Echoes of the Universe

In the spring of 1969, Regulus turned eight.

The room on the east side of the third floor at 12 Grimmauld Place officially became his bedroom and Study.

Orion gave him more space: an entire wall of bookshelves, a heavy oak Desk, and an east-facing window.

But what Regulus wanted more now was to enter the storeroom in the deepest part of the house.

The room was at the end of the Kitchen Corridor and remained locked all year round. Walburga said it was filled with useless things—the belongings of disowned family members. They could not conveniently be destroyed, but neither could they be displayed.

Alphard Black's belongings were there, sealed away in 1960.

Alphard had been disowned several years ago for liking and collecting Muggle items and showing obvious friendliness toward Muggles. Regulus had only heard the name in Walburga's curses.

It took Regulus several years of study before he successfully broke the Protective Charm on the door. It was far more complicated than a simple Unlocking Charm.

There were no magical items inside, only Muggle things: an old vacuum-tube radio, several issues of National Geographic from 1950, a stack of The Times newspapers, and several hardbound notebooks.

It took him two days to repair the radio. The moment the current flowed through it, the tubes gave off a warm orange glow, and static crackled from the speaker.

Regulus turned the tuning dial until a voice emerged.

"This is BBC Radio, bringing you the news."

"NASA has announced that the Apollo 10 mission has successfully completed its lunar orbit, making final preparations for a manned moon landing..."

Regulus sat behind the oak Desk, one hand resting on the radio's warm wooden casing, utterly still.

The moon. Muggles were about to go to the moon.

Yet most of the Wizarding World did not even know about it, or did not care if they did.

To them, the moon was merely a silver disc in the night sky, used to calculate lunar phases for brewing Potions or as a romantic backdrop.

No one cared about the possibility of going there, because wizards did not need to.

They had Magic.

But could Magic do it? Could it achieve real space travel?

Cross the vacuum, withstand Radiation, survive for long periods of time?

He did not know, but he knew one thing: with pure science and engineering, Muggles had done what wizards had never even attempted.

Perhaps it was something wizards could not do.

Where were the limits of wizards?

Muggles were breaking through boundaries they considered impossible. If Magic and science could be combined, perhaps they could break through even greater boundaries.

He buried those thoughts deep in his heart, yet they occupied an important place there.

Late at night on July 20, 1969.

Regulus did not sleep. He sat in a chair by the window, holding the old vacuum-tube radio.

The voice from the radio came with crackling static, but every word was clear.

"...Houston, this is Tranquility Base. The Eagle has landed."

After a brief silence from the radio, cheers suddenly erupted.

Regulus gripped the radio tighter.

"Roger, Tranquility. We were holding our breath down here. Begin preparing for EVA."

Then came a long wait. Instrument noises, commands, and occasional fragments of conversation came through the radio.

"...I am now at the bottom of the ladder. The lunar module's footpads have sunk only an inch or two into the lunar surface. Though the surface looks very, very fine, like powder, I am now about to take this first step."

A longer silence followed.

Regulus stood and walked to the window, pushing it open. The warm summer night air rushed in, carrying London's distinctive scent of coal smoke and brick.

He raised his head. The moon hung in the sky, almost Full Moon, its Silver White light cold and unwavering.

The voice from the radio sounded again, clearer and stronger this time.

"That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

Regulus stared at the moon—that silver disc, that tool wizards used to calculate the timing of Potions, that romantic symbol in poetry. At that very moment, two Muggles stood upon it.

Amid what should have seemed natural, Regulus felt another wave of shock.

With their limited lives, fragile bodies, and hands without Magic Power, Muggles had gone to the moon.

And wizards possessed the power to alter reality, the ability to cross space, and lifespans that could possibly stretch for centuries.

But what were they doing?

Fighting for power and profit, studying how to hurt their own kind more effectively, arguing over whose blood was purer.

Cursing one another over illusory power on a tiny island.

And he was right in the middle of it.

At that thought, Regulus suddenly laughed. Since he had come here, he naturally had to change something.

One evening in late August, Regulus found Orion in the Study. His father was reviewing documents. The atmosphere at the Ministry of Magic had been growing increasingly tense lately, and Death Eater activity had shifted from secretive to semi-public.

"Father, I have a question."

Orion set down his Quill and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Go on."

"How high can wizards fly?"

The question was sudden, even a little absurd. Orion froze for a moment. "That depends on the method.

"The highest record for a Flying Broomstick is fifteen thousand feet above sea level. Any higher, and the air becomes thin and breathing becomes difficult. Thestrals can fly higher, but they have their limits too. Why do you ask?"

Regulus did not answer. He continued, "What if someone wanted to fly higher? High enough to leave the atmosphere?"

Orion stared at his son. "Why would you want to leave the atmosphere?"

"Just curious," Regulus said calmly. "The books say ancient wizards once tried to fly to the sun and the moon, but they all failed."

"That was not a book. It was mythology," Orion corrected. "Muggles have the myth of Icarus too. Its lesson is not to be arrogant.

"Wizards have Magic, but Magic has limits. Outside the atmosphere... there is no air, no pressure, extreme temperatures, and unknown energies.

"A Bubble-Head Charm can only last a few hours at most. Protective Charms are ineffective against certain forms of Radiation. Apparition has distance limits and requires familiarity with the destination."

He paused and looked at Regulus. "What are you thinking?"

I'm thinking you actually know about Radiation? You even know something about vacuum conditions? Regulus muttered inwardly.

Regulus chose to be somewhat honest. His father was someone he could talk to. "I was thinking that Muggles landed on the moon this year. They had no Magic, but they did it."

Orion was silent for a long time. The candles in the Study crackled.

"I know," he finally said. "The Daily Prophet ran a short notice, tucked away in an inconspicuous corner. The editors thought it was some Muggle trick, not worth paying attention to."

"But it was the moon," Regulus emphasized.

"To wizards, the moon is merely the moon." Orion stood and walked to the window, his back to his son. "It affects Werewolves, Potions, and the tides.

"But it is not a place. No one wants to go there."

"Why?" That was what puzzled Regulus most. It was right there, so why did no one want to go?

Orion turned around, his expression complicated. "Because wizards see only Magic. Magic is on Earth, in life, in the soul.

"The Starry sky... is too far away, too cold, too unfamiliar. It is not our domain."

"Domains can expand."

"Perhaps." Orion returned to the Desk. "But at what cost? What would wizards have to give up to explore the Starry sky? How much risk would they have to take? More importantly, who would support it?"

He looked at Regulus. "Tell me what you truly think. Do not hide one question behind another."

"I was thinking," Regulus said, taking a deep breath, "if wizards put the energy they spend fighting for power, the intelligence they use to study the Dark Arts, and the obsession they have with preserving Pure-bloods' Glory into something else—such as exploring the Starry sky—how far could we go?"

Orion did not answer immediately. He sat down, his Fingers interlaced on the desk.

"Very far," he said after thinking for a long time. "But first, wizarding society would have to solve its own problems.

"Voldemort is creating division. The Ministry of Magic is weakly avoiding it. The conflict between Pure-bloods and Half-bloods is intensifying. At a time like this, no one will care about the Starry sky."

"But perhaps the Starry sky is the way out," Regulus insisted. "If our gaze reaches far enough—so far that the struggles on Earth seem insignificant—perhaps we can rise above those struggles."

Orion laughed, a weary laugh tinged with sorrow.

"Idealism," he criticized bluntly. "I had similar thoughts when I was young, but the reality is that people find it difficult to transcend the level they inhabit. Wizards are trapped on Earth, trapped in flesh and blood, trapped in social ties."

Then his tone turned serious. "And remember, such thoughts are heresy in the current Wizarding World.

"Pureblood families will think you have been bewitched by Muggle technology. The radicals will think you are weak. Voldemort will think you are distracted. Until you are strong enough, keep it hidden."