Spring, 1969. Regulus was eight years old.
The room on the east side of the third floor at 12 Grimmauld Place officially became his bedroom and study.
Orion gave him a larger space: a wall full of bookshelves, a heavy oak desk, and an east-facing window.
But right now, Regulus wanted to enter the utility room in the deepest part of the mansion.
The room was at the end of the kitchen corridor and was locked year-round. Walburga said it was filled with useless things—the belongings of disowned family members, inconvenient to destroy but impossible to display.
Alphard Black's belongings were there, sealed in 1960.
Alphard, disowned a few years ago for his fondness for and collection of Muggle items, had shown a clear friendly tendency towards Muggles. Regulus had only heard this name in Walburga's curses.
It took Regulus several years of study to successfully break the protective magic on the room's door, which was far more complex than a simple Unlocking Charm.
Inside, there were no magical items, only Muggle things: an old-fashioned vacuum tube radio, a few issues of National Geographic dated 1950, a stack of The Times, and several hardcover notebooks.
It took him two days to successfully repair the radio. The moment the current flowed, the vacuum tubes emitted a warm orange glow, and the speaker crackled with static.
Regulus turned the tuning knob 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 the manned moon landing..."
Regulus sat behind the oak desk, his hand resting on the warm wooden casing of the radio, motionless.
The moon. Muggles were going to the moon.
Most people in the wizarding world didn't even know about this, or if they did, they didn't care.
To them, the moon was just a silver disk in the night sky, used to calculate moon phases for brewing potions or as a romantic backdrop.
No one cared about the possibility of going there because wizards didn't need to go.
They had magic.
But could magic achieve true space travel?
Crossing the vacuum, resisting radiation, surviving for long periods?
He didn't know, but he knew one thing: Muggles, using pure science and engineering, had achieved something wizards had never attempted.
It might even be something wizards couldn't do.
Where were the limits of wizards?
Muggles were breaking through boundaries we considered impossible. If magic were combined with science, perhaps even greater boundaries could be broken.
These thoughts were buried deep in his heart but occupied an important place.
Late night, July 20, 1969.
Regulus didn't sleep. He sat on a chair by the window, holding the old vacuum tube radio.
The voice on the radio crackled with static, but every word was clear.
"...Houston, Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed."
After a brief silence on the radio, a burst of cheers erupted.
Regulus gripped the radio tightly.
"Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We're breathing again. Now preparing for EVA."
Then came a long wait. Sounds of instruments, commands, and occasional fragments of dialogue came from the radio.
"...I'm at the foot of the ladder. The LM footpads are only depressed in the surface about one or two inches, although the surface appears to be very, very fine grained, as you get close to it. It's almost like a powder. I'm going to step off the LM now."
Then a longer pause.
Regulus stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open. The warm summer night air rushed in, carrying the distinctive smell of London's soot and brick.
He looked up. The moon hung in the sky, almost full, its silver-white light cold and constant.
The voice on the radio sounded again, clearer and more powerful this time.
"That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."
Regulus stared at the moon, that silver disk, that tool wizards used to calculate potion times, that romantic symbol in poetry. At this moment, two Muggles were standing on it.
Amidst the sense of inevitability, Regulus felt a shock.
Muggles, with their limited lifespans, fragile bodies, and hands devoid of magic, had gone to the moon.
And wizards, possessing the power to alter reality, the ability to cross space, and lifespans that could reach hundreds of years.
But what were they doing?
Fighting for power and profit, researching how to better harm their own kind, arguing about whose blood was purer.
Cursing each other for illusory power on a small island.
And he was right in the middle of it.
Thinking of this, Regulus suddenly smiled. Since he was here, naturally, there had to be changes.
One evening in late August, Regulus found Orion in the study. His father was reviewing documents. The atmosphere in the Ministry had become increasingly tense recently, with Death Eater activities shifting from secret to semi-public.
"Father, I have a question."
Orion put down his quill and rubbed his brow. "Speak."
"How high can a wizard fly?"
The question was sudden, even a bit nonsensical. Orion paused. "Depends on the method.
The altitude record for a broomstick is fifteen thousand feet. Any higher, and the air becomes thin, making breathing difficult. Thestrals can fly higher, but there are limits. Why do you ask?"
Regulus didn't answer directly. He continued, "What if one 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 kept his tone calm. "Books say ancient wizards tried to fly to the sun and moon but failed."
"Those aren't books; they are myths," Orion corrected. "Muggles have the myth of Icarus too. The moral is not to be arrogant.
Wizards have magic, but magic has limits. Leaving the atmosphere... no air, no pressure, extreme temperatures, and unknown energies.
A Bubble-Head Charm lasts a few hours at most. Protective charms are ineffective against certain radiation. Apparition has distance limits and requires familiarity with the destination."
He paused for a moment, looking at Regulus. "What are you thinking?"
I'm thinking, you actually know about radiation? And even some things about vacuum environments? Regulus muttered inwardly.
Regulus chose to be somewhat honest; his father was someone he could communicate with. "I was thinking, Muggles landed on the moon this year. They have no magic, yet they did it."
Orion fell silent for a long time. The candle flame in the study crackled.
"I know," he finally said. "The Daily Prophet had a brief mention in an inconspicuous corner. The editor thought it was a Muggle parlor trick, not worth attention."
"But that is the moon," Regulus emphasized.
"To wizards, the moon is just the moon." Orion stood up and walked to the window, his back to his son. "It affects werewolves, potions, and tides.
But it is not a place. No one wants to go there."
"Why?" This was the most baffling part to Regulus. It was right there; why did no one want to go?
Orion turned around, his expression complex. "Because wizards only have eyes for magic. Magic is on Earth, in life, in the soul.
The starry sky... is too far, too cold, too strange. That is not our domain."
"Domains can be expanded."
"Perhaps." Orion walked back to the desk. "But at what cost? What must wizards give up to explore the stars? How much risk must be taken? More importantly, who would support it?"
He looked at Regulus. "Speak your true thoughts. Don't use questions to mask questions."
"I was thinking," Regulus took a deep breath. "If wizards used the energy spent on power struggles, the wisdom of Dark Arts research, and the paranoia of maintaining pure-blood glory on something else—for example, on exploring the stars—how far could we go?"
Orion didn't answer immediately. He sat down, fingers interlaced on the desk.
"Very far." After thinking for a long time, he said, "But the premise is that wizarding society must first solve its own problems.
Voldemort is creating division, the Ministry is weakly evading, and conflicts between pure-bloods and half-bloods are intensifying. At a time like this, no one will care about the stars."
"But perhaps the stars are the way out," Regulus insisted. "If our vision is far enough, far enough that the struggles on Earth seem insignificant, maybe we can transcend the struggles."
Orion smiled, a smile filled with weariness and sorrow.
"Idealism." He criticized bluntly. "I had similar thoughts when I was young. But the reality is, it is hard for people to transcend their own level. Wizards are trapped on Earth, trapped in flesh and blood, trapped in social relationships."
Then his tone became serious. "Also, remember, this kind of thinking is heresy in the current wizarding world.
Pure-blood families will think you are bewildered by Muggle technology. Radicals will think you are weak. Voldemort will think you are distracted. Before you are powerful enough, hide it well."