Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Cola Novels – Your personal mobile library, accessible anytime.

Professor Sprout paused for a moment, then walked to a locked glass case at the very back of the greenhouse.

She took out her key and opened the cabinet door; inside was only a potted plant.

A small shrub less than 30 centimeters tall, with branches as black as charcoal, but leaves that are pure white, with fine golden threads flowing through the veins.

"Sunlight Ebony Shrubs," Professor Sprout said softly.

"Legend has it that it only grows in ancient church cemeteries or sites of saints' martyrdom, and requires an environment of extremely pure light to survive."

But that doesn't refer to sunlight; it refers to the concrete manifestation of faith.

The professor gently stroked the leaves, as if cherishing his own child: "There's only this one at Hogwarts, left behind by a Ravenclaw headmaster three hundred years ago."

Regulus's heart stirred slightly. The Holy Remains Wand?

"Professor, what is its function?" he continued to ask, his tone as usual.

"Purification." Professor Sprout's tone turned serious: "It transforms dark magic into harmless neutral magic, but the process is slow and requires the caster to possess a strong inclination towards light."

Regulus instinctively reached out to activate his magical perception, cast a nature spell, and establish a magical connection, but was stopped by Professor Sprout's determined gaze.

He stopped, his eyes innocent.

Professor Sprout stared at him for a moment, then turned around, closed the cabinet door, and locked it.

"Just keep these things in mind. At this stage, what you should do is lay a solid foundation, understand the life rhythm of plants, and learn to resonate with the magic of nature."

Attribute opposition is an advanced topic; you can consider it when you have time.

Regulus nodded: "I understand, thank you, Professor."

The magic of nature has been revealed, just as expected.

However, the direction of natural magic is correct.

As we left the greenhouse, it was nearly dusk. The aroma of dinner wafted through the castle corridors, and the sounds of students laughing and playing could be heard in the distance.

Regulus slowed his pace.

Moonlight Orchid and Sunlight Ebony Shrub: one gentle, the other extreme.

The spectrum of attributes in the plant world is surprisingly clear.

He recalled Dumbledore's light, gentle yet invincible.

Perhaps moderation and extremism are not inherently opposites.

True strength lies in achieving the most extreme results with the gentlest methods.

But he can't do it; he's far from being powerful.

He needs time, he needs to learn, he needs to practice, and he needs to let the Star Trail Meditation illuminate more stars.

......

The greenhouse door closed behind Regulus.

Professor Sprout stood still, his gaze fixed on the glass door that was still swaying slightly.

The evening light slanted in, casting long shadows on the stone floor, and the air was filled with the mixed scents of soil, humus, dragon dung, and hundreds of magical plants.

She remembered this time yesterday.

It was evening when she was repotting the poisonous tentacles she had brought from Albania. These plants were very demanding in terms of light and soil properties, and had to be carefully tended to after transplanting.

She heard footsteps behind her; they were familiar, and she recognized who they were.

Turning around, Dumbledore stood in the central aisle of the greenhouse, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles looking at her.

He wore a dark purple robe adorned with star patterns, and his beard was tied back with a ribbon.

"Pomona," Dumbledore began, his voice always unhurried, "there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

They walked to the rest area in the corner of the greenhouse, where there were two rattan chairs and a small round table.

Dumbledore pulled a tin can from his sleeve, tapped it lightly with his fingers, and steam rose from the mouth of the can—it was the kind of honey tea he often drank.

He poured two glasses and pushed one towards me.

"About Regulus Black," Dumbledore said.

Professor Sprout picked up his teacup, raising his eyebrows slightly.

"That child..." Dumbledore paused, seemingly choosing the right word: "Very special."

Professor Sprout nodded in agreement.

Regulus Black was different from the other freshmen from his very first day of Herbalism class.

Most children, when they first come into contact with the tuber, either shrink back and dare not touch it, or feel disgusted, or are so reckless that they almost get splashed with pus in their face.

But Blake was different; he was quick and precise.

Moreover, he is good at thinking and asking questions, and he can see, or rather perceive, things that other junior wizards have never paid attention to.

It's a talent, but it's not uncommon.

Among wizards, there are always those who are particularly sensitive to magic.

What's unusual is his attitude towards magical plants.

Professor Sprout could tell that the boy had no interest in magical plants, unlike herself when she was young, when she would be overjoyed all day by the blooming of a moonstone plant.

He was only interested in the magic represented by the magical plants, not in their life itself.

She was certain that he only cared about how to use it, and didn't care about anything else.

This made her both admire and vaguely worried.

After that, the Slytherin boy would ask questions in every class.

Do magical plants have emotions? What is the reason for the lethality of mandrake? Why does the cry of mandrake have no effect on its own kind?

The questions became more and more in-depth.

The questions began with the characteristics of magical plants, then moved on to the nature of their magic, and finally to the interaction between the plants and the environment and the wizard's magic.

She still remembers that class, when she loosened the soil and repotted the mandrake seedlings.

She saw Regulus channel a wisp of natural magic, establishing a temporary but stable connection with the seedling.

She certainly knew about natural magic; in fact, she was quite familiar with it.

But she didn't point it out; instead, she kept him behind after class and talked to him a lot about the magical tendencies of plants.

The nerve paralysis of the poisonous tentacles, the life drain of the devil's web, and the physical crushing of the mantis willow.

And she knew that Blake understood, and moreover, he probably thought about it even more.

The phrase "leapfrog development" aptly describes his learning trajectory.

So she always had to remind him to be careful, cautious, not to walk too fast, and to protect himself.

Recalling this, Dumbledore took a sip of tea, the cup making a slight clinking sound as he placed it back on the table.

"Tomorrow is Herbalism class," Dumbledore said. "Mr. Black may ask you some more advanced questions."

Professor Sprout looked up: "For example?"

"For example," Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on his knees, "is there some kind of magical plant whose elemental relationships are analogous to those between a Patronus and a Dementor?"

Darkness and light, negativity and positivity—these are the forms of existence and the principles of their operation.

Sprout paused for a few seconds: "These are S-level, even beyond the content taught at Hogwarts."

"I know," Dumbledore nodded, his tone still gentle. "But I think if Mr. Black asks, you can tell him everything you know."

"Including the Sunbather Ebony Bush?" Sprout looked at Dumbledore, a serious look in his eyes behind his glasses.

"Yes, including the Sunbinder Ebony Bush." ​​Dumbledore nodded.

Professor Sprout put down his teacup, the ceramic base hitting the wooden table with a slightly louder sound.

“Albus,” Sprout shook his head slightly, “you know how dangerous it is. A pure, almost fanatical, tendency toward light—it’s too early for a first-year student to be exposed to this concept.”

"Mr. Black is no ordinary first-year student," Dumbledore said in a calm and gentle voice.

"The power he possesses and the maturity of his mind have exceeded the scope of his age."

"He's still a child," Professor Sprout said. "Eleven years old. Even if he's smarter and stronger than others, he's still only eleven."

Dumbledore whispered a reminder: "She's twelve years old."

Professor Sprout ignored the reminder, meeting Dumbledore's gaze with a resolute expression.

"So we need guidance, not restriction," Dumbledore said, looking at her.

"What would happen if he was already on a path, and we blinded him because 'he's still young'?"

He'll figure it out on his own, he might take a wrong turn, and he might run into dangers we could have helped him avoid.

His fingers traced the rim of the teacup slowly. I don't mean to let it go unchecked.

I mean, provide him with the help he needs, and give him the right answers when he asks.

As for which path he chooses, that's his own business.

Professor Sprout didn't speak; she turned to look deep into the greenhouse at the plants whose leaves were unfurling under the magic lights.

She recalled a Hufflepuff student she had when she first became a professor. He was very talented and had a genuine passion for herbalism, but he always wanted to skip the basics and go straight to advanced topics.

She tried to stop him several times, but later the student conducted an experiment in secret, which resulted in serious injuries, forcing him to take a year off from school.

Overprotection is a constraint, while unchecked freedom is dangerous; no one has ever been able to draw a clear line between the two.

"I know of more than one type of dark-attribute plant," Professor Sprout said, turning back to give examples, his voice lowered as if in resignation.

Dumbledore smiled gently at her, his colleague of twenty years.

She always understood him and then helped him.