Spring, 1969. Regulus turned eight.
The east-facing room on the third floor of 12 Grimmauld Place officially became his bedroom and study.
Orion had given him more space. A full wall of bookshelves. A heavy oak desk. A window that caught the morning sun.
But the place Regulus truly wanted to reach lay much deeper in the house.
At the end of the kitchen corridor was a storage room that stayed locked year-round. Walburga said it was filled with useless things, relics belonging to family members who had been struck from the tree. They couldn't be destroyed, but they couldn't be displayed either.
Among them were the belongings of Alphard Black, sealed away in 1960.
Alphard had been disowned a few years earlier. He liked Muggle objects. Collected them and used to show obvious friendliness toward Muggles. Regulus had only ever heard his name in Walburga's curses.
After several years of study, Regulus finally broke the protective enchantments on the door. It was nothing like a simple unlocking charm.
Inside, there were no magical artifacts at all. Only Muggle items.
An old vacuum tube radio. Several issues of National Geographic from 1950. A stack of The Times. And a few hardbound notebooks.
It took him two days to repair the radio.
When the current finally ran through it, the tubes glowed with a warm orange light. Static hissed from the speaker.
Regulus turned the tuning knob slowly, until a voice emerged.
"This is the BBC, bringing you the news."
"NASA has announced that the Apollo 10 mission has successfully completed a lunar orbit, making final preparations for a manned landing on the Moon…"
Regulus sat behind the oak desk, one hand resting on the radio's warm wooden casing, completely still.
The Moon.
Muggles were about to go to the Moon.
Most of the wizarding world didn't know.
Or knew and didn't care.
To them, the Moon was a silver disk in the night sky. Something to calculate phases for potion brewing. A romantic backdrop.
No one thought about going there, because wizards didn't need to.
They had magic.
But could magic truly do it? Real space travel?
He didn't know.
What he did know was that Muggles, using nothing but science and engineering, had done something wizards had never even tried.
Perhaps something wizards couldn't do.
Where was the limit of magic?
Muggles were breaking through boundaries wizards treated as impossible. If magic and science were combined, maybe even greater limits could fall.
He buried those thoughts deep, but they occupied a crucial place in his mind.
---
July 20, 1969. Late at night.
Regulus wasn't asleep. He sat by the window, the old vacuum tube radio in his hands.
Static crackled through the broadcast, but every word was clear.
"…Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed."
A brief silence followed, then an explosion of cheers.
Regulus tightened his grip on the radio.
"Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We're breathing again. You're cleared to prepare for EVA."
A long wait followed. Instrument sounds, commands and fragments of conversation.
"…I'm at the foot of the ladder now. The LM footpads have only penetrated the surface about one or two inches, although the surface appears to be very, very fine-grained, almost like powder. I'm going to step off the ladder now."
Another, longer pause.
Regulus stood, walked to the window, and pushed it open. Warm summer air rushed in, carrying London's familiar scent of coal smoke and brick.
He looked up.
The Moon hung overhead, nearly full, its silver light cold and constant.
The voice came again, clearer now, stronger.
"That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind."
Regulus stared at the Moon.
That silver disk. That tool wizards used to time potions. That symbol poets adored.
Right now, two Muggles were standing on it.
Amid everything that felt inevitable, a shock still ran through him.
Muggles, with their short lives, fragile bodies, and hands without magic, had reached the Moon.
And wizards, who could reshape reality, cross space, and live for centuries.
What were they doing?
Fighting for power. Perfecting ways to hurt one another. Arguing over whose blood was purer.
Cursing each other for imaginary authority over a small island.
And he was standing in the middle of it.
The thought made Regulus laugh softly.
Since he was here, things had to change.
One evening in late August, Regulus found Orion in the study. His father was reviewing documents. The Ministry's atmosphere had grown increasingly tense. Death Eater activity was shifting from secret to semi-public.
"Father, I have a question."
Orion set down his quill and rubbed his brow. "Go on."
"How high can a wizard fly?"
The question was abrupt, almost absurd. Orion paused. "That depends on the method.
The highest recorded altitude for broom flight is fifteen thousand feet. Beyond that, the air thins and breathing becomes difficult. Thestrals can fly higher, but there are limits. Why do you ask?"
Regulus didn't answer. He asked another question.
"What if someone wanted to fly higher? High enough to leave the atmosphere?"
Orion stared at him. "Why would you want to leave the atmosphere?"
"Just curious," Regulus said evenly. "Books mention ancient wizards who tried to fly to the sun or the Moon. They all failed."
"That's mythology, not history," Orion corrected. "Muggles have the myth of Icarus too. The lesson is the same. Don't overreach.
Wizards have magic, but magic has limits. Outside the atmosphere, there's no air, no pressure, extreme temperatures, unknown energies.
A Bubble-Head Charm lasts only a few hours. Shielding charms don't block certain kinds of radiation. Apparition has distance limits and requires familiarity with the destination."
He paused, studying Regulus. "What are you really thinking about?"
You know about radiation? Even vacuum conditions? Regulus thought.
He decided to be honest. His father was someone he could talk to.
"I'm thinking that Muggles landed on the Moon this year," Regulus said. "They don't have magic, but they did it."
Orion was silent for a long time. Candlelight crackled in the study.
"I know," he said at last. "The Daily Prophet mentioned it. A small notice in an unimportant corner. The editors thought it was a Muggle trick, not worth attention."
"But it's the Moon," Regulus insisted.
"To wizards, the Moon is just the Moon." Orion stood and went to the window, his back to his son. "It affects werewolves, potions, tides.
But it isn't a place. No one wants to go there."
"Why?" That was what Regulus couldn't understand. It was right there. Why did no one want it?
Orion turned, his expression complicated. "Because wizards see only magic. Magic is on Earth, in life, in the soul.
The stars are too far. Too cold. Too unfamiliar. They aren't our domain."
"Domains can expand."
"Maybe." Orion returned to the desk. "But at what cost? What would wizards have to give up to explore the stars? What risks would they take? And more importantly, who would support it?"
He looked at Regulus. "Say what you actually think. Don't hide one question behind another."
Regulus took a deep breath. "I'm thinking that if wizards put the energy they spend on power struggles, on dark magic research, on obsessing over pure-blood glory into something else, into exploring the universe, how far could we go?"
Orion didn't answer right away. He sat, fingers interlaced.
"Very far," he said after a long pause. "But only if wizarding society solves its own problems first.
Voldemort is tearing things apart. The Ministry is weak and evasive. Tensions between pure-bloods and half-bloods are escalating. In times like these, no one looks at the stars."
"But maybe the stars are the way out," Regulus said. "If our perspective were far enough, far enough that Earth's conflicts looked small, maybe we could move past them."
Orion laughed softly. Tired. Bitter.
"Idealism," he said without mercy. "I had similar thoughts when I was young. Reality is that people rarely rise above their level. Wizards are trapped on Earth. Trapped in flesh and blood. Trapped in social structures."
Then his tone hardened.
"And remember this. Ideas like that are heresy in today's wizarding world.
Pure-blood families will say you're seduced by Muggle technology. Radicals will say you're weak. Voldemort will say you're distracted.
Until you're strong enough, keep it hidden."