Dumbledore Really Was Gone

At the Astronomy Tower, the wind was strong; the north wind blew, and the crenellations made a whistling sound.

Regulus stood on the edge of the tower, his robes pressed against his body by the wind.

Looking down, most of the Castle lights were off, with only a few windows still lit, probably because upperclassmen were working on their papers or a professor was working overtime. The Forbidden Forest stretched out in the distance, a dark mass, its canopies shimmering silver-gray in the moonlight, layer upon layer, reaching to the horizon.

The full moon, round and large, hung above the Forbidden Forest.

He glanced down.

From the side gate of the Castle, several figures crouched down and slipped out, walking along the wall for a while before running onto the lawn.

They were too far away to see each other's faces clearly, but their body shapes and running styles were distinctive.

The one at the very front, running with a flamboyant air, long strides, and swinging his arms wide, occasionally turning his head to greet the people behind him— James Potter, even his running exudes arrogance.

The one following closely behind had a relaxed pace, running gracefully and unhurriedly, with his hands in his robe pockets. Sirius, he never took his hands out of his pockets while running.

Following behind was someone who looked exhausted, his steps heavy, his shoulders slumped— Lupin, he hadn't changed yet, but he already looked like this. The last one was someone who would run two steps, look back, run two more steps, and look back again, his head turning faster than his legs— Peter Pettigrew, like an owl.

It was quite a coincidence; he was causing trouble in the middle of the night, and so were they.

Of course they'll come out at this time; it's the same every full moon night—the full moon, the Whomping Willow, the Shrieking Shack —a fixed program without fail. Friendship and adventure, the little wizard's two favorite things.

James probably felt like the heroic leader of his team, leading his brothers on a great secret mission.

Sirius probably thought this was one of the few things at Hogwarts worth staying up all night for.

Lupin probably had little choice, Peter probably regretted coming along but dared not say it.

Regulus looked away, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He looked down and estimated the tower to be seventy or eighty meters high from the top to the ground. The night wind was blowing in from the side, making his robes flap loudly.

He took a step forward, stepping off the edge of the tower, using Levitation Charm to support his body, and drifted away into the distance.

The moonlight shone down from above, enveloping me in a silvery glow. The wind whistled past my ears, chilling me to the bone, yet comforting. The lawn stretched out beneath my feet, the frosty ground reflecting the white light. In the distance, the Black Lake resembled a dark mirror, its surface reflecting a full moon. The edge of the Forbidden Forest drew ever closer, the outlines of the treetops becoming clearer, and I could see the branches swaying in the wind.

I landed on the lawn at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, my foot crunching on the frosty ground.

There is no one.

The four Gryffindor long since run off; the direction of the Whomping Willow was pitch black, and they couldn't see anyone. They must have already disappeared inside.

At this time of day, most young wizards would be asleep.

He should be sleeping, but he doesn't want to.

Regulus's lips twitched slightly.

He crossed the lawn and headed towards the Forbidden Forest.

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, outside the range of the Anti-Apparition Charm, he sensed the line.

The boundaries are clearly defined, marking the intersection of the Castle space and the natural space.

The space on the Castle side felt heavy and imbued with a sense of purpose, carrying an ancient presence, like a silent Giant, always watching his every move.

The Giant doesn't speak or express its opinion, but its very existence is a form of pressure. Do anything under its gaze, and it will be watching, just watching.

On this side of the Forbidden Forest, the space is empty and free; space is simply space, like the cliff edge of Cornwall, devoid of will or temperament. He stopped at the edge of the Forbidden Forest and tested it.

He raised his right hand, Magic Power emanating from his fingertips and pushing outwards, anchoring himself beneath his feet, outside the Castle, at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

The anchor point was stable, this end was fine, then he pushed the other end towards the Castle.

The Guardian Will is poured in, Spatial Folding is activated, and following the Magic Power, it pushes towards that boundary.

Upon reaching the boundary, the anchor point was inserted, and the Castle's space accepted it.

Anchor points are used to fix spatial coordinates; they only serve as markers and do not change the properties of the space itself. Castle do not reject this.

But the moment the Guardian Will reached the boundary line, he felt resistance; the space of the Castle peeled away the Guardian Will.

You can't see anything visually, but you can clearly perceive it.

The Guardian Will was a silvery-white layer enveloping the passage, stabilizing it, ensuring its safety, and making those who passed through feel protected. This silvery-white layer was scraped away layer by layer the moment it reached the boundary of the Castle space.

There was no force, no impact, no resistance; it was simply swept away, like the wind blowing away dust.

The Guardian Will peeled away from the outer wall of the passage, scattering into extremely fine silver fragments that floated twice in the air before extinguishing.

The framework of the passageway is still there, and the Spatial Folding is still supporting it, making it geometrically connected from one end of the Forbidden Forest to the other end of the Castle.

However, the skeleton was not protected by Guardian Will, the inner walls of the passage were empty, and the exposed Spatial Folding were directly exposed to the outside.

It lasted less than a tenth of a second before the inner walls began to tremble. With nothing reinforcing the passage, its own elasticity began to rebound.

The opening at the other end of the Castle collapsed first, and the folds rolled up from the edges to the middle, like a crumpled piece of paper unfolding itself.

Then the entire passage began to collapse from that end, crumbling back section by section until it reached the boundary line, where the Forbidden Forest side couldn't hold on any longer. He was still clutching the anchor point at that end when, crack, it shattered.

The silver Light Point swirled in the air, floated twice, and then disappeared.

He shook his fingers; they felt a little numb.

Let's try a different approach then.

Set the anchor point at the Castle end as the receiving end, only receiving, not sending. The Forbidden Forest end will actively fold over, connecting to the edge of the Castle space. Theoretically, the receiving end does not need the Guardian Will to hold it up; it only needs the anchor point to mark a coordinate. The channel starts from this end, and the work of holding it up is all done at this end.

He pushed it, but the Castle space gave no response whatsoever.

The coordinate signal of the anchor point entered, and the folded spatial plane encountered the boundary of the Castle, just like hitting a wall.

The wall isn't hard, nor is it flexible; it simply doesn't move, doesn't cooperate, and doesn't respond.

Complete silence, not a sound whatsoever.

He stopped trying, just as he had predicted.

Anchor points can be driven into the Castle, Spatial Warp can be used, and the Spatial Network can function. Within the Castle's boundaries, all spatial methods work normally because these methods utilize the structure of space itself and do not involve will.

Folding, anchoring, Transfiguration, networking—these are all technical operations performed on space, Castle allows.

Anchor points are acceptable because they are tools; channels are not, because channels are extensions of will.

The only problem was the will.

Castle is Castle; no matter how bright, warm, or kind-hearted he may be, the Castle will ignore him completely.

He dispersed the remaining Magic Power and flexed his fingers.

If it doesn't work, it doesn't work.

It's okay to open outside the Castle Castle, but not inside. I'll remember that and talk about it later.

Anyway, he wasn't in a hurry to open the Castle gates. If he really had to run away, Fiendfyre.

When it's feasible in the future, we'll definitely build passageways all over the Castle, with toilet doors leading directly to the Headmaster's Office.

Regulus stood on the boundary line, with the Castle on one side and the Forbidden Forest on the other.

He exhaled, and white mist rose from his mouth, dissipating in the moonlight.

The moonlight stretched his shadow long, casting it on the withered grass, all the way to the roots of the first row of trees in the Forbidden Forest.

The woods were quiet. The wind rustled through the treetops for a while, then stopped.

Then he sensed that someone was standing some distance away, dozens of meters away, and he didn't know how long they had been standing there.

He turned his head.

Beside the old oak tree, Professor McGonagall, wrapped in a dark cloak, stood with her pointed hat outlining a distinct silhouette in the moonlight.

The wind tugged her cloak backward, but she remained motionless, standing straight and upright, her shoulders held firmly, her hands clasped in front of her. From a distance, her expression was obscured, but just her posture alone was terrifyingly serious, making one wonder if they had done something wrong.

Regulus frowned slightly.

And so it happened again. The professor seemed to have been standing there for a long time, but she didn't let him notice her until he was finished.

So what if you're highly skilled?

No wonder he was taught by Dumbledore, just like the old man.

What he just did was probably seen by everyone.

But then I thought, it's just Space Magic; Professor McGonagall taught me Spatial Transfiguration.

If Spatial Channel is forcibly aligned with Spatial Transfiguration, it makes sense and is perfectly reasonable.

Go ahead and watch.

He adjusted his expression, straightened his robe, and walked towards the professor.

He didn't walk very fast, just a few dozen meters, but it only took him half a minute. When he got there, he had already adopted a polite posture.

With relaxed shoulders, a slightly tucked chin, and a focused gaze, he looked like a model student who had just sneaked out in the middle of the night instead of sleeping.

As he got closer, he could see the professor's expression clearly.

The eyes behind the glasses were fixed on him, sharp and piercing, the lips pressed into a thin line, looking very serious.

Regulus stopped three or four meters away from her and bowed slightly.

"Mr. Black," McGonagall's voice was clear and penetrating in the night wind, "Curfew is in effect."

Regulus was respectful, nodded politely, and spoke in a steady tone, without the slightest hint of apprehension. "Professor."

McGonagall stared at him for a long time.

She wasn't at all surprised to see Regulus Black at the edge of the Forbidden Forest at this time.

She didn't see Regulus as an ordinary little wizard; she knew what kind of kid he was.

For most people, a nighttime stroll through the Forbidden Forest would be considered trouble, but for him, it's probably something perfectly legitimate.

But she was the strictest headmistress in all of Hogwarts. When she saw a young wizard breaking school rules and wandering around at night instead of sleeping, she didn't care who it was. Curfew was curfew. She was dissatisfied, but she wouldn't go so far as to pursue the matter. However, she had to show the proper attitude.

She stared at him until Regulus lowered his head slightly, then she looked away, neither asking what he was doing nor deducting points. The professor shifted his gaze from him to the direction of the Whomping Willow in the distance.

Under the moonlight, the branches of the Whomping Willow swayed gently, and the entrance to the hollow tree below could be vaguely seen.

Several figures had already slipped inside, leaving only a few footprints on the lawn. The frost was crushed, appearing in fragments under the moonlight. Regulus also looked in that direction.

Neither of them spoke.

A wind blew from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, causing the hem of McGonagall's cloak to flutter backward.

After a while, McGonagall spoke up, "Sirius's Transfiguration have improved very quickly."

His tone was different from before; the sternness had subsided, and his voice was slightly softer.

Regulus's lips curled up slightly.

Professor McGonagall said so, so it seems that guy has indeed made considerable progress, but she didn't brag about it to him.

Sirius initially wanted to become stronger because he was beaten up by him.

Later, regarding power and choice, he exchanged a few words with Sirius.

Later, he found his own path in Transfiguration.

Now it might be to show off, to win, or something else entirely.

Regardless of the reason, as long as the child is willing to improve, that's fine.

"Sirius has gone to a lot of trouble for you."

Regulus spoke naturally, with a hint of gratitude. He himself might not have paid much attention to it, but the words carried that certain feeling as soon as they left his mouth.

McGonagall turned her head, saw his expression, and a slight smile flickered across her face, her lips curving upwards almost imperceptibly before vanishing in an instant. Regulus looked up at her. "Professor, is it your turn today?"

He glanced in the direction of the Whomping Willow, but didn't finish his sentence.

McGonagall was silent for a moment, then shook her head, her tone flat. "Albus here."

Regulus was certain.

On a full moon night Dumbledore should have been guarding this place, but Professor McGonagall is doing this now.

"Professor Dumbledore has been very busy lately?" he asked casually, as if they were having a chat.

McGonagall turned to look at him; his eyes behind his glasses were bright and sharp.

Regulus met his gaze, his brows slightly furrowed, but his eyes were open and honest.

McGonagall ignored his expression, his little scheme, and probably didn't intend to expose him, just as she didn't care what kind of Space Magic he had just performed.

She shifted her gaze from his face and looked back in the direction of the Whomping Willow.

"He asked me to tell you," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, simply repeating, "If you want to see him, you know what to do." Regulus, standing next to the professor, nodded.

Fawkes.

The Phoenix Feather that Dumbledore gave him was always on his person and he never used it.

In emergencies, you can summon Fawkes and use Phoenix Flame to teleport you out of any predicament.

Now this feather has an additional meaning.

Dumbledore may not be at Hogwarts, but the passageway remains open, so he can find the old man anytime.

Regulus bowed slightly. "I understand, thank you, Professor."

McGonagall nodded, without saying anything more.

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, then returned to him.

"Go back to sleep, Mr. Black."

His sternness has returned, replaced by the serious tone of a dean.

Regulus replied without hesitation, "Good night, Professor."

He turned and walked towards the Castle, then looked back after a few steps.

McGonagall was still standing beside the old oak tree, the outline of her cloak motionless in the moonlight, facing the direction of the Whomping Willow.

Regulus looked away and continued walking.

Baruk poked his head out of the inner pocket, his eight eyes glancing in the professor's direction, then at his chin, and clicked.

"It's okay, we'll have an extra meal tonight."