Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Regulus stopped, turned around, and walked back to the podium.

The classroom was empty except for Slughorn, who sat behind the podium, holding Regulus's potion in his hand and examining it closely.

The pale pink liquid swayed slightly in the bottle.

"Perfect," Slughorn said with admiration, "in terms of magical purity and stability, it's even better than mine."

He put the bottle down and looked at Regulus.

"Regrus, the method you just used, which allows the magic of the materials to fuse on their own, is indeed effective for low-level potions like healing potions."

The professor continued, "In fact, someone has done this before."

Regulus looked up at him, but he wasn't surprised.

It's perfectly normal for the professor to be able to tell. He's a Potions Master, one of the most knowledgeable people in the magical world right now. It would be strange if he couldn't figure out what the professor was doing.

And of course he knew that his method was only suitable for low-level potions.

At higher levels, it's not just about fusing material magic, but also other things.

Time, rituals, and even the wizard's own magic or emotions are involved.

Those were truly high-end items; he had heard of them but rarely seen them, and they wouldn't be displayed on ordinary shelves.

But there was no need to say all that now. He simply stood there quietly, his expression more respectful than before, waiting for the professor to continue.

Slughorn's gaze fell on something outside the window, as if he were looking at something from long ago.

"Hundreds of years ago, before potion science had developed into the system it is today, some wizards did it this way."

There are no standard steps, no fixed formulas, only the most direct perception and the most instinctive control over the materials.

They pick up a blade of grass, smell it, touch it, and they know what it should be paired with and how to use it.

The results achieved through deliberate, step-by-step effort are often far superior to what can be produced by simply following established methods.

He turned his gaze to Regulus: "But do you know why that method disappeared and became the step-by-step system we have today?"

Regulus thought for a moment: "Because it's too difficult?"

Slughorn nodded: "Extremely difficult."

He emphasized, "It's not something that can be done just by being talented. That method requires more than just intelligence or diligence. You need a kind of intuitive understanding of the materials, almost an instinct."

You have to be able to hear what the magic of the materials is saying, to see what they want to become, to process dozens of magical changes in your mind at the same time, and to react within a fraction of a second.

Even the slightest deviation will ruin the material.

He shook his head: "There are only a handful of wizards in history who can achieve this level, so every potion master back then was a legend."

This system now makes potions something that can be replicated and taught.

Even those with mediocre talent can make decent potions, and geniuses won't waste materials due to momentary carelessness—that's progress.

His gaze toward Regulus turned serious: "But you did it."

Regulus remained silent, waiting for the professor to continue.

Slughorn paused for a moment, then asked, "Regulus, what do you think potions are?"

Regulus opened his mouth to answer, but Slughorn raised his hand to stop him: "No need to answer yet, let me speak first."

He stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Regulus.

Most people think that making potions is simply a matter of throwing the ingredients into a pot in order and simmering them for the right amount of time.

But they were wrong. Potions are not simply a collection of ingredients, nor even an accumulation of magical reactions.

"The essence of potions is to allow the magic of different materials to accept and merge with each other under specific conditions, ultimately forming a new and complete magical whole."

That whole has its own life, its own inclinations, and its own will.

A successful potion is more like a newborn individual; it has its own temperament, its own personality, and its own uses.

He walked back to the table, picked up the bottle of healing potion, and looked at it against the light.

"For example, this healing potion, its healing properties are a product of the combined effects of white dictamnus, dragon's blood, fire ash snake eggshell, and daisy root."

White peony alone can only stop bleeding, and dragon blood alone will only cause rampage, but when they are combined into a healing potion, they create something entirely new.

Something with the will to heal.

He put down the bottle and looked at Regulus again: "What you just did was sense the magic of those materials and then guide them to accept and merge with each other."

But you're not creating a healing potion; you're just making these materials into a healing potion. These are two completely different concepts.

Regulus remained silent; the professor was right.

Slughorn continued, "Being able to do this shows that your perception and understanding of magic has surpassed that of most adult wizards."

This is talent, and it's ability, but I want to remind you of something.

His expression turned serious: "Magic has a life of its own, the magic of the materials is magic, and the magic of the finished potion is also magic."

When you guide them to merge, you are dealing with living things. They have their own inclinations, and you are shaping them into what you want them to be.

But this process will also affect you in turn.

He looked into Regulus's eyes: "If you do this for a long time, you will become more and more used to letting magic change according to your will, which is not a bad thing in itself."

But remember, magic is not a servant, it's a partner. You can guide it, but you cannot enslave it; otherwise, one day it will rebel.

Regulus's heart stirred slightly.

These words vaguely echo the invitation and control spoken by the thing slumbering in the abyss.

He nodded, his tone sincere: "I understand, Professor. Thank you for your guidance."

Slughorn stared at him for a moment, then laughed, with satisfaction and a touch of wistfulness.

"Okay, I'm glad you understand," he said, sitting back in his chair and relaxing completely. "Go ahead, you can endure my classes however you want from now on."

But don't be too ostentatious; other students might be discouraged if they see it.

Regulus nodded: "I understand, Professor. Your words have been very helpful."

Then he bowed slightly, said goodbye to the professor, turned around and walked out, pushing open the door.

When they stepped out of the potions classroom, Avery and the others were still waiting there.

Regulus simply nodded slightly and continued walking forward, and they followed.

Avery and Alex didn't think much of it; it was routine for Regulus to be kept behind by the professor. They exchanged a glance, shrugged, and didn't care.

Hermes shifted slightly back half a step, glancing at Regulus out of the corner of his eye.

He was thinking about what had happened in class earlier, guessing that the professor keeping Regulus behind must be related to this, but since Regulus hadn't brought it up, he assumed it wasn't true.

Hermes thought about his vacation.

He spent almost two whole months in the family training room, with his father personally sparring with him and teaching him the truly dangerous techniques.

Variations of black magic, how to quickly switch spells in battle, and how to conceal one's intentions while casting spells.

One day, his father took him out, and that experience made him understand what true power was.

He thought he had made great progress, both in strength and in his perspective.

But what just happened was so simple: he put his hand on the material and poured it out.

It's as if there are unseen wizards doing unseen things, and the potion is created on its own.

Hermes found that the distance between himself and Regulus had not only not narrowed, but had actually widened, because he couldn't understand the operation at all.

He looked away and continued walking forward.

As Regulus walked, he pondered Slughorn's words, which, in essence, were quite simple.

Don't fight against magic; treat it as a partner, for magic has a life of its own.

It sounded like some kind of philosophical speculation, the kind of thing an old wizard would mutter.

You must befriend magic, you must listen to the voice of magic, and so on.

But then he remembered that Dumbledore had said something similar in the headmaster's office.

Talk to magic.

Dumbledore and Slughorn are undoubtedly the most outstanding wizards in their respective fields.

Dumbledore is widely recognized as the greatest wizard of this century. While Slughorn may not be as powerful, he is the most professional in the field of potions.

Their views on magic and sorcery were strikingly similar.

Regulus pondered his own situation, wondering what his relationship with magic was now.

That's neither confrontation nor communication, it's just use.

Use it like a tool; whatever effect you need, use magic to achieve it.

Magic is an extension of his will, an extension of his body; it's very useful and obedient, but that's all.

But Dumbledore and Slughorn both said that this was not enough; they also needed to communicate, to obey, and to make magic their partner.

Regulus knew they were right.

Since they said it, they must have done it, and they did.

Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard, and Slughorn was the most outstanding potions master; their paths, at least for them, were open.

But is this the only correct one?

He wanted to learn from the dark enlightenment of the Flood Demon, which showed a completely different direction.

To dominate, to control, to make magic completely submit—to dominate without communication, obedience, or partnership—that is pure domination.

Voldemort followed that path, and he reached the pinnacle of it all.

Regulus shook his head slightly; this question might be a bit premature for him.

This is more like a philosophy of magic, or a basic attitude towards magic—where to stand and from what perspective to understand magic itself.

It's somewhat like a worldview.

Your worldview won't directly affect what you eat today, but it will affect how you eat throughout your life.

The fact that the professors were willing to talk to him about these things, and even offered to do so, shows that they believed he needed to know.

Ordinary wizards may never encounter this level of teaching in their entire lives, because it is unnecessary; they are not at the level where they need to understand these things.

If you tell them that magic has a life of its own and that you should treat magic as a friend, they'll just think you're talking nonsense.

But the professors believed that Regulus needed to know that this was both a form of recognition and an expectation.

They believe he will reach that level in the future, so they are starting to lay the groundwork and guide him now, exposing him to these top-level designs in advance.

Regulus snapped out of his thoughts and reached the dormitory door. He pushed the door open and went in, with Avery and the others following behind.

Avery then leaned closer, his tone filled with curiosity: "Regulus, what did the professor say to you? I've been thinking about it the whole way here."

Alex looked over as well, and Hermes, sitting by his bedside, was also looking at him.

Regulus looked at the three of them, remained silent for a moment, then shook his head, his tone carrying a hint of indescribable emotion.

"Slughorn is a good professor."