Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Hermes was stunned. He recognized the knockback spell, but he didn't expect it to break the armor spell.

Normally, a knockback spell would be deflected or neutralized by an armor spell, but Regulus's knockback spell was so powerful that it shattered the barrier structure.

In the instant he was stunned, Regulus finally swung his wand.

"Flames are raging."

A ball of flame flew by, white-gold in color, extremely hot, distorting the air as it passed.

Hermes didn't have time to cast the second Ironclad Spell, nor did he have the strength to do so. He tried to dodge, but he couldn't.

He covered his head with his arms, closed his eyes, and felt that he was about to die.

But as the flames flew toward Hermes, they suddenly spread out, enveloping him, and then, a burst of light.

A blinding white light shone in the training field, and Avery and Alex simultaneously closed their eyes and turned their heads away.

The heat wave hit us, but it lasted only a fraction of a second.

The light went out.

Hermes was still standing there, unharmed, but his hair was all curled up.

Her once straight black hair had turned into a tangled mess of curls, with a burnt smell at the ends and wisps of smoke rising from it.

His face bore the marks of smoke, and his robe was covered in ash, but the fabric itself was not on fire.

He raised his hand to touch his hair, his fingers stopping when they touched the curly ends, then he lowered his hand.

The training ground fell silent for a few seconds.

Avery burst out laughing first, his posture exaggerated, leaning forward and backward.

Alex laughed along, but softly, covering his mouth with his hand.

Joy and sorrow are not shared, so Hermes did not laugh.

He stood there, looking at Regulus, for a long time.

Then he walked over to Avery and Alex, turned around, and faced Regulus in the center of the training field.

He admitted defeat, was beaten into submission, and then followed him.

Regulus put away his wand and walked up to them.

"That's all for today," he said calmly, his tone flat, as if nothing had happened. "Go eat, I have class this afternoon."

The four left the House of Requirement, the door closing behind them. The corridor was empty; it was lunchtime.

On the way to the auditorium, Avery was still excitedly reviewing the details of what had just happened.

"Did you see that rock spike? It's all red!"

"Flames can be used like that? I thought it would set Hermes on fire."

Alex murmured in agreement, but spent most of his time looking at Hermes.

Hermes walked silently, occasionally raising his hand to touch his curly hair, his face expressionless.

But Regulus could sense that the thorn of resentment in his heart had been removed.

Just as Regulus had initially envisioned, the simplest and most effective method was to demonstrate strength and overwhelming power.

However, fighting Hermes was not even a warm-up.

Regulus remained unmoved, well aware of the gap between himself and Hermes.

That transcends skills and knowledge; it's a fundamental difference in the level of power.

When two wizards are at different levels, the battle can be elegant and composed, full of a classical sense of ritual.

Just like an adult against a child, you don't need to exert your full strength or use any skills; you can win simply by standing still.

That's how he did it when he fought those four dark wizards in Knockturn Alley: he stood still, cast a spell, and his opponents fell.

But it was different when he faced off against his father, Orion.

That time, he needed to move around a lot, anticipate, and use tactics. Some of his movements were very large, his spells had to be precise, his defense had to be tight, and his counterattacks had to be decisive.

Because Orion is at a higher level, but the difference isn't so great as to be invisible.

Regulus wondered if, at his current level, truly powerful individuals like Dumbledore and Voldemort could defeat him as easily as he would defeat Hermes.

The thought lingered in his mind for a moment before he dismissed it.

Thinking about these things is pointless, because the answer is yes.

......

At the end of March, the weather at Hogwarts began to warm up.

The snow around the castle has mostly melted, tender green shoots are sprouting on the grass, the ice on the edge of the Black Lake is thinning, and occasionally you can see giant squid using their tentacles to break the ice to breathe.

In the Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall taught an advanced technique: turning an inanimate object into a real bird that could fly and sing.

"The key is to understand the boundary between life and non-life." Professor McGonagall stood at the podium, gently waving her wand.

A wooden nightingale on the table began to tremble, feathers grew out of the wood grain, and its eyes changed from dull to bright.

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"Transfiguration cannot create life; it gives form and function vitality. Note that transformed creatures have no true soul; their behavior is entirely driven by magic."

She completed her transformation; the nightingale flew up from the table, circled once in the classroom, and landed on the windowsill to begin singing.

Its call is clear and its wings flap powerfully, but upon closer observation, one can see that its movements are repetitive.

It will make the same turn every three laps, and there will be a noticeable pause every five calls.

"Now, begin your practice," Professor McGonagall said. "Each of you should create a wooden carving. Finish it before the end of get out of class. Remember, the key is to capture the feeling of life, not just make it look like the real thing."

The wood carving begins to change, its surface becomes glossy, and the wood grain extends outward, differentiating into fine feather-like patterns.

Its body is slightly swollen, its wings spread out from the sides of its body, and its claws separate from the base.

Two yellow lights appeared around its eyes, and it turned its head, making a soft "cooing" sound.

Once completed, the wooden owl became a living owl, or at least it looked like one.

It stood on the table, tilting its head to look at Regulus, its wingspan half a meter, its feathers clearly layered.

Professor McGonagall came over and examined it carefully.

She reached out and gently touched the owl's wing; the feathers were soft and supple.

She made the owl fly up, and it circled twice in the classroom before landing on Regulus's shoulder and gently preening its feathers with its beak.

"Perfect." Professor McGonagall nodded, her expression serious, but her eyes showed approval. "Complete form, full of life, natural movements, Slytherin, ten out of ten."

Regulus nodded politely: "Thank you, Professor."

Professor McGonagall nodded, turned and walked away to inspect the others.

The Slytherin and Ravenclaw wizards around were already used to this; they merely glanced at the owl curiously for a moment before resuming their transformations.

Regulus raised his hand, and the owl flew to his arm and landed.

He could feel the rhythm of magic flowing within it, a stable, cyclical magical structure that maintained the transformation effect.

When the bell rang, most students had completed the basic transformation. The wood carvings could move and make sounds, but the details were rough, the movements were clumsy, and the sounds were like wood rubbing together.

Only a few did it properly; Regulus was the most perfect one.

The students began packing up and leaving.

Avery, Alex, and Hermes looked at Regulus, who remained seated, still watching the owl.

The three of them exchanged a glance, said nothing, picked up their schoolbags, and left.

They were familiar with Regulus's habit: he would stay after class to ask the professor questions.

At first they waited, but then they noticed that Regulus and the professors' conversations were going on for longer and longer, so they stopped waiting.

The classroom quickly emptied. Professor McGonagall tidied her desk, looked up and saw Regulus was still there, and raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Mr. Blake, come to my office."

Regulus stood up, and the owl flew to his shoulder and landed.

He followed Professor McGonagall out of the classroom, through the corridor, and into the Transfiguration professor's office.

The office was spacious and clean, with bookshelves covering two walls, crammed with heavy magic books.

A gentle fire burned in the fireplace, and on a large desk lay stacks of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill pen.

Several animated paintings hang on the wall: a cat chasing a butterfly, a mouse nibbling on cheese, and a night view of Hogwarts Castle with stars slowly moving across the canvas.

Professor McGonagall walked behind her desk and sat down, gesturing for Regulus to sit in the chair opposite her.

"Have you mastered all the notes?" she asked, placing her hands folded on the table.

"I've got it," Regulus replied modestly, "I'm still practicing."

He took two things out of his pocket: a clear, transparent diamond and a piece of grayish-black graphite.

The wand is raised, and the diamond is lightly touched.

The diamond begins to change: the transparent crystal structure contracts inward, the molecules rearrange, the color changes from transparent to grayish-black, the texture changes from hard to soft, and layered textures appear on the surface.

Diamonds are turned into graphite.

With another tap of the wand, the graphite reverses its transformation, its layered structure disintegrates, and its molecules rebuild a three-dimensional network. The color changes from gray-black back to transparent, and the texture changes from soft to hard.

Graphite turns back into diamond.

The entire process was smooth and stable, with no overflowing magical fluctuations or flickering or deformation failures caused by structural instability.

Diamonds and graphite shifted back and forth on the table.

Professor McGonagall watched, her admiration deepening noticeably.

She could tell that Regulus had not only memorized the notes, but had also practiced them extensively.