Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 111 My Heart is Pure and Warm

At 9:50 a.m. on Saturday, Regulus stood in front of the gargoyle on the eighth floor of the castle.

The stone beast crouched on the stone pillar with its eyes closed, as if it were dozing off.

Regulus knew a password was needed, but Dumbledore didn't tell him.

He waited a few seconds, and the stone beast moved on its own, its stone joints rubbing together with a dull sound. It jumped to the side, and the wall behind it rotated and opened, revealing a spiral staircase leading upwards.

The staircase rotates and ascends automatically.

Regulus stepped onto the stairs, which carried him upwards until they came to a stop in front of a heavy oak door.

There is a brass door knocker on the door, carved in the shape of a lion with a eagle's head.

He knocked three times, and the door opened automatically.

The principal's office is a spacious, round room.

The walls are covered with portraits, with each Hogwarts headmaster or headmaster sitting or standing in the frame.

Some were reading, some were dozing off, and some were eyeing Regulus with curiosity as he walked in.

Below the picture frame is a dark wooden bookshelf, crammed with heavy books and oddly shaped silverware.

In the center of the room was a huge desk, its surface piled with parchment, ink bottles, several strange mechanical devices, and a crystal ball emitting faint steam.

A tall, gilded perch stands by the window, and a phoenix, Fox, sits atop it.

It has golden-red feathers, and its long tail feathers hang down, gleaming like flames in the sunlight.

When Regulus came in, Fox turned to look at him, his dark, bright eyes reflecting Regulus's image.

It called out softly, its voice clear and melodious, like the ringing of a bell.

There was a mixed smell in the air: the musty smell of old books, the astringent smell of parchment, a certain sweet candy smell, and a faint phoenix scent similar to burnt feathers.

And, the smell of magic.

Regulus's gaze swept over the portraits on the wall and he quickly found the one he was looking for: Phineas Nigellus Black.

His great-great-grandfather, one of the most unpopular headmasters in Hogwarts history, was the wizard who brought the four houses together like never before.

He was sitting in an armchair within the picture frame, holding a copy of the Daily Prophet of unknown date, but his eyes were peering at Regulus from above the newspaper.

Their eyes met, and Phineas nodded very slightly, so slightly that it was almost imperceptible.

He said nothing, and raised the newspaper again to cover his face.

Regulus understood.

These portraits of the headmaster are held together by the magic of Hogwarts Castle; as long as the castle stands, they will exist forever.

They can wander through the castle through the interconnected picture frames, seeing and hearing many things.

Phineas certainly knew about the Astronomy Tower incident, and may even know more details that Dumbledore was unaware of, since there was a portrait of him in Black's old house, and both frames were his territory.

But Phineas clearly said nothing; family interests came first, and even after death, when his portrait became a portrait, he remained Black.

Of course, there are prerequisites, as long as it does not harm Hogwarts.

Regulus received the signal and knew that Dumbledore would not make things difficult for him.

Behind his desk, Dumbledore looked up from a pile of documents.

Today he wore a dark blue robe embroidered with silver stars, and his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were gentle and bright.

"Ah, Mr. Black, very punctual." Dumbledore stood up and walked around the desk. "Please have a seat."

Regulus sat down in the armchair opposite the desk. The chair was soft, and the armrests were carved with intricate patterns.

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore," Regulus said politely.

Dumbledore returned to his seat and picked up a jar from a silver tray on the table: "Lemon Olaf? A swarm of cockroaches? Or perhaps some sizzling honey?"

The jar was opened, revealing a variety of brightly colored candies.

The cockroaches were particularly conspicuous among them; they were actually wriggling, densely packed, making a cacophony of subtle sounds characteristic of arthropods crawling.

Regulus stared at the wriggling candies, remained silent for two seconds, and finally couldn't hold back any longer. He said, "Headmaster, I have a question."

"Excuse me," Dumbledore said gently.

When you eat a pile of cockroaches, do you first make sure there aren't any real cockroaches mixed in?

Dumbledore's hand holding the jar froze in mid-air.

He blinked, looked at the jar, looked at Regulus, and looked at the jar again.

Then he slowly put down the jar, gently stroked his beard with his fingers, and looked away.

"Hmm." He glanced away. "That's...an interesting question."

He thought for a few seconds, his expression as serious as if he were considering the principles of a complex spell.

Finally, he decided to skip the topic and pushed the jar aside.

But Regulus noticed that Dumbledore's crooked nose seemed even more crooked.

"Perhaps tea would be better today." Dumbledore waved his hand, and a teapot and two cups appeared on the table.

The teapot tilted automatically, pouring out steaming hot black tea: "Sweet? Milk?"

"Just some plain tea, thank you." Regulus took the cup.

He used the act of drinking tea as an excuse to quickly scan the room with his eyes.

The portraits were all observing quietly. Fox was preening his feathers on the perch. The sky outside the window was azure, and the outlines of Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest could be seen in the distance.

Dumbledore took a sip of tea, and the cup made a slight clinking sound as he placed it back on the tray.

He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands clasped on the table: "First of all, Regulus, may I call you that?"

"Of course, Principal." Regulus nodded respectfully.

"Alright." Dumbledore smiled. "Actually, I prefer students to call me Professor. The title of Headmaster always makes people feel a bit distant."

Regulus's heart skipped a beat.

The title "professor" is more intimate and resembles a teacher-student relationship rather than a manager-managed relationship.

Moreover, professors are there to impart knowledge.

"Professor Dumbledore." He readily agreed.

Dumbledore's wrinkles around his eyes smoothed out, clearly pleased with the title.

"I've invited you here today for no particularly serious reason," Dumbledore said in a relaxed tone.

"It's just a chat, you know. As the principal, I always want to know more about my students, especially those who are particularly outstanding."

Regulus sipped his tea and listened quietly.

"You handled the Astronomy Tower matter very well," Dumbledore continued, his voice filled with approval.

"Being calm, decisive, and prioritizing the safety of your companions in a crisis is not easy; many adult wizards cannot do it."

"I just did what I was supposed to do," Regulus said modestly.

"The things that need to be done," Dumbledore repeated, his fingers lightly tracing the rim of the teacup. .

"Many people know what to do, but when it comes to the crucial moment, they can't do it. Courage doesn't mean the absence of fear, but rather choosing to act despite fear."

His gaze fell on Regulus's face: "Your guardian spirit is beautiful, Starry Sky Kite, that's rare."

"Thank you," Regulus said.

Dumbledore said this before, and mentioning it again implies something.

really.

"The Patronus reflects the deepest desires of the heart," Dumbledore said, his tone casual but with a deeper meaning: "The stars, freedom, exploration—a grand pursuit."

Regulus thanked him again, picked up his teacup, and took another sip.

But what he really wanted to say was, "You're no less impressive, Professor Dumbledore."

Rebirth, protection—a very noble pursuit.

The portraits on the wall remained silent, but Regulus could feel their gaze.

Phineas still covered his face with the newspaper, but the edge of the newspaper shifted slightly downwards, revealing half of his eye.

Fox spread his wings on the perch, his golden-red feathers shimmering in the light.

It let out another cry, this time longer and with a certain rhythm.

Dumbledore looked at Fawkes and said with a smile, "Fawkes seems quite interested in you. Phoenixes can see souls; they are close to pure and warm hearts."

Regulus didn't know how to respond; he felt that such praise was excessive.

His soul was neither particularly pure nor particularly warm.

At least that's what he thinks.

As for Fox, perhaps birds and humans have different perceptions.

"Professor," he decided to skip the topic, "what happened to the Plague Wand afterward?"

"It's sealed away," Dumbledore said succinctly. "That kind of thing shouldn't exist. The crimes committed by Valentino Solito shouldn't become a tool for future generations to pursue power."

Dumbledore spoke calmly, but Regulus could sense the power in his words.

The suffering of 70,000 people, 70,000 beggar-style Dementors, and a curse spanning hundreds of years were all effortlessly sealed away by Dumbledore.

That is power.

Regulus looked at the old man opposite him, the greatest white wizard of this century, perhaps the most powerful wizard in history, or even one of them.

In the magical world, power is everything; it transcends authority and is purely personal strength.

Dumbledore is fully capable of changing the world order on his own; if he wanted, he could become a king or a god.

But he didn't.

He chose to stay at Hogwarts as headmaster, teaching, chatting with students, eating cockroaches, and occasionally handling external affairs.

In the original book, Dumbledore said, "I dare not touch power, for I am afraid I will fall in love with it."

Regulus had no idea what the principal was thinking when he said that.

Perhaps it's genuine fear, perhaps it's an excuse, or perhaps it's simply a clear-headed awareness of one's own desires.

Regardless, the result was that Dumbledore possessed the power to change the world, yet chose to use it as sparingly as possible.

Regulus doesn't judge whether this choice is right or wrong; everyone has their own logic for acting, as long as they bear the consequences.

"Professor," he put down his teacup, "you didn't come to see me today just to praise my guardian angel, did you?"

Dumbledore's smile remained gentle and kind, but it was more genuine and earnest.

Regulus even felt like a fisherman who had finally waited for a fish to bite his hook.

"Yes, no," Dumbledore admitted. "I have a question for you, which you may answer or not; it is entirely up to you."

Regulus sat up straight.

Dumbledore looked at him: "What is your view on magic?"