Chapter 339: Chapter 339: Instinct and Redefinition [bonus]
Regulus put his wand away, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Done."
Baruk’s head swiveled toward him, eight eyes staring.
Chelicerae clicked twice, louder than before, the sound bouncing off the walls of the expanded room. A tentative note in his voice. "...Finished?"
Regulus stood, patted the dorsal shell, and nodded. "Finished."
Baruk rose too.
Head turning one way, body another, chelicerae snapping in quick succession. Click-click.
He lifted his right foreleg first. Around the base of the bristles, a ring of color had changed, deep brown gone to dark red..
He craned his head back, trying to see his own shell.
But a spider’s head could only rotate so far. Halfway around it locked up, and all he caught was a glimpse of fine new patterning at the foreleg joints, faintly reflective in the light.
Baruk considered for a moment, then raised a foreleg and took two cautious steps toward the fireplace.
Before, the sight of those flames would have triggered something deep in him, an instinct hauling him backward. Not anymore.
Another step. Bristles swayed in the heat. They didn’t curl. They didn’t singe.
He looked down at his own leg, then at the fire.
Same flames. Different spider.
A glance back at Regulus. Then his abdomen hiked up and another rope of silk shot into a ceiling corner.
He turned to check Regulus’s reaction.
Regulus said nothing. Baruk wiggled his rear, swung his head away, and went back to examining himself.
Foreleg up, inspected, lowered. Hind legs kicking. Abdomen twisting. Every angle his eight eyes could reach, he covered.
Legs down. Two stamps against the stone. Then he stood motionless.
A magical creature always sensed when something inside it changed.
A new thread of magic ran through his body, thin and faint but undeniably present. Warm, the same warmth as the fireplace.
---
Regulus led Baruk outside.
Full dark now.
The lamps lit the clearing bright, but beyond their reach lay nothing but black. Sea wind pushed in from the west, flattening dead grass eastward.
He raised his right hand, index finger extended, and a jet of orange-red flame shot from the tip, landing on open ground a dozen meters away.
Fire erupted high, roaring in the wind, heat warping the air around it. Dry grass curled and blackened at the edges.
Magical flame, far hotter than any hearth fire.
Baruk stood behind him, that oversized head poking up above Regulus’s shoulder, eight eyes fixed on the blaze.
Before, a hearth fire at two feet was his limit. One step closer and instinct screamed at him to run. Eight legs would retreat on their own, bristles standing on end.
Now, this magical fire burned hotter by orders of magnitude, and he stood a dozen meters out with no reaction at all.
His head dipped from above Regulus’s shoulder, turning to look at him.
Regulus patted a foreleg. "Try it?"
Baruk turned back to the fire. Then he walked toward it, eight legs moving at an unhurried pace, without hesitation.
At the edge, he raised a foreleg and stepped in. Flame curled up through the bristles, and the dark red at their roots burned brighter in the heat.
Another step. Half his body in the fire.
Orange light danced across deep brown bristles. The carapace sat wrapped in flame, unmarked, unburnt. Not a single hair singed.
The fire affinity branch had activated. Fresh magic spread through the gaps between joints, flowing along limbs and appendages until it covered him entirely.
The pale glow in his eight eyes shifted, fire turning them a translucent amber. Chelicerae clicked twice, and the flame, drawn by the displaced air, swirled around them.
He walked in completely and stood at the center of the blaze.
From inside the blaze, Baruk’s voice: "...Warm."
Regulus stood a dozen meters back, watching a two-meter Acromantula lying in a column of fire.
Flames burning. A spider inside them, looking perfectly content.
He smiled.
Some time passed before Baruk remembered Regulus was still standing out in the cold. Abandoning his comfort, he crawled out.
Small flames still clung to his body. He didn’t bother with them, walked up to Regulus, settled down, and looked at him.
Regulus reached out and ran his fingers along the edge of Baruk’s dorsal shell. The surface felt different under his fingertips.
A fine layer of keratinous patterning had appeared, like miniature Salamander scales, invisible to the eye but distinct to the touch.
These changes were permanent.
Baruk had gone from a pure Acromantula to an Acromantula carrying the magical signature of a Salamander.
Same species. No longer factory settings.
A new Baruk.
---
January 2nd. Cornwall was still blessed with good weather.
Regulus packed light. A change of clothes, a few personal items, all tucked into a small crossbody magic bag.
Baruk had shrunk back to palm-size and sat on his right shoulder, eight legs tucked close, well-behaved.
Agnes came walking from the east greenhouses, her pace brisk as always, footsteps silent on the dirt path.
She stopped in front of him, glanced at Baruk first, and noticed the color change. Black spider gone dark red, eyes a different shade entirely.
She didn’t dwell on it. Same cheerful greeting as always, same tone she’d use with a person. "Mr. Baruk, good morning."
Baruk perked up at his name. His upper body rose, both chelicerae thrust forward, clicking twice. A greeting in return.
Eight legs stamped against Regulus’s shoulder, excited.
Agnes laughed.
"Ms. Agnes," Regulus dipped his head, "thank you for these past few days."
"No trouble at all." She waved him off. "Nothing much to do in winter. Warming charms keep the greenhouses going, and the seedlings don’t need watching every day."
"The Whomping Willow," Regulus glanced toward the open ground, "its cycle is reestablished, but it’s a long way from healthy. Once term starts, I’ll ask Professor Sprout if she has any ideas for restoring it. Until then, I’m afraid it falls to you."
Agnes looked north. The willow, drained of its magic, still drooped there, branches hanging limp in the morning light. It looked like nothing more than an aging tree, every trace of its old violence gone.
"It won’t die," she said, certain. A lift of her chin toward it. "It’s growing. I’m keeping an eye on it."
Regulus pulled a cloth pouch from his pocket and held it out. "For your trouble."
Agnes took it, bounced it once in her palm. Heavier than last time. She didn’t count it, didn’t refuse, just slipped the pouch into her apron pocket.
"Young Mr. Black is too generous." She patted the pocket, producing a muffled thud.
"It’s the least I can do."
She thought for a moment, then added, "Next time you’re coming, let me know in advance. I’ll get the cottage sorted."
"I will."
Something occurred to her.
"Oh, this is for you." She handed it over. She reached into another apron pocket and produced a scroll of parchment, edges yellowed with age, tied with a length of old hemp cord.
Regulus took the scroll and unrolled it.
A nautical chart, hand-drawn. The ink had faded to brown, but the lines were still sharp.
Cornwall’s western coastline wound down from the upper left corner. Along it, reef zones were marked, undertow directions noted, tidal schedules logged, and a dozen-odd uninhabited islands of various sizes charted.
Each one bore a name or number in small script; some had rough outlines sketched beside them.
To the west, one spot had been circled. The words Snell Rock were written there, with a red X drawn over them.
Agnes pointed at it. "None of those islands are inhabited. Just piles of rock. Seabirds barely bother with them. Narrow shipping lanes, mostly in the way."
A smile. "All fair game."
Regulus cleared his throat, rolled up the chart, and tucked it into his bag. "Thank you, Ms. Agnes."
"Don’t mention it." She stepped back. "Give my regards to Mr. Black."
"Goodbye, young Mr. Black."
"Goodbye, Ms. Agnes."
A nod, a turn, and he Apparated. A sharp crack, and his figure vanished into the sea wind.
---
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