Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

In the Slytherin common room, the younger students huddled in a corner.

Even though there were a few junior wizards from the Twenty-Eight Sacred Clans, none of them dared to occupy the empty sofas and armchairs in this obviously strange atmosphere.

They stood there, exchanging glances, most of them looking confused, unsure of what was going to happen that night.

My gaze occasionally drifted to the sofa where Regulus was sitting.

Nobody had a problem with the four first-years sitting there, except for Regulus Black.

His demonstrated abilities since enrolling have naturally placed him on a different level.

Avery, Alex, and Hermes also benefited, and it seemed only natural for them to sit there.

Regulus ignored the stares directed at him, leaned back on the sofa cushions, placed his hands on his lap, looked toward the fireplace, and analyzed the situation in his mind.

Narcissa was there, but her expression was puzzled.

This means she was unaware of it.

Thinking about it this way, things became clear: someone was definitely coming for him tonight.

Narcissa is a prefect, the future Mrs. Malfoy, but she is also Black, and her ignorance speaks volumes.

Regulus continued to think that this might be a forced statement.

Make him publicly support the garbage cleanup movement, forcing him to side with the pure-blooded extremists.

It could also be a simple suppression, using the name of collective will to weaken his influence in Slytherin.

More likely, he's using him to climb the social ladder, stepping on the face of a Black heir to gain favor with Voldemort.

Regulus sat quietly, his gaze lowered, as if deep in thought.

Behind him, Avery and the others followed his example and remained silent.

As Regulus looked up, an older student was rising from the armchair to the left of the fireplace.

He knows this person.

Arnold Belmont, the eldest son of the Belmont family, in seventh grade.

The Belmont family is not on the list of the Twenty-Eight Holy Clans, but their family business is very large. They have three shops in Knockturn Alley, openly selling magical materials, but secretly engaging in smuggling and brokering black magic items.

Their family is very active; Mr. Belmont can be seen at almost every gathering of pure-blood families.

He was always carrying a wine glass, moving through the crowd, shaking hands with this person and clinking glasses with that person.

This kind of family is very pragmatic; they know their bloodline isn't pure enough, so they compensate with other things.

Money, connections, and the flexibility to do things that large families are unwilling to do in the dirty work.

Some old families look down on them, thinking they are scheming and have no bottom line, but they have to admit that sometimes they do need such people to deal with gray areas.

Arnold Belmont enjoyed considerable popularity within Slytherin.

He has above-average grades, plays Quidditch well, and is always polite to others.

The younger students admired him, the middle students thought he was a good friend, and even the older students who hadn't yet been involved in family affairs thought he was capable and eloquent.

But the older students who actually started taking over family affairs looked at him with much more complicated eyes.

They knew the Belmont family's secrets, what those Knockturn Alley shops did behind the scenes, and how many unspeakable things were hidden beneath Arnold's perfect facade.

Regulus knew it too.

Arnold Belmont held a silver goblet in his right hand and tapped it lightly with his wand. The clear tinkling sound filled the lounge, and all conversations ceased.

Regulus sensed a malice emanating from Arnold, clearly aimed at him.

But this malice is not a direct intention to attack; it's not the kind of hostility that says, "I want to hit you."

It's more subtle and viscous, like a layer of oil film that doesn't hurt, but makes you feel uncomfortable all over.

It's scheming.

Regulus immediately realized that Regulus wanted to use him as a stepping stone, a bargaining chip, and a ladder to climb higher.

This kind of malice is more disgusting than direct hostility because it disrespects your independence as a human being and treats you merely as a valuable object that can be manipulated at will.

Regulus was certain that Arnold was in charge of tonight's events, and that he was the target.

But given the size of the Belmont family, Arnold alone couldn't handle such a large situation.

There must be someone behind this, possibly a member of one of the Twenty-Eight Sacred Clans, hiding in the shadows and using Arnold as a pawn to test the waters.

Regulus remained calm and waited to see.

Arnold Belmont walked to the fireplace, the firelight dancing behind him and casting a long shadow on the ground.

Today he wore a deep purple robe with the Belmont family crest pinned to the collar, featuring a raven clutching a money pouch in one claw.

He cleared his throat, his voice loud and clear enough for everyone in the lounge to hear.

"Dear students," he said in a steady tone, as if he were delivering a carefully prepared speech.

"We're gathered here tonight not to discuss Quidditch tactics, nor to exchange potion recipes. We're gathered here because we've realized one thing: the wizarding world is changing."

His gaze swept across the entire room; the younger students listened attentively, while several middle students nodded in agreement.

"The direction of change depends on each and every one of us," Arnold continued.

"For hundreds of years, the wizarding world has been led by pure-blood families. We have mastered ancient magic, inherited ancient wisdom, and maintained the continuation of magical civilization."

Some call it arrogance, but I say it's the truth.

His voice gradually rose, taking on a provocative rhythm.

"But now, some people want to break this order."

They believe that half-bloods can be on equal footing with pure-bloods, that Muggle-borns can enjoy the same rights as us, and even that Muggles can interfere in the affairs of the magical world.

He shook his head, his expression pained: "This is depravity. If we don't stand up to defend purity, magic will be diluted and tradition will perish."

Everything our ancestors built with their blood and wisdom will vanish in the compromises of generations.

Regulus listened, mentally translating the words: pure-blood supremacy, rejection of mixed-race and Muggle origins, laying the theoretical groundwork for cleaning up the trash.

"Fortunately," Arnold changed the subject, "a great wizard has stepped forward. He sees the crisis and is willing to lead us to rebuild order."

He believed in the glory of pure blood, that wizards should rule the world, and that we should, and must, cleanse our bloodlines and civilization of the impurities that pollute them.

He didn't mention his name, but everyone knew who this great wizard was.

"This is not just an idea," Arnold's voice became more impassioned. "This is a guide to action. We will start taking action right here at Hogwarts."

We must let everyone know that Slytherin is a bastion of pure-blood tradition.

We will not compromise, we will not back down, and we will not allow any scum that tarnishes our bloodline to breathe the same air as us in our school!

He raised his right hand and clenched his fist.

Applause and cheers erupted in the lounge.

But not everyone.

Most of the older students were expressionless; some looked down at their hands, while others gazed out the window at the green light of the Black Lake.

A few who didn't seem very shrewd clapped loudly, their faces flushed.

The younger students reacted more enthusiastically, with some standing up, some waving their arms, and some chanting "Pure Blood Glory."

Arnold smiled as he accepted the cheers, his gaze sweeping across the crowd before finally settling on Regulus.

Regulus didn't look at him.

He saw Narcissa cast a worried glance at him, and Regulus nodded slightly to her, the gesture so small it was almost imperceptible.

Narcissa saw it; the worry was still in her eyes, but her shoulders relaxed a little.

Lucretius didn't look in their direction the whole time; he held his cup, his eyes fixed on the flames in the fireplace.

Avery, growing impatient, leaned forward as if to say something, but was stopped by a look from Regulus.

Avery gritted his teeth, leaned back on the sofa, and tapped his fingers on his knees even faster.

Alex shifted uncomfortably, afraid to make any big movements, his toes curling and stretching inside his boots.

Hermes stared intently at Arnold, his eyes sizing up prey.

Regulus also noticed Snape.

He stood in the shadows by the window, his expression strange. When Arnold got excited, Snape nodded along, his eyes filled with a kind of fanaticism.

But when Arnold mentioned removing impurities, Snape frowned, his contradiction written all over his face.

Regulus found it somewhat amusing; Snape was probably thinking of Lily Evans.

He is caught in the middle, torn between the allure of pure-blood ideals and his Muggle-born friend.

The cheers gradually subsided.

Arnold Belmont turned and walked toward Regulus.

He walked slowly, each step seemingly calculated, the hem of his robe swaying gently behind him.

He stopped three steps away from the sofa, lowered his head slightly, and looked at Regulus sitting on the sofa.

The calculated malice intensified.

Regulus raised his head, his face expressionless.

When Arnold smiled, it was a perfect smile, with just the right curve at the corners of his mouth, revealing eight teeth, and his eyes curving into a friendly arc.

But there was something else deep in his eyes.

"Regulus Black," Arnold began, his voice gentle.

"Everyone here knows the Black family, ancient and pure, who have written countless glorious chapters in the history of the magical world."

From the time of King Arthur to the modern era, the Black family has always stood at the forefront of the pure-blood faction, defending the purity and honor of their bloodline through their actions.

He began to lay the groundwork.

"I remember when I was a child, my father took me to a party at the Black family's house," Arnold said, turning to the audience as if sharing a fond memory.

"Number 12 Grimmauld Place, that solemn mansion, those ancient portraits, those family rules passed down for centuries."

At that moment, I thought, this is what a pure-blooded family should be like: meticulous, noble, and inviolable.

He turned back and looked at Regulus.

"The Black family continues to lead us, with Mr. Orion Black's speech in Wizengamor, Mrs. Walbuga's insistence on pure-blood education, and—"

He emphasized, "Miss Bellatrix Black's choice—she followed that man and proved the Black family's loyalty to the pure-blood cause through her actions."

Regulus sneered inwardly upon hearing this.

Bella being dragged into this is tantamount to binding the Black family and Voldemort together.

"And you, Regulus," Arnold continued, "as the heir of House Black and the first freshman of Slytherin, we have all seen your talent and ability."

That sir is also very concerned about you. He believes that when the new era arrives, you will stand on the right side, just like Miss Bellatrix, and contribute to the cause of purebloods.

The meaning is quite clear at this point.

Arnold leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice, but it was still loud enough for those around him to hear.

"So I think you agree with what we've been discussing tonight—about maintaining the purity of our bloodline, about eliminating those sources of pollution, and about preparing for the new era, right?"

As the heir to the Black family, you must also want to maintain the purity of your bloodline and return the magical world to the right path, right?

He stopped, looked at Regulus, and his eyes were sincere.

His meaning was very clear: I had said so much, laid so much groundwork, and so many people here supported and agreed with me.

I represent the general trend and the collective will.

You, Regulus Black, as the heir to the Black family, must express your support.

You must stand on my side, you must agree with my ideas, and you must do as I say.

This is a form of coercion.

They use the atmosphere, the crowd, and the attention of that important person to force you to nod.

All eyes are now on Regulus.

Those shrewd guys have figured it out completely.

Narcissa's face turned pale, and her fingers tightened.

Lucretius finally turned his head, glanced at Regulus, and then quickly looked away.

Several older students exchanged glances; some smiled, while others shook their heads.

Even if Regulus is young and agrees after being provoked like this, what good will it do for Arnold Belmont after he tells his family about it?

The Black family is not a small family that can be easily manipulated.

But some people find it interesting.

A sixth-grade boy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, waiting to see how Regulus would react.

Another seventh-grade girl picked up her cup and took a sip, her eyes never leaving Regulus's face.

There was another gaze burning hot, that of Alecto Caro.

Regulus did not respond immediately; he did not even stand up, and his expression remained unchanged.

His attention had long since shifted away from Arnold. From the moment he started, he had been using his magical senses to scan the entire lounge, searching for that more hidden, more real malice.

He found it.

Dolphin Rolle stood there in the shadows to the right of the fireplace.

House Rol is one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Families, the core of the Death Eaters, and is known for its brutality.

They will participate in the attack on the Hogwarts Express, the massacre of Muggle neighborhoods, and take pride in cleaning up trash; they are one of Voldemort's sharpest knives.

Dorfen Roll is in sixth grade this year.

He usually kept a low profile in Slytherin and rarely spoke in public, but everyone knew what kind of people the Rolle family were.

He stood in the shadows, his hands in his robe pockets, his eyes fixed on Arnold and Regulus, a faint smile playing on his lips.

That was true malice—cold, cruel, and bloody.

Regulus had no idea what grudge the Rolle and Black families had, nor what role Dorfin Rolle would play tonight.

But now that this person has been uncovered, this farce can come to an end. Dorfin was smart enough not to get involved himself and let Arnold be the cannon fodder.

Let's ignore him for now.

Regulus turned his attention back to Arnold Belmont.

The other person was still waiting for his response, and the smile on his face was a little stiff. Maintaining that sincere expression for too long would tire his muscles.

The lounge was quiet; even the crackling of the wood popping in the fireplace sounded jarring.

Regulus finally spoke. His voice was not loud, and his tone was steady, but it was not to be ignored.

"Arnold Belmont, you've said a lot about the history of the Black family, about the pure-blood tradition, and about that man's expectations."

He looked at Arnold, his eyes devoid of emotion, yet not empty.

"I have a question."

Arnold's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, but he quickly smiled again: "Of course, you ask."

Regulus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together.

This made him appear to be earnestly seeking advice, but the look in his eyes sent a chill down Arnold's spine.

"In your eyes, has the Black family fallen so low that they need you, a Belmont, to teach us how to behave?"

Arnold's smile froze completely.

Regulus continued, speaking slowly, as if stating a fact.

"You stand here and tell me, with words like 'That person is very concerned about you,' what a Blake should agree with, what he should support, and which side he should stand on."

In front of everyone, you demanded that I express my opinion, that I speak according to your wishes, in an almost commanding tone.

He raised his head, his gaze sweeping over everyone around him, then turned back to Arnold and spoke to him, but to everyone.

"When did the Belmont family acquire this power?"

"Can you teach the Black family how to do things, can you dictate what the Black heir should say, and can you issue orders to the Black family from a superior position?"

The lounge fell into dead silence.

Some people hadn't even reacted yet, while others' expressions changed. Narcissa's eyes widened, and then the corners of her mouth gradually curved into a slight smile.

She understood.

Regulus peeled back the layers of meaning in Arnold's words, revealing what lay beneath.

Disrespectful.

What gives you, a Belmont, the right to speak to the Black family heir in that tone?

What makes you think you can instruct Blake on what to support?

Why use that person's attention as leverage to force Blake to make an on-the-spot statement?

This is not just directed at Regulus personally; it is disrespectful to the entire Black family.

Arnold Belmont's face began to turn pale. He opened his mouth to speak, but Regulus did not give him the chance.

"Perhaps I've misunderstood," Regulus said, standing up.

He was a head shorter than Arnold, but when he stood up straight, his presence made the other man take a half step back.

"Perhaps Mr. Belmont believes that the Belmont family is now superior to the Black family."

"You can order the Black family around at will, and you can speak to the Black heir in the same way you just did."

He took a step forward, and Arnold took a step back.

"If that's the case," Regulus's voice turned cold, "then I'll ask you another question: what price is the Belmont family prepared to pay?"

These words struck Arnold like a hammer blow to the chest, draining the last trace of color from his face.

Chapter update reminder: Chapter 132 You Don't Respect Me (Seeking Monthly Tickets), reading address.