Voldemort Seemed Even More Powerful

But Regulus knew he couldn't ask random questions, and he couldn't show that he knew things he shouldn't.

He spoke in the tone of a student asking a question, with a touch of curiosity and a hint of respect:

"Professor, besides prolonged exposure to Dark Arts or self-modification of the body, could there be other reasons for this degree of physical change?"

It is perfectly reasonable and natural for an excellent student, filled with curiosity about Magic, to ask his most respected professor for the reason after witnessing a non-human wizard.

This aligns with his consistent persona in front of Slughorn.

But actually he was doing two things.

See if the professor will bring up spiritual matters on his own initiative, and give him a way to speak.

If you want to tell me something, you can say it now.

Another thought briefly crossed his mind.

Professor Slughorn treated it as a collectible, investing it carefully and expecting a return in the future.

What about the reverse?

This little old man, who has connections to half the Wizarding World, possesses a wealth of knowledge, information, and experience that is truly unique and irreplaceable.

There's no way to deal with Voldemort; he can't exchange information with Voldemort on an equal footing. But with the Professor, he could try.

Establish a tacit understanding.

Slughorn snapped out of his daze and refocused his gaze on Regulus's face.

He looked at Regulus with a complex expression, but Regulus remained composed, maintaining his humility, eagerness to learn, and purity. After a long while, Slughorn finally spoke, in a professor's tone and within an academic framework.

"From the perspective of Potions and Magic pathology," his tone regained some professional composure, as if he were stepping back into familiar territory, "There are several possibilities for the change in appearance."

"The first type is long-term exposure to objects with high concentrations of Dark Arts, such as cursed containers. These things will corrode the body over time, starting from the skin and hair and going deeper inside."

There was a Dark Wizard in Hungary who created a type of armor in the last century made of human skin. The human skin was alive and could block Killing Curse; for every curse it blocked, a layer of skin would fall off.

But the price is that the skin and human skin will gradually fuse together, and after a few years it will be impossible to remove, and the person will no longer resemble a human."

Regulus listened and took note of it: chronic external erosion, from the outside in, on a timescale of years.

Moreover, this line of thinking is inspiring.

The professor continued.

"The second type is the chronic effect of high-level curses. Some curses lie dormant in the body, slowly altering the host's physical and Magic Power structure. There are not many recorded cases in history, but Blood Curse are one of them."

Regulus nodded, Nagini.

"The third type is certain highly complex rituals, blood rituals, sacrificial rituals, ancient contract rituals, the price of which sometimes manifests physically."

The participants' appearances change, sometimes temporarily, sometimes permanently, depending on the nature of the ritual and how the costs are distributed. When he moved on to the next possibility, Slughorn's tone slowed, and his fluent, quoting style suddenly stopped.

He picked up his teacup, took a sip, put it down, and his gaze lingered on Regulus's face for a moment.

He looked at this exceptionally talented, composed, and mature young wizard who possessed an understanding of Magic beyond his years.

He resembled another person so much, but only in appearance; there was no greed for power or immortality in this child's eyes.

He wasn't trying to trick anyone into revealing any secrets; he was simply asking a question that the student council would ask.

Moreover, Slughorn thought about it and realized that his question wasn't wrong, just profound, but not inappropriate.

He mentally pushed that image away.

Then he changed his tone, adding a warning, "There's another situation, even deeper than the ones before."

He picked up a teaspoon and stirred the tea in his cup. "Felix Felicis, remember?"

Regulus nodded, his tone grateful. "I remember, Professor."

"I've only managed to survive twice in my life." There was no boastfulness in his tone, but there was definitely a hint of pride.

"There is a critical point in the process of preparing Felix Felicis, the liquid golden stage."

The material undergoes a complete transformation at that moment; all the original properties of the raw materials disappear completely, becoming something entirely new.

He put down his teaspoon and looked into Regulus's eyes.

"Once you cross that point, there's no going back. No matter what you do or what methods you use, you can't turn back into raw materials. If you make a mistake at that critical point..."

He tapped his finger on the table. "It will become highly poisonous. The same crucible, the same batch of materials, once that point is reached, it will either be Felix Felicis or a deadly poison; there is no other way."

Regulus's gaze was focused on the professor's face.

Slughorn continued, "The material undergoes a fundamental phase transition, after which it is no longer the same thing."

You can't measure it by the old standards, because it has new Magic Power, new properties, new tendencies, and a new structure." His voice grew slower and slower: "This kind of thing can also happen to people. When a wizard makes a fundamental change to himself, those changes will be reflected from the inside out."

Appearance is merely a facade; what has truly changed is something deeper.

He looked at Regulus and emphasized, "Some things, once done, can't be undone."

After saying that, he picked up his teacup, took a sip, then picked up another piece of Candied Pineapple and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing it with a grin, as if nothing that had just happened had occurred.

Regulus sat in a chair, holding a teacup in his hand.

Irreversible phase transitions: a new analytical framework.

He had previously interpreted Voldemort's torn soul as a form of injury.

The logic of damage is simple: it was originally intact, but now it's broken. If it wants to function properly even when it's broken, it needs a compensation mechanism to maintain its operation.

So he used a load-bearing wall to break the model of the house that should have collapsed but hadn't, speculating that there was some kind of alternative structure supporting it.

Professor Slughorn offered another explanation.

The tearing of the soul may not be damage, at least not damage in the conventional sense; it is more like a phase transition.

Two words popped into his mind: fission and fusion.

When Uranium-235 is bombarded with neutrons, it fissions into barium and krypton, releasing enormous amounts of energy.

The products of fission are definitely not corrupted uranium; they become completely different elements with their own atomic structure, chemical properties, and stable states.

There is no way to reassemble barium and krypton back into Uranium-235. The process is unidirectional; the energy has already been released, and the structure has already been reorganized. If Voldemort's soul tearing was based on the same logic, then no compensation mechanism would be needed.

The torn soul forms a new structure, carrying Magic Power in a completely different way than the whole soul, but equally effective.

In some ways, it's even stronger: the control over fear, the transgression over death, the crushing of the will of others, and the presence that makes Fiendfyre retreat. The price is also worth it.

Empathy, connection, and care—these functions, which are inherent to a complete soul form, disappeared after the phase transition.

After uranium fissions into barium and krypton, the chemical properties of uranium cease to exist because the original structure is gone, and the foundation that carries those properties is lost. This explanation is cleaner, but also more terrifying, than damage plus compensation.

It might mean that Voldemort wasn't a broken wizard stubbornly clinging to life; he had become a being of a different nature.

Of course, this was just a guess, without any basis, but since he had thought of this, his mind automatically turned to himself. He was also changing.

The establishment of Star Orbit Meditation and the illumination of Betelgeuse and Bellatrix are not about drilling holes in the soul. In this process, the soul extends outward on its own. His soul has undergone many changes in the past year or so, and these changes are irreversible.

Once each star is lit, he cannot extinguish it or return it to its original state.

In the Mental Space, they have fixed orbits, definite attributes, and gravitational relationships with other stars. Once these things are out, they are out; they cannot go back or be dismantled.

Does what he did count as a phase transition?

He thought for a moment and concluded that it probably wasn't; it was more like fusion.

Hydrogen fuses into helium at extremely high temperatures, releasing more energy than fission. This is what has kept the sun burning for five billion years. The helium produced after fusion is certainly not corrupted hydrogen; it transforms into a heavier and more stable element. Hydrogen cannot be reversed, but helium is more complete than hydrogen. Both fusion and fission are irreversible; the difference lies in their direction.

Fission is breaking something down into pieces, scattering the fragments, releasing the energy, and eliminating the original structure.

Fusion combines disparate elements to form a heavier, more stable structure, releasing power, but the new entity is more complete than the original. Voldemort's creation was perhaps fission.

The soul is shattered, the fragments are stored in Horcruxes, the power remains, but the original structure that carried empathy and connection is broken, becoming something else entirely. What he is doing is closer to fusion.

The coexistence of light and darkness, the superposition of stellar imagery, and the integration of different levels of power—each step adds something to a more complex whole. The illumination of Bellatrix makes his self-boundaries clearer, the illumination of Betelgeuse gives his offensive power an anchor, Belt Stars maintain the order and balance of the entire system.

He's doing addition.

Adding things to it makes the soul richer, more stable, and more complete.

It's also irreversible; what's added can't be taken back, and once it's changed, it can't be undone.

But the direction is right.

Each change makes him more complete, adds another star to the Starry sky, and makes the gravitational network denser, more stable, and better able to bear new power. Saiph is still waiting to be illuminated, and the power of the dark side is still waiting to be condensed.

These future changes will be irreversible, but as long as the direction is towards growth, there will be no problem.

Growth cannot be reversed; once a seed becomes a tree, it does not shrink back into a seed, but a tree is more complete than a seed.

Regardless of whether Voldemort followed the path of fission or fusion, he certainly followed the path of fusion.

Both are irreversible, both release power, but in completely opposite directions.

Slughorn's statement that there was no going back after doing it was a warning to him.

But for him, this statement meant agreement.

The path he's on is in the right direction; every step he takes makes him more complete, and none of them are tearing anything apart.

Phase transition transforms one thing into another, while growth allows one thing to take on a more complete form.

It is growth, not a phase transition.

We should thank the professor.

He looked up at Slughorn.

The professor was chewing his third piece of Candied Pineapple, his cheeks puffed out, grinning broadly, when he glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It's time to eat, Regulus."

Regulus stood up, his tone sincere, and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Professor. I have learned a lot today, and your words have been very helpful." Slughorn waved his hand, still with that same smiling expression.

Regulus walked towards the door, his hand just touching the doorknob, when the professor's voice came from behind him. "Regulus."

He turned around.

Slughorn sat in his chair, the box of Candied Pineapple open, the office filled with the sweet aroma of fruit and expensive ingredients. The professor's smile remained, as usual, as it always was.

But there was expectation in his eyes, perhaps an expectation for a young man, or perhaps something else.

He said, "Stay away from things that are irreversible."

Then he waved his hand. "Go on, go eat."

Regulus nodded, pushed open the door, and went out.