A Friendly Fawkes

Regulus recalled some of his knowledge about Phoenix.

According to the Ministry of Magic's classification of Magical Creature, the Phoenix belongs to the XXXX category, which is dangerous and requires specialized knowledge to handle.

Acromantula XXXXX, Fire Dragon XXXXX, Nundu XXXXX.

The Phoenix only has XXXX.

In Regulus's view, this classification system was a joke in itself.

The Ministry of Magic's classification system is based on the level of threat posed to wizards.

The Fire Dragon could burn down half of Diagon Alley, so it's rated XXXXX.

The Acromantula can eat people and is also a level XXXXX.

The Phoenix can Nirvana rebirth, shed tears that heal all wounds, fly carrying extremely heavy objects, remain absolutely loyal to its companions, and penetrate all Magic defenses.

But it doesn't attack humans, so only XXXX.

The underlying logic of the entire system is how dangerous this thing is to wizards, not how powerful it is.

Wizards use their sense of security to rank the entire world.

arrogant.

However, this arrogance is not without its basis.

Wizards are indeed the most powerful group in the world, with the upper limit of individual combat strength far exceeding that of any Magical Creature.

Dumbledore could do alone, a hundred Phoenix combined couldn't do.

If Voldemort were to unleash his destructive power, even ten thousand Acromantula couldn't defeat him.

Grindelwald could burn Paris down with a single fire, Fire Dragon...

Fire Dragon seem like an option, but I don't know how many you'd need.

Wizards hold the power to interpret and use Magic; they define rules, allocate resources, and label other creatures.

Phoenix XXXX, because the wizard has the final say.

Regulus simply felt that this ranking was unworthy of Phoenix.

Grading Phoenix is like measuring the temperature of the sun. Of course, you can measure it, but it's just a number, and that number can't contain the sun.

Then he thought of something else.

Dumbledore's Patronus is the Phoenix.

The Patronus is a reflection of the soul, and the Starry Sky Kite can carry him through space.

Perhaps it was inherent to him, perhaps it was because he had a natural talent for Spatial Perception, or perhaps there were other reasons, he couldn't say for sure at the moment.

However, Dumbledore's Patronus is in the form of Phoenix, and the core characteristic of the Phoenix is rebirth, Rebirth from Fire.

Can Dumbledore Nirvana?

Physically, of course not.

But what about spiritually?

Ariana, Grindelwald, Aberforth —the mistakes she made in her youth carried a lifetime of regret.

Each time he was burned to ashes by those things, each time he rose again from the ashes.

The pain hasn't disappeared, the regret hasn't lessened, but the person is still standing, still moving forward, still doing what he believes is right.

Perhaps Dumbledore's Nirvana was a nirvana of the soul, shattering again and again in the flames of regret, only to rise again and again.

The Patronus truly reflects the deepest parts of the soul.

Regulus glanced back at Dumbledore.

It's quite remarkable that this old man has lived this long.

We need to find something to amuse him; perhaps having every species of cockroach in the world in England would be a good idea.

He deserves it.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, writing something on a piece of parchment with a quill. Sensing a gaze, he looked up, his blue eyes peering over his Half-moon Spectacles with a puzzled expression.

Regulus withdrew his gaze and turned back to face Fawkes.

He made a decision.

He summoned his Patronus.

Since the Phoenix can see souls, he will present the most direct projection of the soul so that Fawkes can see it clearly.

What kind of person he is, what color his soul is, and how bright his light truly is—all of this is contained within this bird; there's nothing to hide.

A silvery light surged from his chest, spreading throughout the office. The humming of the Silver Instruments paused for a moment, and the flame in the fireplace flickered.

The Starry Sky Kite took shape in the light, its wings unfolding, each feather shining brightly. The silver light clashed with the warm hues of the fireplace, creating a stark contrast between the two.

It landed on Regulus's shoulder, shook its wings, and tilted its head to look at Fawkes.

Silver eyes met golden eyes.

Fawkes lifted himself from the perch, tilted his head slightly, his golden-red feathers ruffled slightly, and a look of joy flashed in his eyes.

Two birds gaze at each other in the air.

The Starry Sky Kite moved first. It took off from Regulus's shoulder, circled Fawkes once, and Silver Light brushed across its golden-red feathers, leaving a brief silver trail on them.

Fawkes's eyes followed the Starry Sky Kite in a circle, then it spread its wings and took flight from its perch.

Golden-red flames and silvery-white starlight intertwined in the office space, while two birds, one real and one formed from a soul, hovered above the fireplace.

The moment the silver and gold-red hues drew near, their light intertwined, their boundaries blurred for a moment, and then they separated again.

The Portrait on the wall seemed to awaken; even the ones that were dozing the most opened their eyes and quietly watched the scene unfold.

In the topmost frame, Phineas Nigellus Black leans forward slightly, and a deep emotion churns in his eyes, which bear some resemblance to Regulus's.

Fawkes landed back on the perch, folded its wings, and its feathers lay flat again.

The Starry Sky Kite landed back on Regulus's shoulder, let out a clear and melodious cry, then nestled into his chest, its Silver Light fading.

The meeting is over.

Dumbledore watched this scene from behind his desk, his quill pen having been put down at some point.

He didn't speak, but his blue eyes behind his glasses seemed a little brighter than before.

Fawkes squatted on the perch for a while, then did something.

A ball of golden-red flame enveloped its body, moving inwards from its claws to its wings, and then to its feathers.

Flames exploded instantly, lifting the perch into the air.

Regulus's senses were fully engaged, and he captured it.

The moment the Phoenix disappeared, the space where the perch stood seemed to be swallowed up by the Phoenix's flames.

It was unlike any other form of spatial travel he had ever seen.

Apparition tears through space, Starry Sky Kite invites space, House-elf leap across space, Thestral make space retreat.

The Phoenix burned away space.

The distance between the starting point and the End was erased the instant the flames exploded.

It was as if space itself did not exist in the face of the Phoenix Flame; that distance simply vanished.

The next moment, flames appeared out of thin air on Dumbledore's desk, Fawkes poked his head out of the flames.

The golden-red feathers, still glowing with the last embers of fire, landed on the table, and the claws gripped the edge of a stack of parchment.

Regulus turned around and stared at it for a long time.

Five methods: Apparition, Starry Sky Kite, House-elf, Thestral, Phoenix.

Five logics, five relationships with space.

Another piece has been added to his Space Magic system.

Moreover, it's the most unique section; the space there can be eliminated.

Any Anti-Apparition Charm is ineffective against the Phoenix. The logic of those protective Magic is to prevent space from being traversed, but the Phoenix does not traverse space; it makes space disappear.

Preventing a process that doesn't exist is pointless, of course.

Regulus walked back to his desk.

Fawkes squatted on the table, his paws still resting on the stack of parchment, tilting his head to look at him. The attitude in his golden eyes was somewhat different from when he was on the perch.

But Regulus could tell that it wasn't enthusiasm; the Phoenix was proud and wouldn't be enthusiastic towards anyone.

It's more like a relaxation; you've seen what you needed to see, and judged what you needed to judge, so now you can let go of that pretense.

Fawkes had met his Patronus.

He had shown it the first time he came to this office, but the same bird and the same Silver Light had different meanings.

Regulus did this so that Fawkes could see his soul, or at least a part of it.

Perhaps it was because he himself illuminated his soul that it became visible.

Perhaps Fawkes's purpose in looking at him this time was different; last time he just glanced at him casually, but this time he was looking at him seriously.

In short, this time is different from the last.

Regulus slowly extended his hand.

When you touch the Phoenix feathers, they feel soft and warm; your fingers will sink slightly when you press them and spring back when you release them.

The Magic Perception probed inwards along the fingertip.

The Phoenix's Magic Power is heat, like a rich life force.

It wasn't scorching hot; it was closer to the temperature of the first rays of sunlight on the skin in the morning—just enough to feel, without making you want to pull your hand away.

But there's something else underneath the temperature.

His perception probed deeper and encountered a rhythm.

The Magic Power circulated within Fawkes's body, the rhythm of which had a peculiar undulation.

The Magic Power surged to its peak, then plummeted to almost imperceptible levels, before surging back up, stronger than ever before.

Surge, fall, surge, fall.

Every fall is like a death, every rise is like a rebirth.

It's as if the rhythm of rebirth is written in the Magic Power of the Phoenix, happening every moment.

Fawkes let him touch her for a while, occasionally tilting his head and glancing at him with his golden eyes, his expression probably saying, "That's enough, how much longer do you want to touch me?"

Regulus thought to himself, "This bird's temperament is just like its the Master's; it seems easy to talk to, but it doesn't really care about anyone."

Dumbledore watched this scene from the side, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with barely concealed smugness. "Fawkes rarely lets anyone touch its feathers."

Regulus glanced at him but didn't reply.

This old man is showing off again.

Then Fawkes started moving.

It lowered its head, stretched its beak toward its tail feathers, and picked up a slightly shorter feather from beside the longest one. The feather was golden-red, with a deep red base and an orange-gold tip.

It placed the feather on Regulus's outstretched palm.

A warmth spread through my palm, the heat of the Phoenix Feather seeping into my skin with a rhythmic rise and fall, like a faint but steady pulse.

Regulus looked at the feather in his hand, then glanced at Fawkes.

Fawkes no longer looked at him. It flapped its wings, flew back to its perch, and tucked its head back under its wings, reverting to the same indifferent attitude it had when it entered.

Dumbledore watched this scene, the smugness on his face transformed into something else, becoming softer and deeper.

"It seems it really likes you," he said softly.

Regulus looked up at him, his eyes carrying a hint of "Didn't you say it liked me before? But it ignored me. Now I've given you a feather, and you're saying it likes me again?"

Dumbledore, picked up his teacup, took a sip, and shifted his gaze to the side.

Regulus carefully tucked the feather into the inner pocket of his robe, placing it against his chest where it felt warm.

Dumbledore put down his teacup and said, "It will know when you really need help."

He paused, then added, "No spells are needed, no invocations are needed. Just hold the feather, think of it, and it will come."

Just like Dumbledore's own relationship with Fawkes, whenever Dumbledore needed help, the Phoenix would appear by his side.

Regulus nodded and stood up from his chair.

He turned to Fawkes, whose head was still buried under its wing, and resumed its indifferent state.

"Thank you," Regulus said to it.

Fawkes twitched its wing in response.

Regulus turned to Dumbledore: "Thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore stood up, walked around the desk, and stood before him.

The old man was much taller than him, and when he looked down at him, his silver beard almost reached Regulus's shoulder.

"Regulus," Dumbledore's voice was so gentle it was almost a soliloquy, "Have a good holiday."

He reached out and patted Regulus on the shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping through his robes.

I hope that feather will never be needed.

He paused, his blue eyes fixed on Regulus: "But if you use it, you know someone's behind you."

Regulus tilted his head back and nodded.

Dumbledore released his grip, took a step back, and said in his usual lighthearted tone, "Merry Christmas, Regulus."

Merry Christmas, Professor.

Regulus turned, pushed open the door, and stepped onto the Spiral Staircase.

The stairs slowly descended, Gargoyle was waiting at the bottom. He stepped out, Gargoyle closed behind him, returning to its cold, lifeless stone sculpture form.

The Corridor was quiet. He walked towards the Dormitory, his footsteps echoing softly on the stone walls.