Sirius is Thinking

Regulus walked slowly toward the Library from his office, his footsteps echoing through the Stone Corridor.

He was still thinking about what Professor McGonagall had said.

Location, relationships, points on the timeline, what can change, and what cannot change.

The professor's words were easy to understand, but too abstract.

He could understand the meaning of each word, and put them together to understand what the professor was trying to express.

But if you combine these things with Magic, with Transfiguration, he couldn't imagine what that would look like.

A table has its place, a room has its place, a Castle has its place. If you change their places, will they still be the same?

If the relationships between a match and the box of matches it belongs to, the hands that lit it, and the moment it is about to burn—if these relationships change, is it still the same match?

As for the point in time, Regulus recalled what he had just done: turning oak into linden.

That match was produced at a certain point in time, picked up by him at a certain point in time, and Transfiguration by him at a certain point in time.

The materials have changed, but the points in time remain: the point in time when it was produced, the point in time when he picked it up, and the point in time when he Transfiguration it.

What if one day someone could change those specific times as well?

Change the time a match was produced from last year to a hundred years ago; change the time a match is lit from the next second to never.

The match is still the same match, but what exactly has changed?

Or has nothing changed at all?

Regulus couldn't figure out the answer, but he couldn't help but marvel at how amazing Magic was.

It seems to have no end; every field, every kind of Magic, is worth a lifetime of pursuit.

There's always a way forward.

However, that path is only open to a very small number of wizards, and for most wizards, Magic has an end.

And also about fate.

He just asked Professor McGonagall, "Is that fate?"

The professor gave the answer: it wasn't fate, it was position. But following this question, Regulus wondered, what is fate?

From a timeline perspective, fate is probably the sum of things that have happened, things that are happening, and things that will happen.

A person does something at a certain time, which leads to a certain result, and that result leads to the next result.

One after another, like a chain, like a river.

Perhaps this is fate.

He recalled his experiences in Germany, the things Grindelwald had arranged, the people he had met, the battles he had fought, and finally Abyssal Slumber.

Does that count as involving fate?

Regulus thought for a moment and decided it probably didn't count.

Interfering with fate means pulling him off his original path and forcing him onto another one.

But that's just how his path has always been.

Grindelwald simply saw his path, placed a few markers along the way, and whether or not he followed them was his own business.

Moreover, even without those arrangements, would he eventually end up somewhere else?

He doesn't know, maybe he does, but there's no point in thinking about it.

Fate may only be meaningful to those who understand it.

For those who can see destiny, destiny is a river, and they stand on the bank, watching how the river flows.

But for those swimming in the river, fate is the water itself. They don't think about where the water comes from or where it goes; they only think about how to swim steadily and avoid drowning.

Regulus thought to himself that he was probably one of those people who swam in the river, not knowing where he would end up.

But at least for now, he's swimming pretty well.

Then he realized that it had only been a few days since the start of the semester, and two professors were already giving him private lessons: Professor Slughorn and Professor McGonagall.

They didn't teach him any specific Magic, no new spells, no new techniques.

They are all conveying a concept, a philosophy about Magic, about what Magic Power is, about how far Transfiguration can go, and about those truly profound realms.

Regulus couldn't help but wonder, why was that?

Was it because he happened to demonstrate something unconventional in class, which the professors noticed and then pointed out?

Or were the professors simply waiting for him, waiting until he reached a point where he needed this level of expertise, so they could provide guidance?

He didn't know, maybe it was both, but he dismissed the thought; thinking about it was pointless anyway.

Whether the professors meant it or not, he heard what they said and he remembered the principles; that's enough.

But it must be said that the professors treated him very well.

His thoughts had barely settled when he remembered the Spatial Transfiguration he had just performed in the office.

The Transfiguration he just made in space, though only the size of a palm and the most basic twist, was something he created himself.

The further refinement of Star Orbit Meditation brings about comprehensive progress.

With a stronger spirit, more precise control over Magic Power, and a deeper understanding of Magic.

Space Magic has always been the focus of his research. From Spatial Warp to spell teleportation, from Spatial Anchor to the slightest Transfiguration today, every step has been slow, but every step has been forward.

Once you start, the future is absolutely bright.

His steps became lighter.

Meanwhile, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on the third floor, third-year students were having a class.

Gryffindor and Slytherin sat in two separate groups, separated by several rows of empty tables.

The air was thick with that familiar smell of gunpowder; the students on both sides disliked each other, but couldn't actually fight in class.

A new face stood on the platform: Ezra Vance.

The new Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts this year is in his forties, tall and thin, with neatly combed hair, sharp eyes, and a slight Ireland accent.

"Dark creatures," he said, his gaze sweeping across the classroom, "One of the threats facing the Wizarding World. You learned some basic coping methods in the lower grades, but that's far from enough."

He waved his wand, and several lines of words appeared on the blackboard.

Werewolf, Dementor, Red Cap, Grindylow.

"Today, let's start with the most common ones."

He looked at everyone. "Does anyone know the most effective way to deal with Werewolf?"

The young wizards in the classroom were whispering amongst themselves, but the professor ignored them and let them discuss. Then someone raised their hand.

The professor called out, "Mr. Potter."

James stood up, a nonchalant smile on his face, "Run."

A low chuckle rippled through the classroom.

The professor, expressionless, asked, "Run? Where do you think you're going?"

James winked at Sirius: "Running towards people? Werewolf lose their minds on the night of the full moon, but they instinctively avoid people... wait, no, they're running towards people."

The professor stared at him. "So?"

James shrugged. "So running won't work, so what about using spells? Stunning Spell? Binding Charm?"

The professor shook his head. "Werewolf have extremely strong resistance to ordinary spells. With your skills, Stunning Spell would at most knock out a few hairs."

James frowned. "Then what do we do?"

The professor didn't answer, but looked at the others. "Does anyone know?"

Sirius sat next to James, not raising his hand; his gaze remained fixed on the line of words on the blackboard.

Werewolf.

A thought flashed through his mind.

He remembered that Remus would always take a few days off each month, claiming to be sick, but the timing of his leave was always the same, around the time of the full moon.

And every time he came back, his complexion was frighteningly bad, as if he had been tormented by something.

Sirius remembered something else.

One night, he woke up in the middle of the night to find Remus's bed empty. When he asked him about it the next day, Remus said he had gone to the Hospital Wing.

But Sirius was a regular at the Hospital Wing, and he didn't smell the disinfectant on Remus.

He looked at Remus.

Remus sat on the other side of James, head down, face pale, his hand clutching a quill pen, but his whole arm was trembling.

He was nervous.

Sirius averted his gaze.

Werewolf, on the night of the full moon, always take a fixed leave of absence each month. When the professor lectured on Werewolf, his face turned grim, and he dared not look at anyone.

These fragments pieced together in his mind, forming a vague outline.

He wasn't sure, but he was beginning to have doubts.

The professor waited a while longer, but no one answered.

He went straight to the point. "The most terrifying thing about Werewolf is not their strength, but their stealth. They look just like ordinary people most of the time, and they only transform on the night of a full moon."

Therefore, the most effective response is identification.

His gaze swept over everyone. "Knowing who the Werewolf are is the key to avoiding them; knowing who the Werewolf are is the key to being prepared when they transform; knowing who the Werewolf are is the key to protecting yourself."

He continued, "Then how do you identify it?"

The classroom fell silent as all the young wizards looked at him, and the professor nodded in satisfaction.

"When Werewolf is not transformed, there is no obvious difference between him and an ordinary person."

However, there are some subtle signs: they are sensitive to silver, have an unusually keen sense of smell, and experience inexplicable fatigue around the full moon.

"Of course, the most direct way to identify them is to observe their whereabouts. They disappear for a few days every month, and each time they come back, they look like they've had a serious illness. If you know someone like this—"

James listened without changing his expression; he wasn't even paying attention, just flipping through the book quickly, focusing on the illustrations and making clicking noises.

Sirius glanced at Remus again.

Remus's face turned even paler, and his body began to tremble.

Sirius looked away from the blackboard.

Werewolf.

He thought he should probably talk to James.

The professor began to talk about other dark creatures, how to identify and defend against Dementor, the weaknesses of the Red Cap, and the habitat of Grindylow.

He spoke very quickly and conveyed a lot of information, and most people were busy taking notes.

Sirius was also taking notes, but his mind was already elsewhere; he was thinking about Remus.

What if that's the case?

That's his brother, the brother he slept with for over two years.

They played pranks together, stayed up all night chatting, and spent Christmas together at James's house.

What should I do if he has this problem? Distance myself from him? Drive him away?

Sirius cursed inwardly, "Screw it."

Of course not, not even a second thought. That's Remus, who cares what it is.

James seemed oblivious, still happily taking notes. Sirius remained silent; this matter needed to be discussed with James first.

But he knew what James would choose.

That guy seems carefree, but he's very clear-headed and never ambiguous with his friends.

When have these people ever cared about these ridiculous rules?

Sirius averted his gaze and continued pretending to take notes, already having an idea in mind.

The Dismissal Bell, and the professor closed his book. "Next week we'll talk about Boggart and the Red Cap. Go home and prepare."

He strode out of the classroom.

The classroom instantly buzzed with excitement. James stood up, stretched, and said, "This professor is quite interesting; he gets straight to the point."

Lupin didn't speak, and lowered his head to put away his book.

James patted Lupin on the shoulder. "Come on, let's go eat."

Lupin looked up and forced a smile, "You guys go ahead, I... I have something to do."

James frowned. "What is it? You always seem to have something on your mind."

Lupin shook his head. "It's alright, really, you guys go first."

James was about to say something Sirius pulled him back, "Let's go."

James glanced at him, then at Lupin, shrugged, and walked out with Sirius.

Peter's little eyes darted around, and he followed.

Lupin remained in his seat, head down, motionless.

After a long while, he slowly stood up, put the books into his bag, and walked out of the classroom.