Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on Tuesday afternoon was filled with the smell of old leather and dust.

Regulus sat in the third row of the Slytherin section, looking at Professor Galatea Melos, who claimed to be a former adventurer, on the podium.

He was using exaggerated gestures to explain how to identify and avoid Grindylo in the swamp.

"...And then, remember, children! If you see bubbles on the water and hear giggling, back off immediately! Grindelwald loves to drag lone wizards into the water!"

Mellors waved his wand, conjuring a blurry image of a water monster in the air; clearly, he had not prepared a living teaching aid.

Tom Riddle, Regulus thought to himself, Voldemort, the Dark Lord, cursed the position simply because he wasn't chosen as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

From then on, no professor could serve for more than a year; they either met with misfortune, were forced to resign, or simply disappeared.

A childish and cruel revenge.

What's even more ridiculous is that this curse seems to actually affect the quality of teaching.

Perhaps the professors subconsciously knew this was a cursed position, so they just went through the motions.

Or perhaps they fear that the better the teaching, the stronger the curse.

Regulus looked toward the podium, where Melos was demonstrating how to use flashing lights to dispel shadowy creatures in dark corners, but the light of the spell flickered, as if to say that he himself was not paying attention.

The first-year curriculum is shockingly superficial, consisting of identifying a few low-level dark creatures, learning basic defensive gestures, and memorizing a few safety rules.

These things were covered in the first two chapters of "Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Defense," and the remaining time should have been used to practice practical coping skills.

But there was no practice, because Melis didn't teach it, and the students in the classroom didn't think anything was wrong; on the contrary, they were quite happy.

It's better not to take this lousy class; self-study is better than this.

......

The library is perhaps the quietest place in Hogwarts, where there are no noisy little wizards.

Regulus nodded to Mrs. Pince at the entrance, receiving a serious look in return.

He headed straight for the section on magical theory and history.

Since enrolling, my physical fitness has been continuously improved, and the results have been remarkable.

But Regulus noticed a bottleneck.

The body is a container for the soul. The soul can be enlarged, but if the water level doesn't increase accordingly, it's just an empty shell.

Pointless.

The source of a wizard's power is magic, and according to mainstream theory, magic originates from the soul and is expressed through spiritual will.

So, can the mind itself be trained?

He stopped in front of the bookshelf, his gaze sweeping over the spines of the books.

These books are mostly introductory texts on meditation, mental focus, and Occupation techniques. The content is simple, but the direction is correct.

Regulus pulled out a book titled "Consciousness and Magic: Ancient Meditation Techniques".

The book was thin, its parchment cover worn and frayed. He opened it and saw the title of the first chapter:

Wizards alter reality not through magic, but through the power of their will.

He continued reading.

Ancient sorcerers like Niven believed that magic was a bridge connecting the inner world with external reality.

A strong will can leave its mark on the real world through this bridge.

Weather magic alters celestial phenomena, and war magic distorts the environment; essentially, it is the wizard's will forcibly rewriting reality through magical mediums.

"Therefore, the strength of a wizard lies not only in the amount of magic they possess, but also in the strength and clarity of their will, and their resonance with reality."

resonance?

Regulus closed the book and fell into deep thought.

Why can some wizards easily cast advanced magic, while others struggle even with a levitation spell?

What else is there besides age, knowledge, wisdom, and magic?

He thought of Dumbledore, the greatest white wizard of the century, whom Regulus knew was especially skilled in transfiguration.

The original text makes no mention of it, but he believed that Dumbledore could alter the weather and landscape, and even more.

When magic can achieve this level of power, wouldn't that be considered rewriting reality with willpower?

Voldemort, on the other hand, had magic that represented the other extreme.

Perhaps it's a tear?

The Cruciatus Curse tears apart the feeling of pain, the Avada Kedavra Curse tears apart the life bond, and even Horcruxes tear apart one's own soul.

These things can wait until he has the ability to think about them. Right now, he needs to find a way to strengthen his spirit.

He continued his search, turning over almost the entire bookshelf, and finally, at the very bottom of the corner, he found a small booklet with a faded cover, barely legible:

Astrological Meditation: Spiritual Extension Through Stargazing

The author's signature is unclear, but there is a line of handwritten notes on the title page:

Those who gaze at the stars have a vision that extends beyond the earth; the trajectories of the stars are the writing of the universe. Imitate them, understand them, and ultimately resonate with them.

Another instance of resonance?

This is the one.

"Blake?"

A hushed voice came from the bookshelf next to him. Regulus looked up and saw Lily Evans standing in the aisle between the two rows of bookshelves.

She was carrying a stack of books, the top one of which was "Analysis of the Toxicity of Common Magical Plants".

"Miss Evans." Regulus closed the book "Astrological Meditation" in his hand and tucked it behind a thicker book.

I'll hide it for now and retrieve it later.

"Are you looking for information?" Lily moved closer, her green eyes looking at him curiously. "I heard... you said something very interesting in Charms class."

Regulus raised an eyebrow slightly: "What did you say?"

"Memories of Hogwarts." Lily put the book she was holding on the table next to her and stretched her sore arms. "Someone said that if you tell your classmates that thirty years from now, the people we'll miss most are the ones we used to copy homework with."

"When this reached the Gryffindor common room, many people thought it wasn't something a Slytherin would say."

Did I say that? Regulus was slightly speechless. I said something else, but all you heard was "copying homework".

"This statement doesn't need to be divided by college, and I'm stating the facts."

When you recall your elementary school days—I mean, Muggle elementary school—what do you remember most clearly? Is it what rank you got on a test, or a classmate sharing their umbrella with you on a rainy day?

Lily paused for a moment, then laughed: "It's an umbrella. I forgot to bring it when I was in first grade, and Martha Cotton moved her big floral umbrella over for me. We both got half our shoulders wet, but we laughed all the way to the school gate."

"You see," Regulus nodded, a hint of a smile in his eyes, "magic won't change these things. Wizards are human too, just with magical powers."

Lily looked at him, her eyes lighting up with excitement: "You're not the Slytherin I imagined."

Regulus looked at Lily but didn't answer her question. Instead, he asked, "Do you know why the four houses have to take classes together separately?"

Lily thought for a moment: "So...we can get to know each other?"

"One reason, and more practically, is that there will be no more colleges or departments after graduation."

If you join the Ministry of Magic in the future, your colleagues might be Slytherin; if you go to St. Mungo's, your attending physician might be Ravenclaw.

When you go shopping, the shopkeeper might be a Hufflepuff; if you become an Auror, your target might be a Gryffindor.

College is a label from one's student days, not a lifelong mark.

Lily was silent for a few seconds, then said softly, "Thank you for telling me all this. I had never thought about it before."

"Actually, everyone is different," Regulus said seriously. "The academy is just a general classification, and we shouldn't blindly follow it."

There are narrow-minded people in Ravenclaw, ambitious people in Hufflepuff, and in Slytherin...

Lily chimed in, "Are there people who know how to share umbrellas?"

Regulus's lips curled up slightly: "Perhaps."

Lily Evans was personally recognized by Slughorn as a potions prodigy, a fact established in the original works, and her talent was comparable to that of Severus Snape.

My future path will inevitably require the support of high-level potions. Some needs can be openly sought from Slughorn, but those more secretive matters clearly require a more reliable private collaborator.

Slughorn is a good man, but he's a shrewd intelligence broker, and any request will become fodder for conversation in his club.

Snape could be driven by self-interest, exchanging knowledge and secrets, but such relationships were built on a dangerous balance that would crumble once interests clashed.

Snape was never a good guy.

True friendship based on mutual respect is the most solid framework.

Moreover, Lily Evans herself is one of the key figures in this magical world.

In the future storyline, she almost plays a pivotal role, connecting the past and the future.

She is a successful example of a Muggle-born person in the wizarding world, the mother of Harry Potter, a key figure in the future, and the emotional core of many tragedies and turning points in the original works.

To establish a friendship with her is like threading your own line into the fabric of this world.

When he ever truly needs a potion that no one knows about, and an absolutely reliable helper, Regulus is almost certain that she will help.