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Dumbledore calmly scanned the tall, heavily warded row of ancient books resting on the opposite mahogany bookshelf—these were the absolute most dangerous, the most volatile, and the 'darkest' magical tomes he had personally, permanently transferred out of the library's Restricted Section immediately after becoming Headmaster to prevent students from finding them.
Sandwiched tightly in the middle of the cursed collection was a large, heavy, brown, black-covered book. If Regulus had looked back carefully at the shelf, his gamer knowledge would have instantly, terrifyingly recognized it—this was the exact, infamous book, Secrets of the Darkest Art, that Hermione Granger had eventually summoned from Dumbledore's office after his death; the very book containing the highly detailed, horrific, step-by-step instructions on exactly how to create Horcruxes.
"Please forgive my terrible oversight as a host—do please be seated, Regulus."
With a completely casual, wandless wave of Dumbledore's hand, a highly comfortable, plush armchair with elegant, slender wooden legs and a tall backrest materialized completely out of thin air directly beside Regulus's side of the desk.
He was actually being formally invited to sit down for a chat. Seeing that the terrifying 'Legendary Wizard' sitting in front of him was actively, currently willing to talk to him more intimately—Regulus completely couldn't help but curve his lips into a genuine smile, and he sat down comfortably in the chair.
"What exactly would you like to drink?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes twinkling.
"Do you happen to have any Sprite, Headmaster? Specifically, Fanta Klare Zitrone?" Regulus replied smoothly, a highly specific, historical German brand phrase inexplicably slipping out of his modern mouth. "If not—just plain ice water is perfectly fine."
Fanta Klare Zitrone was a highly specific, clear Coca-Cola substitute originally developed by Nazi Germany due to trade embargoes during World War II, which was eventually rebranded and sold globally as Sprite. Perhaps Headmaster Dumbledore, an absolute, documented fanatic for anything lemon-flavored, had also historically heard of the Muggle beverage during his travels.
"Ah. It seems you intimately understand German, and are also highly, surprisingly knowledgeable about obscure Muggle carbonated drinks," Dumbledore said, his silver eyebrows rising in genuine surprise. He waved his hand again, and a crystal glass of perfectly chilled, sweating ice water appeared steadily on the polished desk in front of Regulus. "Unfortunately, I do not currently stock Sprite here in my office, but if you truly enjoy sweet, lemon-flavoured drinks, I could easily try magically mixing one up for you."
"Thank you, Professor, the water is perfect," Regulus said, taking the glass. He smoothly covered his linguistic slip-up, adding modestly, "However, I honestly only know a very few, basic conversational words of German."
Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze fell heavily back upon the damaged black book resting on the desk between them. His long finger lightly, rhythmically tapped the cracked leather cover, his tone carrying a highly distinct, genuine hint of academic praise: "Since you can flawlessly read and analyze the complex, ancient text of Potentia Animarum, your formal Latin is clearly quite phenomenally good for a second-year."
His gaze lingered intensely on the book cover for a long moment, looking exactly as if he were deeply recalling a highly painful, distant memory: "I am genuinely, profoundly pleased that you are so deeply, analytically interested in this specific book—"
"This book deeply delves into the fundamental, biological essence of the human soul, and also heavily explores the absolute most fundamental, theoretical logical problems regarding the source of raw magic. You might actually find some highly similar, vastly safer theories detailed in Adalbert Waffling's masterwork, Fundamental Laws of Magic. By the way, I highly suggest that book is also very much worth your time reading."
Regulus nodded solemnly, aggressively committing the specific book title directly to his mental memory banks.
Dumbledore paused. When he spoke again, his grandfatherly tone was incredibly gentle, but possessed an absolutely, terrifyingly undeniable core of pure steel: "As for the violent, physical damage done to this specific book... it was absolutely not an accidental tear. There may be other, highly complex, deeply dangerous historical reasons for its current state. But I'm afraid I absolutely cannot tell you what they are right now."
"Then exactly when can you safely tell me?" Regulus pressed smoothly, not backing down.
"When you have successfully achieved a sufficiently deep, profound personal understanding of the nature of the soul and the limits of magic—but by that time," Dumbledore smiled sadly, gently tapping the black book in front of him, "I am terribly afraid you absolutely won't need to ask me the answer anymore."
Regulus looked highly thoughtful, his mind spinning. After a long, tense moment of heavy silence in the office, he suddenly leaned forward and asked a highly probing question: "Professor... exactly how can a Wizard logically, mathematically judge whether their own internal understanding of raw magic is 'deep enough'?"
He genuinely seemed to have asked the ancient Professor exactly the right philosophical question—Dumbledore smiled slightly, his eyes lighting up as he began to deeply ponder the complex answer in his brilliant mind.
Regulus continued aggressively: "I have honestly always been incredibly, deeply curious about exactly what the true, ultimate standard for judging raw magical ability actually is. Is it simply getting flawless 'Outstanding' results on your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T. exams? Or is there another, vastly deeper, more fundamental way to truly measure a wizard's combat and magical potential?"
"You are universally, widely recognized as the absolute greatest, most powerful Wizard of our entire modern era—" Regulus paused, locking eyes with the Headmaster, and asked highly seriously, "So... exactly what were your academic grades and raw magical levels like back then?"
Dumbledore's smile deepened significantly, a genuine look of amusement crossing his lined face.
Regulus blinked, ruthlessly asking the specific, power-scaling question he actually cared about most: "Even better—exactly what were your raw magical capabilities like when you were exactly twelve years old?"
...
1893.
"Well. If my old mind remembers correctly," Dumbledore murmured softly, showing a deeply profound look of nostalgic recollection. His blue gaze drifted away from Regulus, looking out towards the bright sky beyond the high arched window. It had undeniably been a very, very long time since anyone had simply, genuinely asked him to recall such distant, innocent events of his own childhood.
"By the time I was exactly your age, twelve years old, I could already effortlessly, flawlessly make highly complex, small alchemical gadgets, and I was actively preparing to confidently publish my very first, highly theoretical academic paper in the prestigious journal, Modern Alchemy. Absolutely all of the teachers at Hogwarts constantly, loudly said that my raw magical output and theoretical understanding were already vastly better and far more advanced than the N.E.W.T.-level older seventh-year students."
Dumbledore sighed softly, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. "But when I was twelve, Regulus, I also deeply, arrogantly liked to constantly show off my terrifying brilliance. I was incredibly, annoyingly boisterous, constantly, desperately expecting loud praise, validation, and endless encouragement from absolutely everyone around me. It honestly feels a bit deeply shameful and embarrassing for me to actively think about my arrogance now... but ultimately, that is simply human nature—"
Regulus was completely, utterly stunned—he knew from canon that the Headmaster absolutely didn't follow the usual, strict pureblood script of conversation—but he absolutely hadn't expected to hear such an incredibly candid, highly vulnerable, and deeply sincere answer regarding childhood arrogance from such a terrifyingly powerful, universally respected 'Legendary Wizard'.
Hearing Dumbledore admit his own desperate need for validation, Regulus completely couldn't help but feel a little genuinely, deeply moved by the old man's humanity.
Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes refocused directly back on Regulus, filled with a gentle, highly perceptive inquiry: "But I think, exactly like I once was at your age—you are currently vastly more deeply curious about the upper limits of your own raw magical ability, aren't you?"
Regulus nodded completely honestly. High up on the wall, Phineas Nigellus in his portrait also immediately perked up his painted ears with massive, intense interest.
"I have personally, highly closely seen and analyzed the runic structure of the 'Developing Paper' you recently invented for your club—" Dumbledore nodded slightly, his grandfatherly tone carrying massive, completely undisguised academic approval. "For your incredibly young age, this is a truly remarkable, highly complex concept and a flawless execution of spatial magic. Both Filius and Minerva have repeatedly, loudly told me in staff meetings that you are undeniably the absolute best, most brilliant student they have ever had the pleasure of teaching."
"Honestly, my uncle helped a massive amount with the theoretical alchemy base," Regulus touched his nose highly awkwardly, heavily downplaying his genius. He added in a low, careful voice, "He was actually also your Transfiguration student once upon a time—Alphard Black."
Judging entirely by the completely unsurprised, knowing expression on Dumbledore's face, the omniscient Headmaster clearly, absolutely already knew exactly who Regulus was secretly meeting in Hogsmeade.
"I remember young Mr. Black very well. His standardized written exam results were never particularly outstanding, but his practical Transfiguration was absolutely, undeniably excellent, and he also took highly advanced N.E.W.T. Alchemy."
"You see, Regulus, standardized exam results can absolutely only measure certain, highly rigid aspects of a wizard's magical ability, not necessarily everything that truly matters in combat or creation."
Dumbledore smoothly, effortlessly drew out his legendary, knobbly Elder Wand from his robes and casually flicked his wrist.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Ten heavy pieces of raw metal and dense geological ore of various sizes flew directly out of a distant drawer and gently, perfectly landed directly on the mahogany desk in front of Regulus at exact, perfectly even mathematical intervals—these were the exact, highly specific 'Mohs hardness' testing stones Regulus had requisitioned for the Dueling Club's long table.
"Since you personally, brilliantly designed this specific physical test of raw magical power—" Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling brightly with a highly competitive challenge, "why don't you actively let me see your true, unsuppressed level right now?"
Huh? Regulus froze. The highly arrogant, face-slapping game I specifically designed to test others somehow immediately, violently ended up being used to test my own head? (See Chapter 37).
Regulus was a little deeply surprised for a microsecond, then his CEO reflexes reacted immediately. He stood up from his comfortable chair without a single moment of hesitation, smoothly drew his polished hawthorn wand, and executed a highly formal, deep duelist's bow directly to the Headmaster.
It was his absolute, undeniable honour that the terrifying Legendary Wizard sitting in front of him was actively, personally willing to test his raw combat level—
Dumbledore sat perfectly still behind the desk, his legendary wand resting loosely in his hand, watching the boy's stance with incredibly keen, predatory eyes.
"Begin."
Regulus held his breath, completely, violently concentrating his entire magical core—
"Diffindo!"
A blinding flash of silver light. The very first, flawless geometric triangle appeared deeply carved into the softest talc.
However, Regulus actively chose not to just simply, brutally cut the stone. To show off his terrifying precision, he deliberately, flawlessly used his raw magic to physically carve the complex, geometric symbol of the 'Deathly Hallows' (the triangle, circle, and line) directly onto the surface of the object, which was a vastly, phenomenally greater test of microscopic wand skill and magical control.
The second stone (Gypsum). Flash. Flawlessly carved. ... The fifth stone (Apatite). Flash. Dumbledore nodded highly approvingly at the sheer, sustained magical output. ... The seventh stone (Quartz)—the violent cutting marks finally began to become slightly, physically shallower against the massive density of the rock. The eighth stone (Spinel)—the highly compressed Severing Charm violently swept over the lavender surface of the dense spinel, leaving only a microscopic, hairline mark that was barely visible to the naked human eye.
Regulus lowered his hawthorn wand, panting slightly from the magical exertion, and looked directly up at the Headmaster.
The office was completely, utterly quiet. Absolutely all the painted portraits of the former Headmasters were completely silent, looking down at the desk in sheer, unadulterated awe, and Dumbledore was simply smiling.
"I heard a highly reliable, fascinating rumor that you and your brother can completely, effortlessly cut solid diamonds with a simple Severing Charm," Dumbledore said softly.
"Yes, Professor." Regulus's pale face flushed slightly with embarrassment. He had absolutely, illegally done massive amounts of highly complex Transfiguration and Alchemy experiments on raw carbon elements in the basement over the summer, and solid diamond was perhaps the absolute, specific physical substance he was most molecularly, intimately familiar with in the entire world.
...In a highly technical, magical sense, performing that specific parlor trick was basically just exploiting a cheat code.
Dumbledore still smiled warmly: "Then you should absolutely already have some highly profound, fundamental understanding of the truth: the deeper a Wizard's intimate, physical understanding of raw matter, and the vastly clearer their own absolute self-awareness and willpower is... the more their raw, external magical ability will aggressively, exponentially improve accordingly."
"Truly understanding magic is absolutely not just about blindly memorizing wand technique, Regulus, but about actively building a profound, unbreakable biological connection with yourself and the physical world around you, in absolutely all aspects."
Dumbledore blinked lightly. His warm smile suddenly carried a highly distinct, deep trace of nostalgic tenderness, as if he were vividly remembering something highly amusing from his past: "For example, some incredibly brilliant Wizards who possess terrifyingly powerful, world-breaking combat magic... absolutely cannot even properly use simple, basic household cooking spells to save their own lives."
The vivid memory clearly brought the old man immense, profound pleasure, but also a deep, agonizing sense of self-punishment and crushing grief.
Dumbledore's warm smile suddenly dimmed significantly. His bright blue eyes clouded over, his deep thoughts seemingly drifting completely away into the dark past for a long, heavy moment.
If Regulus's trained, psychological senses hadn't been so incredibly, exceptionally sharp from his corporate life, he absolutely wouldn't have noticed the microscopic flash of crushing grief on the Headmaster's face at all.
Regulus quickly picked up the crystal glass and took a long, slow sip of the freezing ice water—he was really, genuinely not very good at emotionally dealing with this kind of heavy, profound grief...
"Thank you, Professor... Hearing your philosophical words has truly, profoundly benefited me greatly today." Regulus spoke smoothly, deliberately not letting the heavy, grieving silence linger in the room. He continued to push his academic advantage: "Could you possibly formally recommend some highly advanced, theoretical magical books to me? Also... are you personally still considering actively teaching students? If I happen to have highly complex, theoretical questions in the future, can I safely come and ask for your direct guidance?"
"Of course you can, Regulus," Dumbledore smiled gently and nodded, his grandfatherly tone carrying a highly distinct, relieved hint of ease at the subject change. "—And simple, everyday questions are absolutely also highly welcome here."
Recalling his own lonely, highly ambitious time aggressively studying at Hogwarts, a young Albus Dumbledore had actively, heavily maintained frequent, highly academic owl correspondence with absolutely all the most famous, legendary magical masters of the time—Nicolas Flamel, Bathilda Bagshot, Adalbert Waffling, Griselda Marchbanks... and they had all generously, selflessly given the young prodigy a massive amount of academic help and political support. It was time to pass the torch.
Dumbledore thought for a brief moment, smoothly pulled a crisp piece of official Hogwarts parchment from the side of his desk, quickly wrote a highly commanding line on it with his silver quill, and aggressively signed his name with a massive flourish.
After the ink dried, the heavy parchment gently, magically floated up from the mahogany desk and landed perfectly directly in front of Regulus—
[Irma: Regulus Black will be actively borrowing a massive number of highly advanced books directly from the Restricted Section for independent study. Please completely facilitate this without delay. - A. Dumbledore]