Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Hermes had already reached the wooden target.

He chanted a spell in a low voice, and a dark red thread shot out from the tip of his staff. The thread wrapped around the neck of the wooden figure, cutting half an inch into the wood, and made a "sizzling" corroding sound.

"A variant of bone and blood separation?" Regulus walked to his side.

"A weakened version." Hermes didn't stop; the thin thread split into three more strands, each binding one of the wooden figure's limbs. "I want to try controlling multiple targets simultaneously."

"The idea is right, but there's a problem with the magic distribution." Regulus observed the thin threads. They appeared to be the same thickness, but the one on the left leg clearly had insufficient magic distribution.

"Subconsciously, you are still concentrating most of your magic on the first strand. Try to break down your consciousness and imagine that you have four independent hands at the same time, each controlling one strand."

Hermes stopped chanting, seemed to be deep in thought, then closed his eyes and frowned.

After a while, he opened his eyes again and began chanting the incantation once more: "Bone and blood separated."

The four dark red threads of magic became more even, digging into the wood to almost the same depth.

Training continues.

Avery was practicing his Obstacle Spell, aiming to hit the copper ring hanging at the other end of the room.

Alex's wand tip lit up and then dimmed, like a crippled firefly.

Hermes's manipulated dark red thread is already attempting to split the fifth thread.

Regulus retreated to the wall, leaning against the cushions as he watched.

Team cohesion is not just about fighting side by side, but also about sweating together, failing together, and laughing together when you see each other's magic wands explode with sparks.

But he also needed to practice. Regular magic was fine, but as for those things he didn't want others to see—

Regulus's mind stirred slightly.

Deep inside the training room, a stone wall silently slid out, separating a small room with a door hidden in the shadows.

If needed in the future, he can go into the cubicle to practice nature magic, guardian spirits, spatial teleportation, and other things that shouldn't be seen by others yet.

Avery finally hit the bronze ring.

"Got it!" He turned to Regulus, grinning, "See that?"

Regulus nodded: "Good, continue, next we'll shoot at moving targets."

With a wave of his wand, a dozen small wooden balls tied with thin strings hung from the ceiling and began to swing erratically.

Avery let out a wail, but still raised his wand.

Alex's fluorescent flickering was finally able to maintain a stable brightness at level five.

He wiped his sweat and asked Regulus in a low voice, "Is this right?"

"Yes," Regulus affirmed, "Try flashing rapidly at different brightness levels tomorrow."

At 9:30, Hermes' magic was exhausted, and his face turned pale.

Avery and Alex were so tired they could barely lift their arms.

The four left the House of Requirement. The corridor was dimly lit, and the moonlight outside the window spread across the floor, casting a silvery glow.

No one spoke on the way back to the basement; footsteps echoed in the stone corridor, overlapping and then dispersing.

As they approached the entrance to Slytherin, Hermes suddenly spoke up: "When's the next practice session?"

"Friday," Regulus looked at him. "Wednesday is fine too, if you can hold on."

"I can manage," Hermes nodded vigorously.

The fireplace in the common room was still burning, and a few seventh-graders were whispering in a corner. When they saw them come in, they glanced at them and then turned back.

The four of them passed through the archway and headed towards the dormitory corridor.

Regulus pushed open the bedroom door, and the green light of the Black Lake shimmered underwater through the window.

The bedding was already laid out on the bed; the house-elf had tidied it up.

Regulus took off his outer robe and hung it up, sat on the edge of the bed, and raised his right hand.

With palms facing upwards, subtly move your mind.

A tiny orange-red flame appeared out of nowhere, no bigger than a fingernail, hovering quietly three inches above the skin.

The flame was bright white at the core and golden at the edges, with the temperature perfectly controlled, so much so that even the hairs on his palms didn't curl.

Fierce Fire.

He stared at the flame for five seconds, then it dissipated.

As I lay down, a giant squid swam past the window, its tentacles brushing against the glass and leaving blurry traces of slime.

Regulus closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into that familiar starry sky.

The fourth star of Orion shines in the darkness.

The fifth one, Rigel, is becoming increasingly concentrated.

First day back at school, get a good night's sleep.

......

On the first Monday of May, the weather was exceptionally fine; sunlight streamed through the high windows of the auditorium, casting golden dapples on the silverware on the long table.

The flock of owls surged in at that moment, dozens of brown, gray and white wings flapping in the air, their feathers mingling with the morning light, casting shimmering shadows.

Feathers and some bird droppings were also thrown down, and some unlucky little wizards were hit, drawing laughter from those around them.

Regulus was spreading jam on the toast.

Avery was copying his Charms class paper, Alex was engrossed in his oatmeal, and Hermes was scrambling fork in his scrambled eggs, his eyes fixed on a point of emptiness on the table.

The owl landed.

Packages, letters, the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

First there was the rustling of papers turning, then a sob came from the Ravenclaw table, a suppressed sob that sounded jarring amidst the breakfast din.

Regulus looked up.

A second-grade girl covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling.

Her classmate leaned over to look at the newspaper, and her expression changed as well.

A second-grade girl covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling.

Her classmate leaned over to look at the newspaper, and her expression changed as well.

Someone reached out and patted her on the back, while someone moved their chair back.

The murmurs spread like a tide, from the Ravenclaw table to Hufflepuff, and then to Gryffindor.

"Excuse me," Avery said, reaching out to the fourth-year student next to him. The student handed over the newspaper with a slightly strange expression.

Avery turned to the third edition.

The title is displayed horizontally in the middle of the page: "Wizard family in London suburbs attacked by unknown means; those involved have been taken to hospital for treatment."

It's a short piece, squeezed between the flying broomstick game and the Ministry of Magic's budget announcement.

"Last night, a wizard’s house near Hampstead Wasteland was broken into. There were obvious signs of magical damage inside the house, and a few magical items were stolen."

The homeowner, Karen Thorne, and his wife, Leila Thorne, were injured and have been taken to St. Mungo for treatment; their conditions are currently stable.

The Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters has launched an investigation, but has not yet released the identity or motive of the attacker.

The article concluded with two additional sentences: "Strong traces of dark magic remained at the scene; some defensive magic was violently broken, and the methods were extremely destructive."

Avery pushed the newspaper toward Regulus.

Alex leaned closer to look, and after reading it, whispered, "I know her, Iliana Thorne, a second-year Ravenclaw student."

Her father was in charge of reviewing magical items at the Ministry of Magic, and her mother worked in the Department of Magical Creatures, doing clerical work.

He said sadly, "Our family had a gathering with the Thorne family last year."

Regulus nodded, his gaze sweeping across the hall.

At the Ravenclaw table, Iliana was surrounded by seven or eight people.

The mixed-race and Muggle-born people comforted her, handing her a handkerchief and speaking softly.

Those of pure blood remained seated, some continuing to eat breakfast, others turning to the side to chat with their neighbors, their gazes occasionally sweeping over before quickly shifting away.

That obvious sense of distance conveyed something colder.

Most of the Hufflepuffs looked sympathetic, but the murmurs were kept very low.

Several seventh graders were shaking their heads, while middle school girls huddled together whispering to each other.

The look in their eyes when they glanced in Ravenclaw's direction was filled with worry, but even more so with a sense of relief that it wasn't me.

On the Gryffindor side, James Potter had already stood up, slamming his fist on the long table, making the silverware clang.

"It's those crazy bunch again!"

The sound was so loud that it could be heard in half the auditorium. Sirius stood up, and Lupin grabbed his arm and said something, but couldn't hold him back.

More people gathered around their table, both men and women, their faces showing the same anger.

The Slytherin table was quiet.

But this silence was strange; they were clearly holding back something.

Several sixth and seventh graders sat at the far end of the long table, exchanging glances with very subtle smiles on their lips.

They didn't look in Ravenclaw's direction, didn't participate in the discussion, and didn't even flip through the newspaper much, but that "I know what's going on" aura could be smelled from ten feet away.

The reactions of middle school students were more straightforward.

Several mixed-race or near-purebred individuals who weren't doing so well had their heads down, mechanically poking at their plates with their forks.

Those students from core pure-blood families had gleaming eyes and leaned forward like hunting dogs that had smelled blood.

Narcissa Black glanced over from the head of the long table, her gaze sweeping over the restless middle schoolers, who immediately sat up straight and composed themselves.

Lucretius Burke tapped the table with his knuckles. The sound wasn't loud, but everyone around him heard it.

After finishing pounding, he continued spreading his butter, his movements slow and methodical.

At that moment, Dumbledore rang his wine glass, the clear clinking sound drowning out all the noise.

The principal stood up, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles sweeping across the room. He waited until the last whispers had subsided before speaking.

"Hogwarts is a school," he said in a loud, not-so-gentle voice, with a warning tone: "Here, you are students."

A student's responsibility is to learn, to grow, and to understand that magic is not only power, but also responsibility.

His gaze lingered on the Gryffindor table for a moment, then swept over the direction of Slytherin: "The outside world has conflict, pain, and injustice."

But these things shouldn't be brought into this castle. At Hogwarts, you only have one identity: students.

He looked toward the Ravenclaw table: "Professor Flitwick."

The diminutive Charms professor slid off his chair and strode toward Eleanor Thorne.

He patted the girl on the shoulder, whispered a few words, and then put his arm around her and walked out.

As James passed the Gryffindor table, he tried to say something, but Professor McGonagall's glare froze him in place.

The auditorium doors opened and closed again.