willingly approach or respond to it."
The room immediately fell dead silent again. Looking down at the twelve-year-old Little Wizard in front of them, the seasoned Headmasters in the portraits all showed shocked, wide-eyed expressions.
"If we only look at the physical result, any basic magic can be used for evil purposes," Regulus said calmly, presenting his CEO logic. "Then we should logically redefine what Dark magic truly is—basing the classification strictly on the irreversible damage done to the soul."
"For example, taking the most extreme tactical example—"
Regulus openly met Dumbledore's astonishingly sharp, suddenly terrifying blue eyes.
"That specific kind of Dark magic that actively tears the soul apart."
Several portraits immediately let out loud, horrified gasps.
"Professor, after reading Soul Power, I actually did a little research..."