Chapter 22: Starry Sky Meditation
By mid September, the morning mist over the Scottish Highlands still clung to the castle like a damp veil, and the History of Magic classroom on the third floor was packed with drowsy first years.
When Professor Binns drifted through the door, almost no one looked up.
The oldest professor at Hogwarts began in the same dry tone he always used.
"Today, we shall continue our discussion of the Goblin Rebellion of 1612, which began in the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, when the goblin leader"
Regulus did not listen to the rebellion at first.
He watched the professor.
Professor Binns was translucent. When sunlight passed through him, it cast only the faintest suggestion of a shadow across the floor near the lectern.
What interested Regulus was the presence of magic, or rather, the lack of it.
The magic around other professors felt distinct. Some were like flowing fire, some like vibrant life, some like deep lake water.
Professor Binns felt like almost nothing.
Regulus let his eyes fall closed and focused his perception toward the front of the room.
A living witch or wizard's magic usually carried a clear centre, with edges that faded outward like ripples across water. Binns was different. His magic was more like a thin fog, evenly spread, pale and stable, without a core and without any pulse. It blended into the surrounding air until it was nearly indistinguishable.
If the soul was the source of magic, then a ghost should still have magic sustaining its existence.
So what, exactly, was the shape of a ghost's magic.
His mind tugged up concepts from his past life. Matter and energy conversion. The way states changed without vanishing.
After a witch or wizard died, the physical body was gone and the soul remained. What happened to magic.
Did it shift from being anchored to flesh to being anchored to the soul.
Professor Binns continued, recounting how goblins used forged Galleons to shake Gringotts' financial system.
Regulus stared out of the window instead.
The mist was thinning. A slice of dark green from the distant Forbidden Forest appeared through the gaps, and his thoughts drifted with it.
If a ghost was a remnant of a soul, then how different was its magic from the magic of a whole soul.
Was the immortality Lord Voldemort pursued an attempt to avoid the process of physical death followed by a lingering remnant.
By splitting the soul.
Regulus did not have enough information to reach anything more than speculation.
When the bell rang, Professor Binns had just reached the part where the rebellion was eventually suppressed by the Ministry of Magic. He did not even say class dismissed. He simply floated straight through the wall, leaving most of the students blinking as if they had been woken from a nap.
At two o'clock that afternoon, the eastern side of the library was drenched in sunlight. Dust motes drifted lazily through the bright air, and Madam Pince prowled between the shelves like a ward given human form.
Regulus headed toward the outer boundary of the Restricted Section.
By Hogwarts rules, first years could not borrow from the Restricted Section. They were not even meant to enter it.
But not being able to borrow did not mean he could not look.
The shelves were not fully enclosed. From a distance, it was possible to read some of the titles along the spines.
Madam Pince completed a full circuit of the library every thirty minutes. Each time she passed the Restricted Section, she lingered a moment longer than she did anywhere else.
Regulus timed it.
He walked toward the Restricted Section at an unhurried pace, holding a copy of The Evolution of Medieval Magical Law as if he were simply on his way past. His gaze drifted over the spines, never stopping too long, never fixing too obviously.
Until the back.
There, on a lower shelf, sat a thick leather bound book with damaged edges. The lettering on its spine was mottled, but still readable.
A Brief History of Soul Magic.
The author's name had been worn away.
Regulus tried to turn a page without touching it.
Not with a spell. Not with a spoken incantation.
Raw magic.
He twisted his magic into an extremely fine thread and pushed it forward with force, extending it toward the Restricted Section like a fingertip of intent.
He failed.
The moment his magic crossed the boundary, it was shredded and dispersed by a pressure so vast and heavy it felt brutal, like a stone door slamming shut on his fingers.
Regulus drew back, expression unchanged. He prepared to try again, thinner thread, steadier push.
A cold voice spoke behind him.
"Mr. Black."
Regulus withdrew every trace of his magic at once and turned, polite and composed.
"Madam Pince."
"You have been standing in front of the Restricted Section for a minute," the librarian said, her eyes sharp as blades. "First year students are forbidden from approaching it. I believe you know the rules."
"Yes, Madam." Regulus lifted the book in his hands. "I was looking for reference material. I was shocked by the volume of books over there as I passed. Hogwarts' collection is truly astonishing."
His tone was sincere. His expression carried the right sort of longing, the sort adults liked to praise as harmless.
Madam Pince's face softened by a fraction, though her eyes remained vigilant.
"The books in the Restricted Section are sealed for a reason," she said. "Much of that knowledge is not suitable for young witches and wizards. Go back to your seat."
"Of course, Madam." Regulus gave a small bow and turned away, heading toward the Potions section.
I need that book, he thought, not with frustration, but with certainty.
As evening drew in, the library slowly filled. Quills scratched. Pages turned. Whispered arguments flared and died between rows.
Regulus packed his things and left before the crowd grew too dense.
He intended to return to the Slytherin common room and finish his Potions essay.
By eleven that night, the Slytherin dormitory had fallen quiet.
Avery was already asleep, breathing steady and even.
A thin line of light still glowed behind Alex Rosier's curtains. He was probably reading ahead for Charms again.
Hermes Mulciber's curtains were shut tight. No sound came from within. Regulus knew he was not asleep yet.
Regulus drew his own dark green curtains and cast a Silencing Charm.
Then he sat cross legged on his bed and closed his eyes.
Starry Sky Meditation lay open across his knees, turned to Chapter Three.
Resonating with Orion.
The book claimed Orion was the king of the winter sky, and that the arrangement of its three belt stars contained balance and power.
The meditator was meant to locate Orion in the night sky, touch those three stars with magic, feel the pulse of starlight, and finally synchronise their magic circulation with the rhythm of the constellation.
A typical wizarding explanation, Regulus judged.
He had tried three times.
Each time he had failed.
The method itself was not unclear. He had followed the steps precisely. Perceive the stars. Locate the constellation. Extend magic tendrils.
And found nothing.
No pulse. No rhythm. No response.
A constellation was a visual projection, nothing more. Distant stars that were not connected, stitched into patterns by human imagination.
So where would a pulse come from.
Yet the method had worked for the author, at least according to the writing.
Perhaps the author possessed a special talent, the sort that allowed a person to sense things ordinary witches and wizards could not.
Regulus did not have that talent.
Then I will replace it with what I do have.
He had an adult mind.
He had basic astrophysics.
He had a sensitivity to geometry and mathematics, and the sort of precise magical control he had been training without pause.
He had calculation and perception.
So he would build his own method.
First, he abandoned the idea of sensing the sky itself. He could not even see the sky from the Slytherin dormitory, but that did not matter.
Instead, he used magic to construct a model within his mind.
Magic flowed through his consciousness and traced the first point.
Betelgeuse, the red supergiant that marked Orion's shoulder.
Then Rigel.
Bellatrix.
Point after point ignited in the darkness behind his closed eyes.
Using the star map data he remembered, he built a three dimensional model according to relative positions and brightness.
It was taxing. Holding twelve points in exact relation required continuous magical output and focus. It drained both energy and will.
Regulus persisted.
Then he connected the points, following the outline of Orion.
Magic condensed into fine threads.
Betelgeuse to Bellatrix formed one line, shaping the right arm.
Rigel to Saiph formed another, shaping the lower edge.
The three belt stars were linked by three near parallel threads, placed carefully, not perfectly straight.
A luminous Orion took shape in his mind, proportioned with deliberate precision.
Then came synchronisation.
The book's method had been to let one's magic follow the constellation's pulse. Regulus had no pulse to follow.
But he had a structure.
He imagined his magic circulation as a glowing river.
Then he embedded the model of Orion into that river, forcing the constellation's geometry into the flow itself, making it part of the riverbed.
When the magic passed Betelgeuse, he adjusted the speed.
When it passed the three belt stars, he split it into three narrow streams that ran parallel.
When it reached the outer contour, he guided it along the outline, tracing the shape as the circulation continued.
At first it was stiff.
His magic resisted. The structure fought back. Points of light flickered. Threads trembled.
Regulus slowed the flow rate, smoothing it into something less forceful, more obedient.
At the same time, he adjusted the model. The belt stars should not be perfectly straight, so he introduced a slight curve.
Betelgeuse was brighter than Rigel, so that point carried more weight in the structure. He reinforced it proportionally, strengthening the pull as the magic passed through.
Adjustment after adjustment.
Gradually, the resistance weakened.
His magic began to accept the imposed geometry, aided by his constant training in guided circulation.
It was like water finding a new channel. Man made, yes, but smooth enough to hold.
One cycle.
Two.
Three.
Regulus opened his eyes and released a soft breath.
He sensed himself.
The speed of his magic circulation had not increased in any dramatic way, but it was steadier, as if the ripples had been polished flat.
With a thought, he expanded an invisible, heavy barrier around his body. It swelled outward and locked into place, enclosing him completely. After a minute, he let it disperse.
He waited, assessing.
Then he reached a conclusion.
His magic consumption had not changed.
But his recovery speed had increased.
The improvement was slight, but real.
It had worked.