Chapter 190: Regulus Reborn
Albus Dumbledore had seen Nicolas Flamel create bodies before—
Yet every time, it still left him in quiet awe.
By all conventional magical theory, a body should be built from the inside out.
But Flamel—
Did the exact opposite.
He constructed life from the outside in.
"The muscular layer requires more intricate weaving."
Flamel tapped his temple lightly.
The alchemical puppet's eyes flared emerald—
Projecting a three-dimensional anatomical model into the air.
From a compartment hidden within his thigh, he retrieved artificial tendons soaked in dragon blood.
The moment they touched the base fluid—
They unraveled into thousands of fine, gold-red filaments.
Each thread burrowed beneath the forming skin.
When the construction reached the chest—
An alchemical furnace floating nearby erupted in emerald flames.
Flamel swiftly added three ingredients:
A heart model carved from mandrake root
Thestral tail feathers soaked in Felix Felicis for seven days and nights
Powdered dragon nerve extracted from Regulus's original wand core
The flames fused them into a dark red mass threaded with gold—
Which embedded itself precisely between the ribs.
"Blood must be infused in three stages," Flamel instructed.
In Dumbledore's hand, the potion vial was already steaming with rose-colored mist.
First infusion:
Morning dew gathered from rose thorns.
It crystallized within the vascular network—
Forming a pale blue base circulatory fluid.
Second infusion:
Fresh unicorn blood mixed with phoenix feather ash—
Freely given, not taken.
It granted warmth…
And life.
Final infusion:
Flamel gestured.
Dumbledore cut his palm without hesitation—
Letting several drops of his own blood fall into the system.
This—
Was the key to granting magical affinity.
The formation of bone was the most delicate process.
Flamel scattered a potent bone-regrowth elixir mixed with fragments of Regulus's teeth across the forming body.
The moment the powder touched—
The runic array beneath them ignited in silver light.
Bones grew like coral—
Branching, shaping, stabilizing.
Ivory vertebrae formed within the torso under the catalyst of magic.
"The nervous system must be calibrated simultaneously."
Flamel's understanding extended even into Muggle biological theory.
For someone who had lived centuries—
Learning had never stopped.
His metallic fingers split into hundreds of silver threads—
Each tipped with a strand of unicorn hair.
They slithered into the body's fingertips—
Creeping along bone toward the heart.
Dumbledore poured a vial of sun orchid oil mixed with moonstone dust.
The liquid vaporized instantly upon contact—
Igniting a soft golden glow along the nerve fibers.
The Most Dangerous Step: The Mind
Flamel retrieved a gelatinous mass from a lead container.
Its surface shimmered with nacre-like iridescence.
"Memory Nebula…" Dumbledore murmured.
"You've extracted the foundation of a Pensieve."
Flamel embedded it into the cranial cavity.
At once—
It extended countless crystalline synapses.
Dumbledore raised his wand again.
From the shattered remains of Regulus's Inferius body—
Tiny lights, no larger than fireflies, emerged.
Fragments of soul—
Untouched by dark magic.
They drifted—
One by one—
Into the new body's brow.
The moment the final fragment merged—
The puppet's chest emitted a harsh grinding shriek.
Its emerald right eye cracked.
Even so—
It struggled to continue—
Trying to guide a dropper of phoenix blood toward the heart.
Its lifespan…
Was ending.
"Let me."
Dumbledore stepped forward.
He took the dropper—
And released the final drops of golden-red blood.
They sank into the body—
Completing the final step of rebirth.
The trembling of flesh reached its peak.
With the last of his strength, Nicolas Flamel forced a surge of vapor into the lungs—
And suddenly, the new body's chest heaved violently.
A breath.
The first.
"Albus…" Flamel spoke, his single remaining eye fixed on Albus Dumbledore.
"The ritual… is not perfect. Regulus may have lost a great deal of his memory."
A pause.
"But this is the best outcome we could hope for."
"I understand," Dumbledore said softly, watching the still form.
"I only hope… he remembers his family."
"In that case, we should leave," Flamel replied.
"This body—and this laboratory—I'll leave them to you."
To him, such priceless alchemical constructs meant little anymore.
Over the centuries, he had created dozens like this.
And now—
He had already made peace with death.
Dumbledore carried Regulus Black out of the alchemical space and back into the Headmaster's office.
The moment they appeared—
The portrait of the Black Headmaster snapped to attention.
"What—?! That's… Regulus! The traitor of the Black family!"
He began ranting and pacing wildly within his frame, drawing murmurs from the other portraits.
"Perhaps the truth is not what you believe," Dumbledore said calmly.
"You had two remarkable descendants."
"Two?" the portrait scoffed.
"One is Sirius—I'll admit, his courage is impressive. But the other?"
He burst into laughter.
"Don't tell me you mean Regulus?"
The laughter slowly faded.
Because Dumbledore did not smile.
"…You're serious?" the portrait asked, frowning.
"Regulus served the Dark Lord."
"On the contrary," Dumbledore said.
And from his robes—
He produced a delicate locket.
"This is—Slytherin's locket?!"
The portrait inhaled sharply.
It had once belonged to the Head of Slytherin House before vanishing mysteriously.
He looked at the locket.
Then at the sleeping Regulus.
And something clicked.
"…He retrieved it?" he asked, voice unsteady.
"Yes," Dumbledore nodded.
Then, he recounted everything.
Silence fell.
"My word… I misunderstood that boy. For so long…"
The Black Headmaster finally recovered—
Only for his expression to twist into smug satisfaction.
"Hah! You lot always said I was the worst Headmaster Hogwarts ever had."
He puffed up proudly.
"But clearly—my descendants outshine all of yours!"
No one argued.
Because no one could.
So instead—
The other portraits surged forward together—
And promptly beat him senseless inside his frame.
Meanwhile—
Regulus's eyelids began to twitch.
Faintly.
Slowly.
His new body looked no different from before—
At least, on the surface.
But one thing was certain—
This body…
Was far stronger than the one he had lost.