Orion's eyebrow lifted. He leaned forward, bracing against the desk's edge, and gestured for him to continue.
Regulus began.
The Abyssal Whispers' magical characteristics and ideology. What he'd discovered. The conclusions he'd drawn. Then Grindelwald's involvement.
The archive had been in Grindelwald's possession for decades. He'd gone inside, without question.
He'd passed it to the Eisenhardt family, to Freya, and had her bring Regulus to Germany.
The appearance of the Abyssal Whispers, the Mental Erosion spell, the trial... all orchestrated.
Then the Slumbering Abyss. The core of unknown origin. How it had surfaced in his consciousness, deconstructed his magic piece by piece, laid out an alternate path.
He described his response but left out the star guided meditation. Mentioned only the growth in mental fortitude, the conviction in his own road.
Based on the available clues, Grindelwald had likely seen something in him. Some future. But that future might not have been the one Grindelwald wanted, which was why he'd intervened at a critical juncture.
Orion listened. His expression grew increasingly difficult to categorize.
He knew his son was exceptional. Had known since the boy mastered silent, wandless casting. Since he'd developed Space Warp. Since he'd faced Voldemort's Dark Awakening with a steady pulse. Since the Decomposition Curse.
But Grindelwald.
That name carried a weight entirely different from Dumbledore or Voldemort.
Dumbledore was a guide, a guardian. Voldemort was a threat, a destroyer. Grindelwald was something else: a revolutionary. A man who'd branded an era.
The Wizarding Alliance. The European war. The near-collapse of the International Statute of Secrecy. Countless wizards rallying beneath his banner.
He'd lost. But his followers hadn't all died. Those he'd influenced were still out there, and the ideas he'd seeded hadn't withered.
He'd been locked away. He was still breathing.
And now, after nearly three decades of silence, he was reaching outward again. Toward Regulus.
Orion studied the boy across from him.
Twelve years old. Sitting there with a calm expression, as though recounting what he'd had for lunch.
But any single piece of information buried in that account would have taken an ordinary wizard half a day to digest.
One Dumbledore could be coincidence. A headmaster paying special attention to a student. Plausible enough.
Add Voldemort, and it still held together. Those two waging their shadow war, the Black family caught in the crossfire. Unlikely but not impossible.
But now Grindelwald had entered the board.
Silence stretched through the study. Then Orion asked, "What's your read?"
Regulus considered.
Voldemort and Dumbledore were straightforward. One recruited openly, the other eroded from the shadows. Their intentions were clear, and he'd navigated both.
Grindelwald was different. He'd been defeated and the Wizarding Alliance had seemingly dissolved, but they'd only gone quiet. Quiet didn't mean finished.
Those ideals, those convictions about magic, about the world, about order, still lived in their hearts.
If Grindelwald ever issued a call, the response would be enormous. His people weren't gone. They were waiting. Dormant.
Regulus met his father's eyes. "Triangles are the strongest shape."
Orion blinked. Then his gaze turned inward, turning the idea over.
"But that's easy to say," Regulus continued. "Right now I'm a piece being moved. Against any of those three, I can't negotiate as an equal. Can't choose for myself. I can only take what comes."
"The only question is how I take it. Willingly, or resentful and pretending otherwise."
Orion watched him. Said nothing. The study was quiet for a long time before he settled back into his chair, fingers tapping the desktop.
Further discussion was academic.
Regulus was right. He was the one being positioned. Without the strength to meet those men as an equal, all he could do was endure. The variable was how.
But there was still time.
At Regulus's current rate of growth, each stretch of weeks brought another visible leap. This time it was mental fortitude. For an ordinary wizard, that might have sounded abstract.
For someone who understood magic at a high level, mental fortitude underpinned everything.
Magical control. Spell amplification. Resistance to interference. Stability of the soul. Sustained performance in prolonged combat. Mastery of advanced magic on either side of the spectrum. All of it rested on that foundation.
And Regulus had stopped being an ordinary wizard a long time ago. Comparing him to one would be an insult to both parties.
Grindelwald's intentions remained opaque, but so far the arrangement had benefited Regulus. And what benefited Regulus benefited the House of Black.
Orion let the thought end there. What chance did he have of seeing through Grindelwald's design?
One thing was certain: his son had entered the field of vision of the most powerful individuals alive.
Each with a different posture toward him, but all engaged in some form of recruitment or maneuvering.
And as Regulus had put it, triangles were the strongest shape.
With care, with clear eyes, the Black family might yet navigate the spaces between them.
Orion looked up. His son sat opposite, gaze lowered, lost in his own thoughts.
He was, in fact, thinking hard.
The holiday was almost over. Mid-August now. A little over ten days until term.
Everything Regulus planned for the break had been accomplished.
No plans to leave the house again. He'd stay here, use the remaining days to fully absorb the gains from Bellatrix's ignition.
The Decomposition Curse had no room for improvement. It had been finished on creation. Two forms, both field-tested. All that remained was continued practice until it became second nature.
The Patronus had advanced visibly.
Starlight Kite wasn't merely a corporeal Patronus. It was a legendary magical creature in its own right, gifted with spatial traversal.
Like Dumbledore's phoenix. A hidden card for when things went wrong.
Fiendfyre had grown more obedient as well.
He'd need to test it. Not at home, obviously. Better to find a partner and burn something under controlled conditions.
The real priority going forward was spatial magic.
The path that thing in the Slumbering Abyss had pointed out was one he wouldn't walk. He'd refused, and there was no going back.
But the direction itself was there. Treating space not as something to be forced and manipulated, but as something to coexist with. That line of thinking was worth pursuing.
Then there were Professor McGonagall's notes on directly transfiguring space itself. A different route, and one that didn't conflict with the first. They might even complement each other.
And the insight from the Starlight Kite's transit: it didn't tear through space. It asked space to step aside. Like an invitation.
Layer on his earlier concept of fusing spatial magic with protection, using space itself to build barriers.
All these threads pointed the same way. Enough material to keep him occupied for a long time.
And even a partial breakthrough would be enormous.
Last...
the Dark Awakening. Voldemort's gift.
Regulus let his awareness sink inward, reaching toward the containment chamber. In his mental landscape, he peered through the observation window.
The virtual personality had changed. The simulated Regulus now stood in the center of the room, dark energy seeping off it in tendrils.
It was acting out.
Not trying to escape. Nothing in its base directives allowed for that. It was venting.
The knowledge fragments it had absorbed during its first contact with the Dark Awakening were spent. Its research drive and curiosity demanded more, and there was nothing to feed on. So it raged.
It paced the room, flinging arcs of black mist with each swing of its arm, stopping occasionally to curse at the empty air.
The words were inaudible, but Regulus, drawing on his own vocabulary, imagined the language was colorful.
He watched for a while and decided to leave it alone. Another two days of observation first. Voldemort's creation warranted caution.
A thought surfaced: at his current level of mental strength, could he withstand its erosion?
He quashed the idea the moment it formed. Even if he could, he wouldn't test it on purpose.
That thing was addictive mental poison.
Orion's voice pulled him back. "It's your call."
Regulus looked up.
His father's expression was calm, his tone matching. "Do what you think is right. Don't worry too much about things at home."
Simple words, but the meaning was clear. He trusted him.
And in truth, the kind of attention Regulus had drawn, from Dumbledore, from Voldemort, from Grindelwald, wasn't something Orion could do much about.
Those men were interested in Regulus himself. Not the House of Black.
But then again, so what? This was his son. His son was a Black.
The thought tugged at the corner of Orion's mouth.
Regulus nodded, but something in his father's expression made him switch topics. "How's Sirius doing? Training going well?"
The half-smile Orion had been wearing flattened.
By any fair measure, Sirius had made clear progress. Compared to other young wizards his age from the great families, he'd qualify as excellent.
But the person asking the question was Regulus.
One son had moved beyond any scale that "excellent" could describe. The other was still being benchmarked against his peers. The gap was something only a father could feel in full.
Orion's face went blank. "Needs more work."
---
Join my Patreon for early access to chapters: patreon.com/rivyura
Next Target 800PS :)