Adventurer

At 9:30 a. m. on Saturday, Regulus knocked twice on the door of McGonagall's office.

"Come in."

He pushed open the door, took his first step, and as he crossed the threshold, the Transfiguration began.

Silver-white hair spreads outward from the roots, gray eyes are replaced by amber gold, the contours are tightening, widening, and reshaping, height is increasing, and shoulder lines are expanding.

The Transfiguration ended upon landing in the second step.

The person standing in the office is someone else entirely.

With long, silver-white hair draped over his shoulders, amber vertical pupils, a strong profile, and a height of just over 180 centimeters, the Magic Power texture on his body had switched to the scorching, outward-radiating mode of Betelgeuse.

Within two steps, he transformed from head to toe into a completely different person, and a sense of oppression followed him into the room.

McGonagall sat behind the table, her quill pen hovering in mid-air.

He raised an eyebrow, and the light in his eyes instantly flared up, as if something had been ignited; it was visible even through his glasses.

Then he suppressed it, pursed his lips, and resumed his usual serious demeanor.

Minerva McGonagall, a Transfiguration master, Head of Gryffindor, and one of Hogwarts' most stern professors.

A standard Gryffindor.

She had made similar preparations when she was young. During her time with Grindelwald, she followed Dumbledore and walked many paths that she should and shouldn't have taken.

I have seen true darkness on the battlefield, and I have also seen light struggling to rise from the darkness.

At that moment, she was also standing in a room, looking in the mirror, changing her robes to a more practical style, holding her wand in her hand, and thinking about what she was about to face.

She had that same light in her eyes then, knowing she was about to embark on an adventure and was prepared for it.

She recognized that kind of aura, but hadn't seen it in many years.

She didn't say anything to praise him, but her gaze lingered on him for a while longer, a suppressed emotion flickering in the fine lines around her eyes.

Then he stood up from behind the table, walked to Regulus, and quickened his pace a little more than usual, the hem of his robe swirling around his ankles.

She raised her wand. "Stand still."

Regulus remained standing.

He was probably the young wizard who understood Professor McGonagall the most; the headmistress was far more than her stern demeanor suggested.

He saw the barely concealed excitement in her eyes.

McGonagall tapped his shoulder with her wand and began Spellcasting, Permanent Transfiguration.

The robe, which had already been altered once, began to change the moment the wand fell.

The fabric is tightened, the color deepens to a dark gray-black, the hem is gathered upwards, excess fabric disappears, the loose parts are cut off, and the fitted lines are re-outlined.

A dark gray short vest with a high collar and no sleeves. The shoulders and chest are reinforced with subtle patterns to help distribute impact.

Wear a dark-colored, narrow-sleeved shirt underneath, with fitted cuffs to allow for wrist movement, and a wide leather Orion's Belt with a snap closure.

Straight-leg dark trousers, the cuffs tucked into the boot shafts, short-topped Dragon Hide, lightweight and silent on the ground.

The overall design is sleek and streamlined, with not an inch of excess fabric, making it suitable for high-speed movement and close-quarters combat.

McGonagall put away her wand, took a step back, and looked him up and down.

Regulus raised his arms, twisted his waist, and kicked a couple of times to get a feel for it.

It's definitely better than before. The clothes fit my body perfectly, and there's no feeling of being dragged when I move around. Even the parts I can't reach aren't tight.

Professor McGonagall seems to have considerable experience in this area; after all, she ran on the battlefield in her youth, and this is probably not the first time she's modified combat gear for someone.

"Thank you, Professor."

McGonagall hummed in response, her gaze sweeping from the dark patterns on his shoulder to the belt buckle at his waist, before returning to his face.

The corners of her mouth curved upwards slightly, very quickly, and then disappeared just as quickly.

She walked back to the table and sat down, gesturing for him to continue.

Regulus took out Phoenix Feather from his inner pocket.

The golden-red feathers were half the length of his palm, with fine, dense barbs and a dark golden sheen on the shafts. They felt slightly warm to the touch.

I received it before Christmas, and it's been almost four months now, but the Magic Power is still strong. I can feel a slight pulsation, just like when I first picked it up.

He grasped the tail feathers, closed his eyes, and thought of Fawkes.

A moment later, the air in the office began to heat up.

The temperature rose rapidly in a very small area, the air distorted slightly, then expanded, the light began to bend, and all outlines became blurred.

Immediately afterwards, a ball of golden flame exploded out of thin air, blooming Silencio in mid-air.

Accompanied by a clear, high-pitched, far-reaching, and extremely penetrating cry, it emanated from the center of the flames and reverberated back and forth on the stone walls of the office.

The edges of the flame are pure gold, gradually turning orange-red towards the center, with a deep red core.

Warm, bright, and not scorching anything, the air is filled with a warm feeling, like the smell of sunshine.

The center of the flames contracted, and the outline of a wing unfolded from the golden light.

First the wingtips, then the entire wing, the edges of the feathers were gilded by the flames, and Mars fell from the wingtips.

Fawkes flew out from the center of the flames, its tail feathers trailing behind it, its golden-red plumage burning in the afterglow of the flames.

It landed on the edge of McGonagall's desk, its claws gripping the edge firmly, its wings folded, its head held high, and its bright black eyes surveying the room.

The flames died down, leaving only a warm glow in the office and a faint golden afterglow around where Fawkes had landed.

Regulus's Spatial Perception activated the instant the flames erupted.

A small area in the center of the office is gone; the space where the Phoenix Flame burned has been burned away, leaving a neat, smooth edge and a void that is rapidly closing in.

As he expected, an opening appeared.

Without hesitation, we got right to it.

However, the imagery of Betelgeuse erupting is definitely inappropriate.

If we were to use Betelgeuse, and it actually succeeded, this region would be imbued with a scorching and restless atmosphere.

Professor McGonagall's office is on the first floor, the place where the young wizards gather the most. It's surrounded by classrooms and Corridor, and it's also close to the Great Hall. I pass by it several times every day.

The agitation of Betelgeuse, which has already fueled the energy of a group of teenagers, has caused them to become inexplicably excited, unable to sit still in class or sleep at night. With springtime upon us, they are at risk of getting into trouble.

The professor was the first to confront him.

Bellatrix would be suitable; it embodies the image of Protection, gentleness, and protection, and even if it fails, its impact on the surroundings will be minimal.

If it works out, Professor McGonagall's office will have a reassuring aura from then on, and any young wizard who is called in for a lecture will feel less nervous as soon as they enter.

It can be considered building Castle, doing a good deed.

In the instant the flames dissipated and the spatial void had not yet closed, he pushed the Guardian Will of Bellatrix inward.

His amber-gold vertical pupils were filled with blue-white light, surging out from the depths of his pupils, constant and stable, making his eyes shine inhumanly.

There was no time for precise manipulation; this time, sheer force brought about a miracle. With only a fraction of a second as the time window, the blue and white light condensed into a torrent of will, pouring into the disappearing void.

The space closed up in the next instant—it happened so fast.

Almost at the same moment the Phoenix Flame dissipated, the Castle's space bounced back, filling the void. The speed was so fast that his will was squeezed out as soon as it probed in.

The air in the office trembled briefly.

The windowpane emitted a low hum, the parchment on the table rustled, the quill pen swayed gently on its holder, and the flame in the fireplace flickered and bounced back.

In the framed picture on the wall, the tabby cat peeked out from the edge of the canvas, then withdrew its head.

The Guardian Will, squeezed out, shattered into fragments, and a few wisps of blue-white, fluffy Magic Power slowly sank into the air, still slightly disturbing the Castle's newly restored Spatial Structure.

McGonagall sighed.

She probably had a premonition from the moment Regulus asked to borrow the office that this child wouldn't just obediently use Phoenix Feather for delivery.

Without uttering any words of blame, they took action directly.

With a flick of the wand, Magic Power surged from its tip, enveloping the blue-white Magic Power floating in the air, gathering it together, and then dissipating it into the air, leaving nothing behind.

Next, they operated on the still slightly trembling space in the office.

Her Magic Power seeped into the texture of space, gently and delicately caressing the stirred folds layer by layer.

The precision of his technique was so high that even Regulus, watching from the sidelines, found it unbelievable.

Every Magic Power followed the direction of the Spatial Structure, not forcing it, but going with it, gently brushing over it, letting the wrinkles loosen on their own, and allowing the will of the Castle to peacefully fill this area again.

Before long, the vibrations in the air stopped, and the office returned to normal.

He failed and almost caused a scene; as expected, the Castle still didn't welcome him.

Regulus began to be consistent in his words and deeds.

He shrugged, gave a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, and made a "okay" face.

Combined with its rugged appearance, it actually looks quite natural.

It didn't work out, it was just a sudden idea anyway, and there's no harm in giving it a try.

But it wasn't a complete loss.

His Spatial Perception and Magic Perception both captured the actions McGonagall had taken when he manipulated space.

The path of Magic Power seeping into the spatial texture, the precision with which each strand of Magic Power followed the Spatial Structure, and the method of following it all—all these allowed the Castle's will to quiet down on its own.

His understanding of the Castle's will was limited to the Castle's dislike of him.

He had been rejected many times, and he knew that the Castle had a will and that Castle rejected him, but he couldn't figure out how to get it to accept him again after the rejection.

The professor's understanding of the Castle's will was far deeper than he had expected.

He can sense the structure of space and can fold and anchor within it, but he can't do what McGonagall just did—perform a soothing operation against the will of the Castle.

Is it because there's no available position? Does it have to be the principal? Wouldn't a dean be suitable?

Dumbledore definitely capable; the headmaster should rightfully be the Master recognized by the will of the Castle.

The dean probably also has some authority, since he is part of the Castle's management system.

An average professor would probably have a hard time.

So, to build a good relationship with the Castle, you need to get a certain title first?

McGonagall finished dealing with it and turned to look at him.

She didn't say anything, but just looked at him through the eyes behind her double-rimmed glasses, a hint of helplessness in her gaze, her lips slightly pursed, and she exhaled through her nose.

"Say hello first next time."

Regulus, without the slightest embarrassment, grinned, his long silver hair swaying over his shoulder. "Okay."

Fawkes remained crouched on the edge of the table throughout the entire process.

From the moment Regulus conducted the space experiment to the Castle's reaction and McGonagall's intervention, it remained motionless, its golden-red head tilted to the side, its bright black eyes fixed on this direction.

The Phoenix observes the soul.

With long, silver-white hair, amber vertical pupils, and a scorching aura of Magic Power, she had changed her face, her attire, and the temperature of her Magic Power. In the Phoenix's vision, all of this was transparent.

No matter what color your hair is or what shape your eyes are, your soul is still the same soul, so you are still you.

Fawkes tilted his head and glanced at him.

Then it turned its head away, lowered its head to preen the feathers on its chest, and its golden-red beak combed back and forth in the feathers a few times. After it finished combing, it shook its wings and put them away.

There was absolutely no superfluous expression.

The noble Phoenix is not interested in your disguise, nor in the commotion you just caused.

Regulus walked up to Fawkes.

To be honest, this bird had never been friendly to him.

Last time in the Headmaster's Office, he summoned the Starry Sky Kite and showed it clearly to the Phoenix before it would give him a tail feather.

That was only because of the Patronus deity; now that the Patronus hasn't appeared, it's ignoring people.

He glanced back at McGonagall.

The professor stood behind the table, his expression turning serious again. "Do Albus too much trouble."

Regulus's lips twitched slightly. "Try your best."

He reached out his hand, and Fawkes reached out his claws, placing them on his wrist.

The Phoenix spread its wings, and golden flames exploded once more, spreading outward from the center of its body, engulfing the silhouettes of the human and the phoenix.

The flames subsided and dissipated, leaving the office empty.

Two faint claw marks remained on the edge of the table.