"Does Durmstrang really teach the Dark Arts?" Regulus asked, casual.
Freya glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. "It does. But not the way outsiders imagine, where everything's fair ga. We study theory and principles. How to identify and defend against them. The headmaster's position is that you have to understand sothing before you can dismantle it, before you can prevent harm."
She took a sip of dark beer. "Of course, so students take what they've learned and go deeper on their own. That's their choice. The school doesn't interfere much."
Regulus nodded. "Hogwarts doesn't teach it. Not in open classes, at least. But the professors watch. If they spot a student with talent and willingness, they'll offer private guidance on certain things. The truly dangerous material, though, stays off limits."
"Two philosophies," Freya said, thoughtful.
"Exactly."
They ate in silence for a while. Regulus set down his bread and looked out across the water.
"The situation in Britain is getting tighter by the day. Polarization, conflict, fanaticism. War is a matter of when, not if. The Pure-blood families have already fractured. So stand with Voldemort. So with Dumbledore. A handful are still neutral, but that space is shrinking. Sooner or later, everyone picks a side."
"What about Germany?" he asked. "Is there a prevailing sentint among the Pure-blood families?"
Freya considered the question before answering slowly. "Hard to say. Most families have chosen to watch and wait. The last war..." She paused. "The last war taught a lot of people what blind allegiance costs. And German Pure-blood families think differently than their British counterparts."
Regulus knew what she ant.
The last war. Grindelwald's revolution.
Germany had been the epicenter. In both the Muggle world and the wizarding one, it had drawn the attention of the entire globe. Every Pure-blood family touched by that era, whether they'd stood with Grindelwald or against him, had undergone a genuine ideological reckoning.
Grindelwald's core belief was the Greater Good. The future of wizardkind.
Compared to Voldemort's Pure-blood supremacy, his vision of wizard supremacy was broader in scope, wider in ambition.
He welcod talented half-bloods, even Muggle-born wizards, and held that magical power alone should determine a person's standing. Pure blood was fertile soil from which strong wizards might grow, not an absolute marker of worth.
He'd wanted to shatter the Statute of Secrecy, to establish wizard rule over Muggles, to build a new world order. He'd failed, but his intellectual legacy endured.
Britain, though, had Dumbledore.
Dumbledore stood like a ward of the highest magnitude, holding back every foreign gale. British wizards knew Grindelwald mainly as the Dark wizard Dumbledore defeated. What he'd actually been trying to accomplish, whether his ideas held any value... few had given it serious thought.
The result was two wizarding cultures with fundantally different orientations.
British wizards were conservative. They clung to tradition, treated the Dark Arts as an existential nace, and followed the Ministry of Magic's lead.
German wizards were pragmatic. Results-oriented. Willing to understand anything that could be understood, Dark Arts included.
Freya spoke about all of this evenly, without heat.
Regulus listened, nodding now and then.
When she talked, her expression softened. That austere face ward, her eyes losing their sharp focus, drifting sowhere between mory and contemplation.
The conversation circled back to Voldemort without either of them steering it there.
"What do you think of him?" Freya's tone was offhand, but her eyes were fixed on Regulus, waiting.
He thought for a mont. "A powerful Dark wizard with a clear objective, a clear path, and the will to see it through. His ideology is blunt. Pure-blood rule. Half-bloods and Muggle-borns submit or disappear."
"Do you agree with it?"
"No." One word. Nothing else.
He knew the question might not be hers alone.
A Pure-blood heir whose family had publicly aligned with Voldemort, asked point-blank whether he believed in the man's ideology. The question carried weight no matter how you turned it.
A test? A provocation? Sothing else entirely?
So he gave her an answer.
True to what he thought. And ant for her to hear.
Freya didn't push further. She nodded, then looked at him. "I expected a different response."
Regulus smiled faintly and let the silence stand. The smile said enough: This is who I am.
She studied him. Sothing bright passed through her eyes. This was what she'd wanted to know.
In Freya's mind, there were three versions of Regulus.
The one that person spoke of, the one others spoke of and the one sitting in front of her.
Ten days together, and she was growing more certain: the boy before her and the Black heir other people described were not the sa person.
What did others say about Regulus?
Voldemort's prized young prospect. The rising authority within Slytherin.
In their telling, he was calm, decisive, ruthless when necessary. A textbook Pure-blood heir.
But the Regulus she'd seen was more than that.
He praised her magic. He listened when she spoke, and laughed when sothing struck him as clever.
When Voldemort's na ca up, his face showed nothing. He might as well have been discussing any ordinary Dark wizard.
He didn't believe in Voldemort's ideology.
None of that appeared in anyone else's account.
It did appear in that person's account.
But even that version of Regulus didn't quite match the one in front of her.
The figure from that prophecy was more abstract. More distant. Like a concept.
This one had warmth. He stood at the edge of a cliff and marveled at the view. He smiled watching her struggle with English vocabulary before accidentally lapsing into German.
If she had to compare, this version was better.
She let out a quiet breath and continued. "The German Pure-blood families see Voldemort much the way you do. They acknowledge his power. They acknowledge his dominance over British Pure-blood society. But..."
She didn't finish. She didn't need to. Regulus heard the rest: Compared to Grindelwald, the scope is smaller.
After the al, they packed up and walked back.
Near the cottage door, Freya stopped. Regulus stopped with her.
She turned and faced him, expression serious. "Regulus. There's sothing I want to ask you."
He nodded, eting her gaze.
"If one day you discovered a form of magic that existed ahead of you. A magic that made everything you've learned feel juvenile, clumsy, shallow and even." Her eyes held his. "Would you choose to look?"
He didn't answer imdiately. He searched her expression, but found only the question itself. Nothing behind it he could read.
The question arrived without warning, and yet it didn't.
Ten days of conversation. All those half-visible threads. The blue fla. The person she kept almost ntioning and never did. Everything converged here.
Regulus was quiet for a long ti. "I'd look. Every form of magic is a description of so facet of this world. If mine seems juvenile next to it, that doesn't an I was wrong. It ans I'm not yet complete."
He paused. His gaze dropped, then lifted again. "And then I'd decide how far I'm willing to let it take ."
Freya stared at him. The silence stretched. He couldn't be certain, but he thought he caught sothing in her eyes, sothing close to exasperation.
She only nodded. Said nothing more.
Back in the cottage, Regulus sat on the edge of the bed.
Outside, the sky dimd. Waves kept their rhythm against the shore.
He turned her question over in his mind.
Not the content of the question. That could wait. What occupied him was the fact that the question had been asked at all.
Freya was playing nearly open-handed now. She might as well have leaned in and whispered: Yes. All of this was arranged.
First, she'd let him experience the Abyssal Whispers' ntal Erosion firsthand. Let him confirm that Bellatrix could be kindled.
Then ca ten days of observation.
She hadn't done anything overt. She'd spent ti with him, listened to his views, heard his analysis of the political landscape, gauged whether he believed in Voldemort's ideology.
As though she were confirming sothing. Or waiting for sothing.
Now she'd laid this question on the table.
The aning was clear enough: I know the last encounter wasn't sufficient. Since you've already confird that kind of magic works for you, I'm telling you now... there's sothing far stronger. And this ti, it will be enough.
Regulus lay back and stared at the ceiling.
He still lacked definitive proof that any of this was orchestrated.
But the coincidences had stacked too high.
Every elent aligned with his current needs.
Bellatrix required the will to protect the self. Required experiencing the defense of one's own consciousness under ntal Erosion. The Abyssal Whispers had appeared right on cue.
The conditions for fully igniting Bellatrix were demanding. Left to his own devices, there was no telling how long it would take. Now soone was telling him sothing more potent was waiting.
And from Freya's tone, the thing was real.
There existed a magic so far beyond his current scope that everything he knew would look like a child's exercises beside it.
Regulus closed his eyes.
Assu, for the sake of argunt, that his suspicion was correct. That soone had arranged all of this.
If so, that person's vantage point was staggering.
They'd chosen the timing, chosen the target, positioned every critical node, and let it all unfold as though it were natural. And sohow the arrangent didn't provoke resentnt.
At least not in him.
That person knew what he needed. Knew when he'd need it. Even knew that when he recognized the manipulation for what it was, he wouldn't push back.
The figure in his mind grew sharper still.
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