The Blank Space of Magic

"Magic is not an adversary you must conquer," Dumbledore's voice pulled him back to reality. "You must treat it as a friend and converse with it."

The truly powerful Magic is making the world do things for you.

Let the world do things for you.

Regulus pondered this sentence.

He completely agreed with this statement, and he had come to this conclusion himself.

Wizards influence the world with their will and Magic Power, and the world responds.

That makes sense, but Dumbledore might be able to do it, he couldn't.

Not at all.

"Take Potions as an example," Dumbledore, changing the subject. "Professor Slughorn teaches you to control the heat, process the ingredients, and pay attention to the direction and number of stirrings."

But the best Potions, such as Felix Felicis, often require a little time to allow the Magic Power to ferment naturally.

You can't rush it, you can't be impatient; you have to wait for all the components to find their own place.

He gestured with his fingers in the air, as if stirring an invisible crucible.

"The same goes for Magic. Not every spell needs to be most effective. Sometimes, leaving room for maneuver, allowing Magic to breathe, is a higher level of artistry."

Regulus recalled his habits when casting spells.

Precise calculations of output and strict control of effects ensure that every bit of Magic Power is used effectively.

That's right, it's efficient and effective.

But Dumbledore was suggesting another possibility: some Magic doesn't need to be so full; leaving some room can actually create a more natural and lasting effect.

He continued, "But it doesn't mean you should do nothing. It means do what you're supposed to do, and then let things happen naturally."

When fighting against darkness, the most important thing is not how much I can destroy, but how much I can illuminate.

Regulus remained silent; the explanation was somewhat abstract, and he needed time to process it.

The portraits on the wall were also listening quietly, Phineas Black looked at Dumbledore with a complicated expression.

He was probably thinking, "I think this kid is dark-skinned, yet you're saying so much to him?"

Regulus Dumbledore?

Fawkes let out a soft cry, flew down from its perch, and landed on the edge of the desk.

It tilted its head to look at Regulus, his reflection shimmering in its dark eyes.

Regulus seemed a little distracted; Fawkes's gaze was Dumbledore's.

"These words I spoke today," Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his smile softening once more, "Are about sharing."

Then he changed the subject. "Everyone eventually has to find their own path. Others' experiences can only be used as a reference, not copied verbatim."

He raised his hand, and the teapot on the table tilted automatically, refilling the two cups with hot tea.

"But at least for now, I think you're on the right track," Dumbledore said, picking up his glass.

"Keep going, Regulus, with your reason and with your emotions."

With your calculations and your reverence, Magic will not fail such a wizard.

Regulus picked up his teacup; the tea was already warm, but it still had a faint aroma when he drank it.

He suddenly realized that Dumbledore hadn't taught him a specific spell or told him any secrets today.

It's all about personal insights, summaries of experience, and Magic philosophy.

But these are more precious than any specific Magic.

They provide a framework, a perspective, and a way of understanding the relationship between Magic and the world.

With these, he could derive countless applications on his own.

The treasure was there, but Dumbledore didn't take him there; instead, he gave him a map and a compass.

"Thank you, Professor." Regulus said earnestly, his voice coming from the heart.

Dumbledore blinked, and a smile appeared beneath his mustache.

"You're welcome." His tone lightened. "To be honest, I really enjoy these conversations. There aren't many students at Hogwarts who can talk about these things."

A portrait on the wall scoffed, "The last person to talk like that was—"

"Dilys," Dumbledore interrupted her gently.

The portrait of the female principal named Dilys pursed her lips and said nothing more.

Regulus probably knew who they were talking about: Tom Riddle.

He finished his tea, put down the cup, and stood up.

"I think I should go back, Professor. I need to process what I've said."

"Of course." Dumbledore stood up as well, walked around the desk, and said reluctantly, "Really not going to try Cockroach Cluster? Listen to me, it really—"

Regulus refused without hesitation. "No."

Dumbledore clicked his tongue. "Tsk, what a pity."

Regulus ignored this remark, bowed, and thanked him again, "Thank you, Professor, I have learned a great deal."

"Go ahead," Dumbledore smiled.

Regulus nodded, bowed slightly to the portraits on the wall, nodded goodbye to Fawkes, and turned to walk towards the door.

As I gripped the doorknob, Dumbledore's voice came from behind me.

"Regulus."

He turned around.

"Remember," the headmaster said, standing still and gazing intently at him, "No matter which path you choose in the future, Hogwarts will always be your school, and a school is a place for people to try and make mistakes."

There was a hidden meaning in his words, but Regulus understood.

"I understand, Professor."

He pushed open the door and left, the Spiral Staircase slowly descending, carrying him back to the Seventh Floor Corridor. Cola —your private mobile Library, accessible anytime.

In the Headmaster's Office, Dumbledore stood still, watching the closed door.

The portraits on the wall began to whisper among themselves, their conversation revolving around the Slytherin boy who had just left.

Phineas Black finally put down his newspaper. "You've bet a lot on him, Albus."

"I've invested a lot in all my students, Phineas." Dumbledore walked back to his desk and sat down.

"But you won't talk to all your students this much, this deeply."

Dumbledore smiled, reached for the Cockroach Cluster, but then withdrew his hand and picked up a Lemon Sherbet from the silver dish, putting it in his mouth.

"Because not all students are ready to listen to these." He spoke with a candy in his mouth, his voice slightly muffled.

Fawkes flew back to its perch, spread its wings, and let out a long cry.

At lunchtime, the Great Hall was filled with the aroma of roast beef and mashed potatoes.

Regulus sat down at the Slytherin table, picked up a fork, and his mind was still working.

He summarized Dumbledore's words, which mainly boiled down to just one point.

Magic needs to leave room for interpretation.

Don't exert all your power; leave some to the Magic itself, do what needs to be done, and let things happen naturally.

He understands the logic; the problem lies in finding the balance point.

He was used to complete control, and now he was being asked to leave room for maneuver, to let the Magic breathe, just as a precision instrument is allowed to occasionally make a mistake.

But you can give it a try.

Dumbledore tall and experienced; you can't go wrong following his lead.

Regulus cut off a piece of beef and put it in his mouth, his gaze sweeping across the Great Hall as he chewed.

The Gryffindor was the noisiest, the Ravenclaw Table was quieter, bursts of laughter came from the Hufflepuff group, and Slytherin was the quietest.

Hogwarts is really great.

The professors are really good: Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Slughorn, and now Dumbledore, Professor.

They taught him not only spells and recipes, but also how to view Magic, how to solve problems, and even the principles of being a good person.

He recalled Dumbledore's last words, "Wherever you choose in the future, Hogwarts will always be your school, and a school is a place for trial and error."

That's more like a permission, or rather, an understanding given in advance.

Dumbledore have known the Black family's position.

The headmaster couldn't possibly be unaware of the trend of Pureblood families siding with Voldemort.

But he still chose to say those words to Regulus, expressing his approval and expectations.

The reason wasn't just that he was a talented young wizard; the deeper reason was probably that Regulus was favored by both Dumbledore and Voldemort in their contest.

From a rational perspective, the principal is making advance plans, investing, and increasing his own bargaining power.

Thinking of this, Regulus shook his head slightly; he didn't dislike being invested in.

At least Dumbledore's investment approach was to impart wisdom and guide direction.

This is far better than some investment methods.

Just like Magic requires balance: control and indulgence, reason and emotion, action and waiting.

Reality also requires balance.

Family responsibility and personal ideals, Pure-bloods stance and pursuit of Magic, now compounded by Dumbledore's expectations and Voldemort's shadow.

He swallowed the last bite of food and took a sip of the Pumpkin Juice.

"Regulus!"

The sound came from the entrance of the Great Hall, and Avery and Alex walked in. The hems of their robes were stained with mud, their hair was covered with unmelted snowflakes, their cheeks were red from the cold, and their eyes were bright.

They walked to the long table, Avery plopped down opposite Regulus, while Alex, more careful, shook the snow off his robes before sitting down.

"The snow has stopped, the sun is out, the weather is great." Avery grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. "Want to go for a walk?"

Alex added quietly, "We can have a snowball fight."

Regulus looked at them.

Avery asked casually, Alex answered with ease.

Regulus knew what they were thinking.

He almost never participated in such entertainment, always busy going to the Library, the Room of Requirement, and practicing Magic.

To them, inviting Regulus to play was like inviting a professor to a student party—it didn't make sense.

Just asking.

But today is a little different.

Today he wants to try leaving some room for maneuver, not filling all his time, and not doing everything for a specific purpose.

"Okay," Regulus said.

Avery's mouth was agape, breadcrumbs stuck between his teeth.

Alex looked up, his eyes wide.

Headmaster's Office.

Dumbledore stood by the window, holding a cup of honey tea.

Then he saw three figures outside the Castle.

Two ran ahead, and one walked behind. The two running were playing around in the snow, while the one walking was steady on its feet and would occasionally stop to look around.

They walked to the Black Lake, squatted down beside the ice hole, stayed there for a while, and then got up and walked back.

Dumbledore's lips curled slightly as he picked up his teacup and took a sip, the sweetness melting on his tongue.

He turned and walked back to his desk, put down his teacup, and Fawkes called softly from its perch, as if to say something.

"I know, Fawkes," Dumbledore said softly. "Give him some time, and give Magic some time."