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Regulus had meticulously observed and categorized many different kinds of magical auras in his two lives—
Professor McGonagall's aura was exactly that of a meticulous, highly disciplined, and terrifyingly strict teacher; it felt like crisp parchment and sharp tartan, instantly inspiring a rigid, heartfelt respect. His mother, Walburga Black's aura carried an overwhelming, suffocating aristocratic arrogance; it was heavy and sharp, exactly like a massive, jagged jewel pressing against your throat, making it utterly impossible to ignore. And Voldemort's aura—based on his brief, terrifying encounter—was that of a condescending, psychopathic strongman, a tyrannical monarch wrapped in freezing shadows, leaving weak-willed people completely unable to do anything but violently tremble, kneel, and desperately kiss his boots...
Albus Dumbledore's aura, however, was entirely different. It was a simple, incredibly warm, yet utterly unfathomable calmness. Sitting in the room with him felt like sitting by a warm, crackling hearth. But absolutely no one with an ounce of magical sensitivity would ever logically doubt the terrifying, vast, crushing ocean of raw magical power hidden just behind those twinkling blue eyes—an ocean utterly capable of violently turning into earth-shattering thunderstorms, blinding lightning, earthquakes, and drowning tsunamis at any given moment.
...
"Thank you, Irma," Dumbledore said softly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. He calmly withdrew his piercing gaze from Regulus and turned back to the trembling librarian, speaking incredibly gently. "I believe the students currently studying in the library desperately need your excellent supervision—"
He paused, his blue eyes flashing with a silent, absolute command. "Do absolutely not tell anyone about what happened here this morning just yet. Please, leave the investigation entirely to me."
"Alright, Headmaster," Madam Pince swallowed hard, casting one last, highly suspicious glare at Regulus before executing a stiff bow. She quickly turned and swept out of the office, the heavy oak door clicking firmly shut behind her.
After Madam Pince left, Dumbledore absolutely didn't speak immediately. The Headmaster's office fell into an incredibly heavy, profound silence, broken only by the soft, rhythmic ticking and whirring of the dozens of delicate silver instruments scattered around the room.
Dumbledore simply lowered his silver head to gaze silently down at the massive, damaged black book resting on his desk. He casually, methodically began flipping through the heavy parchment pages with his long fingers, intentionally adopting a highly thoughtful, relaxed posture.
It was a classic, highly effective psychological interrogation tactic designed to make the suspect nervous.
Regulus, however, absolutely wasn't in a hurry at all. He didn't fidget or break a sweat. Instead, stepping into the legendary Headmaster's office for the very first time, he casually decided to take the quiet opportunity to aggressively feast his eyes on the environment and gather logistical intelligence.
Dumbledore's personal taste in interior decoration was surprisingly highly refined. It was abundantly clear he heavily favored elegant, slender, antique wooden furniture, and possibly had a deep, particular psychological fondness for rich gold-red and warm light brown—which, completely unsurprisingly, heavily included the primary colors of Gryffindor House.
The sprawling mahogany desk and the towering circular shelves were completely packed with all sorts of highly advanced, priceless magical items. Deep inside his pocket, Regulus could still feel his alchemical filter violently, silently vibrating against his thigh, reacting wildly to the ambient magic. Regulus's sharp eyes recognized several items from his own studies: a massive brass astrolabe mapping the stars, thick, highly calibrated alchemical lenses, glowing, heatless alchemical shadowless lamps... a half-finished, incredibly exquisite silver runic instrument puffing pink smoke, and several massive, uncut magical crystals of wildly different, vibrant colors.
He reluctantly, carefully moved his calculating gaze to the side—
Resting proudly on a tall, gilded perch directly behind the heavy oak door, a massive, breathtakingly beautiful gold-and-red bird was currently busily, elegantly preening its glowing feathers. If it were not for the intense, magical, flame-like radiance physically rolling off its plumage and heating the air around it, its sharp, predatory movements would have been absolutely, biologically identical to his golden eagles, Godric and Regina.
Truly, undeniably beautiful... Regulus couldn't help but think warmly of his own fierce eagles waiting for him outside.
His dark gaze continued to wander smoothly, moving completely past Dumbledore's desk to a highly prominent, dusty wooden shelf—the incredibly old, heavily patched, and frayed Sorting Hat was resting completely quietly, its wide, folded, mouth-like brim tightly closed in slumber. Regulus remembered exactly how, back in his first year, the absolute second he had placed that dusty hat onto his head, it had violently yelled out his sorting into Slytherin without a single microsecond of hesitation.
And resting in a pristine, locked glass display case directly next to the hat, a magnificent, gleaming silver sword heavily inlaid with massive, blood-red rubies lay completely quietly—a literal, physical legend resting in silent slumber.
"Exactly what are you thinking about so intently, Mr. Black?"
Dumbledore had smoothly, seamlessly emerged from his silent contemplation at some point, his voice instantly pulling Regulus completely back from his intense tactical observations.
"I was honestly just thinking, Headmaster, about exactly how effective it would be in combat if you could physically fight with a wand in one hand and a broadsword in the other—just like that one." Regulus blinked innocently and spoke his pragmatic, gamer-like combat thoughts completely truthfully. The sheer, unadulterated longing and tactical aspiration visible on his aristocratic face were completely, 100% genuine. (Ah, the classic, overpowered Gandalf dual-wielding build.)
Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling brightly, neither nodding nor shaking his head in judgment.
"Do you happen to like this particular sword very much?"
"Of course I do," Regulus said entirely honestly, his eyes locked on the rubies. "That is the legendary Sword of Godric Gryffindor. It's a priceless, goblin-wrought masterpiece."
"I hear your highly organized Dueling Club is doing incredibly, phenomenally well," Dumbledore said casually, smoothly changing the subject. He pushed his half-moon spectacles slightly up the bridge of his crooked nose, his bright blue eyes looking deeply kind. "Professor Flitwick has actually told me a massive amount about you recently—he speaks incredibly, highly of your administrative and magical abilities."
Regulus simply gave a polite, modest smile, waiting for the trap.
The Headmaster casually leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, and continued to ask, "Do you personally believe that modern Wizards' duels should actively incorporate physical weapons like swords?"
Regulus nodded without a single moment of pureblood hesitation: "Absolutely. Fencing is a highly skilled, incredibly demanding physical sport, and it is actually quite massively popular in the Muggle world right now. I once extensively watched professional Muggles' fencing matches—their sheer, explosive physical agility, their terrifying, millimeter-perfect precision, and their blinding speed truly, profoundly surprised me. It's definitely a highly tactical sport that is incredibly beneficial to training the body's reaction times! And furthermore, they have highly specific, logical combat rules and heavily specialized safety fencing equipment, completely covering the combatants from head to toe, making it incredibly safe to practice."
He paused, ensuring his tone was perfectly respectful, then added smoothly, "Also—Professor, you can simply just call me Regulus."
Dumbledore visibly raised his silver eyebrows. The Headmaster had fully intended to aggressively, subtly gauge the Slytherin heir's psychological attitude towards raw combat, blood-purity, and violence. But he had completely, unexpectedly just heard an incredibly rational, highly peaceful, and deeply analytical answer praising mundane physics. Dumbledore honestly hadn't expected this notoriously wealthy young master of the fanatical Black Family to not only possess a deep, highly accurate understanding of the modern Muggle world, but to also actively, openly show genuine appreciation and immense tactical respect for Muggles.
He is entirely unlike Tom, Dumbledore realized, a sliver of tension bleeding out of his shoulders.
"This ancient book," Dumbledore gently pointed a long finger down at the massive, black book resting in front of him. "Have you actually read it?"
"I've read some of it, yes," Regulus said, stepping closer to the desk.
"So, Regulus. Exactly what do you logically think of this specific book, and what do you think happened to it?"
Regulus pondered deeply for a highly calculated moment, organizing his CEO thoughts, and then spoke his mind completely truthfully, "I honestly find the vandalism incredibly, profoundly strange, Professor."
"From my very brief, academic browse of the chapters, the entire book heavily attempts to theoretically expound upon the extraordinary, limitless raw magical power possessed by a completely independent, structurally complete soul. It even mathematically suggests that such a pristine, whole soul inherently possesses the biological characteristic of true immortality—"
Regulus's dark gaze smoothly swept over the dozens of painted portraits lining the high walls of the Headmaster's office.
"I completely admit that I do not fully understand the highly complex magic behind enchanting portraits, but it undeniably seems heavily related to binding the imprint of a soul. As you likely know, my family's estate also has a massive amount of ancient portraits. And their actual, magical 'vitality' and sentience varies wildly."
Regulus looked directly up at Phineas Nigellus, whose painted grey eyes were currently fixed intensely on his great-great-grandson. "For example, my great-great-grandfather's portrait—his sentience is so terrifyingly high and flawlessly preserved, it's almost exactly as if he's actually still physically alive and speaking among us. But other, lesser family portraits absolutely aren't like that at all. They are just loops of memory."
Up in his frame, Phineas immediately puffed out his chest, smiling highly smugly down at the room.
"The preface of the book explicitly says: 'our soul possesses a nature entirely independent of the physical body, and thus will absolutely never die with the body'—does this logically mean—the souls of my great-great-grandfather, and absolutely all the esteemed Headmasters currently resting on these walls, are simply inherently, vastly more powerful and complete than others?"
Immediately, many of the ancient Headmasters and Headmistresses in the surrounding portraits nodded their heads gently, looking incredibly, deeply pleased by the brilliant logical deduction. Phineas Nigellus looked even vastly more arrogant and delighted—his young great-great-grandson had not only flawlessly, politely flattered him and all the other influential Headmasters in the room, but had also brilliantly demonstrated his incredibly deep, analytical thinking regarding highly advanced magical theory.
He is truly, phenomenally outstanding—absolutely, undeniably worthy of being the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Phineas thought proudly.
Dumbledore's piercing gaze from behind his half-moon spectacles also visibly deepened, locking onto the boy.
"A fascinating deduction. So, where exactly do you find the vandalism to be so strange?" Dumbledore asked softly, his tone exactly like a Professor actively testing a star pupil.
Regulus pursed his lips in genuine, intellectual disgust and said, "What's completely, utterly strange is—that the specific, violent content torn out was strictly from the very back appendix, titled 'The Darkness Slumbering Within'."
Dumbledore smiled encouragingly, a highly intense light in his eyes, gesturing with his hand for Regulus to continue his analysis.
"From the book's core academic discussion, the original author massively, heavily emphasizes the absolute, flawless completeness and the sheer independence of the whole soul as the ultimate source of power. Meanwhile, the violently torn-out appendix seems to merely introduce highly crooked, completely flawed ways to physically destroy, splinter, or dilute one's own soul in a pathetic, desperate exchange for raw power."
Regulus sighed softly, perfectly executing a disappointed shake of his head. "To put it in practical terms, Headmaster: It's exactly as if, even though the main text of the book contains vast mountains of flawless, priceless gold and brilliant diamonds... some complete, absolute idiot actively chose to ignore the gold, and instead became violently, obsessively fixated on stealing the cheap, worthless brass and broken glass hidden in the appendix."
Exactly what kind of incredibly pathetic, incredibly stupid behavior is this? Regulus thought cynically. It's exactly like the old Chinese proverb: Aggressively abandoning the fundamental core to chase the trivial. Violently dropping the massive watermelon just to desperately pick up a few miserable sesame seeds.
He shook his head slightly again, a profound sense of genuine, inexplicable regret and intellectual pity showing clearly in his dark eyes.
Dumbledore watched the boy's face intently. Seeing the pure, unadulterated intellectual disdain Regulus held for the concept of soul-splitting, the ancient Headmaster completely couldn't help himself.
The heavy, paranoid tension that had plagued Dumbledore for weeks finally, completely broke.
For the absolute very first time since Regulus had entered his office, a completely genuine, incredibly relaxed, and deeply warm smile spread across Albus Dumbledore's lined face—it was a smile entirely without a single hint of his usual, profound political mystery, nor the terrifying, heavy wisdom that always seemed to aggressively see through everything.
"I must say, I completely, wholeheartedly agree with exactly what you just said, Regulus."
Regulus smiled genuinely back, casually rubbing his nose in relief.
Hey, Regulus thought happily, securing his political safety. The old, terrifying Headmaster finally, officially called me by my first name.