Regulus lay in bed, wide awake. Too much information churning through his head, rolling in like the waves outside his window.
Everything from the past days. Meeting Freya. The first encounter with the Abyssal Whispers. Casting the Decomposition Curse's second form. The burning island. The Slumbering Abyss. The presence.
Where had that thing come from?
How long had it existed? Thousands of years? Tens of thousands? Longer than humanity itself?
When it had conveyed those alternative frameworks, it had done so with such casual certainty, as though every spell in existence already had a second interpretation filed away in its depths.
He hadn't dwelt on that in the moment. Only now, replaying it, did the implication land.
Every spell in the modern wizarding world, every system, every magical construct, had already existed within that thing's frame of reference. That was why it could match each one, point to an alternate path for each one.
Because those paths had always been there. It was only pointing them out, like gesturing at doors that had been open all along.
It wasn't offering possibilities. It was stating things that had already been proven.
Already walked.
Regulus didn't know. He could only guess.
And what about Grindelwald?
He'd obtained the archive decades ago. He'd gone inside. When he faced that presence, how had he responded? Which path had he chosen?
Or had he done the same thing: listened, then walked away on his own terms?
And what had he seen? The future involving Regulus.
If you could see the future, what version of him had appeared? A powerful wizard? Someone in a position of importance? Something else entirely?
Without Grindelwald's intervention, how would he have ignited Bellatrix?
He turned the question over for a while and found no answer.
His thoughts circled back to Joachim's reaction when Freya's blue flames had flared. That instantaneous gathering of magic.
It hadn't been fear of her. It was what the magic represented that had triggered his reflexes.
Grindelwald. A man who'd stood at the absolute peak of the human species, one of the most powerful individuals on the planet.
Those blue flames were his signature. See them, think of him.
Regulus found himself wondering: what about his own mark?
If someday he reached that level of power, left an imprint on the world, a spell that made people flinch on sight... what would it be?
Right now, the only magic that was entirely his, that only he could cast, developed from nothing by his own hand, was the Decomposition Curse.
He imagined it as his signature. Pictured the scene.
The second form at minimum output, spreading silent and invisible.
Everyone in range: nauseated, stomach heaving but unable to vomit, dizzy but unable to pass out.
If that happened often enough, frequently enough, it would evolve into a reputation.
Headache? Decomposition Curse. Fever? Decomposition Curse. Nausea? Decomposition Curse.
Any physical discomfort and people would suspect him.
The image materialized in his mind, and even he had to admit it was a bit off.
But following the thread led somewhere more interesting.
Sound-based spell transmission was fast, but over sufficient distance, even the speed of sound fell short. From Britain to the continent, from Europe to the Americas, sound took its time.
Worse, it wouldn't arrive at all. Sound waves attenuated in atmosphere, growing weaker with distance until they vanished entirely.
Then came the thought he'd been circling: electromagnetic waves were waves too.
He reeled himself back. Too far ahead.
His last thought before sleep was of Freya.
Less than a month. It felt much longer. And now the journey was over.
He could stay. Enjoy the easy rhythm of life here until term started. Daily patrols, time at sea, magical research, trading barbs with Freya.
Sea wind. Sunlight. The sound of waves. No Voldemort. No Death Eaters. None of the things that demanded constant vigilance.
But he wasn't going to.
No matter how tense or suffocating the atmosphere in Britain became, that was where he belonged. The Black family was there. He'd been born there, grown up there. His work and his road were there.
This place was good. It wasn't meant to last.
As for what Bellatrix's full ignition and the refinement of the star guided meditation had truly changed, he wasn't in a rush to catalogue it.
His consciousness sank inward. The star chart turned. Five stars in their stations: Betelgeuse burning, Bellatrix guarding, the three belt stars linked in alignment.
Thoughts smoothed.
---
When his eyes opened, it was evening.
He got up, straightened his clothes, and stepped outside.
Not far away, Freya stood at the edge of the cliff.
How long she'd been there, he couldn't say. Her back was to him, facing the sea, the platinum braid hanging still except where the breeze nudged it.
The last of the sunlight caught her, gilding the dark grey of her hunting coat in warm amber.
Regulus walked over and stood beside her.
He was a full head shorter. He had to tilt his face up to see her profile. But standing together, it didn't look strange.
A boy. A young witch. One already tall and composed, the other getting there.
The low sun threw their shadows long across the rock. Neither spoke.
He knew this was goodbye.
Less than a month, start to finish. Not many days, measured objectively. It felt like far more.
Those nights on patrol. Those dinners at the pub. The understanding that didn't require words.
Some people stayed strangers after years. Others felt like lifelong friends after days. Freya was the second kind.
They both knew this wasn't an ending. That made the parting simple.
They stood for a while. Freya spoke first. "Keep the bone fragment."
Regulus watched the water. "I know."
"That's not what I mean." She turned her head, gaze dropping. "When you activate it, they can sense the location. Don't go testing it for fun."
The corner of his mouth tugged. "Afraid I'll call them up for a chat when I can't sleep?"
She shot him a look, the same one as always: sharp, but with no real edge behind it.
She held the glare for two seconds. Couldn't maintain it. Her mouth twitched, and she pressed it flat again.
She reached into her robes and produced something.
A small glass vial, no bigger than a thumb. Inside, a pinch of grey-blue powder that caught the sunset in tiny points of light, as though someone had bottled a scrap of night sky.
She held it out. "Take it back with you. If you can't figure it out, that's fine."
He took the vial and held it up to the light. The powder was impossibly fine, almost without visible grain, like solidified smoke.
He slipped it into his pocket. "And if I do figure it out?"
She didn't answer that. Turned back to the sea and was quiet for a moment. "There's something else. That person asked me to pass along a message."
His eyebrow rose. "Oh?"
"He said, when you're ready, you can come see him."
Something stirred in his chest. Ready for what? Enough power? Or ready to face the situation?
His expression gave nothing away. "Ready for what?"
Freya looked out at the horizon. "He said you'll know. And he'll know too."
Regulus smiled.
Riddles.
He kept that to himself and asked instead, "What if Dumbledore won't let me?"
She glanced at him. Said nothing.
"What if I haven't finished my homework and can't go?"
Freya's eyes went wide. She stared at him as if checking whether she'd misheard.
Homework?
I'm telling you about Grindelwald and you're talking about homework?
The corner of her eye twitched. She drew a long breath, her chest rising visibly.
She chose not to dignify it with a response.
Most of the time Regulus was serious. But the things that occasionally fell out of his mouth left her stranded... not because she didn't understand, but because understanding didn't help. There was nothing to say, or she didn't want to say it, or it wasn't worth the effort.
When she spoke again, her voice was quiet. "If, and I mean if, you go to see him and something feels wrong... you can tell me."
---
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