Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 262 A Warm Dinner

Lesterrange Estate, outside Oxfordshire.

Even after nightfall, the manor was anything but tranquil.

It's not the kind of place that makes you want to take a walk in the moonlight; it's more like a giant beast lurking in the darkness, piled with stones, cold and icy.

The windows were narrow and tall, mostly dark, with only a few on the bottom floor letting in light. The light spilled out of the windows and fell on the lawn, but it didn't illuminate very far.

The restaurant is located on the first floor of the main building of the manor. Entering through the main entrance, you walk through a corridor paved with dark stone slabs, with portraits hanging on both sides of the corridor.

The people in the portraits are dressed in clothes from centuries ago, with different expressions, and their gazes are all directed toward the end of the corridor.

The restaurant was spacious, with long tables stretching from one end to the other, enough to seat thirty people, but only two were sitting there.

The tabletop was made of dark stone, polished smooth. White candles were inserted in candlesticks, and the flames danced on the tops of the candles. The light shining down from the candlesticks was just enough to illuminate the tabletop and the people around it.

Further out, the light seemed to be swallowed up by something, and the area outside the chair back was completely shrouded in shadow.

The magic fireplace was embedded in the south wall, the fire burning brightly, and the orange-red light danced at the fireplace opening, but only illuminated a small section of floor tile in front of the fireplace.

The heat from the flames drifted out, but upon encountering the darkness, it seemed to be sucked away, unable to reach the other side of the room.

Bellatrix sat at one end of the long table, her long, black curly hair cascading over her shoulders, with a few strands falling across her chest, making her skin appear coldly pale.

She wore a dark green velvet robe with dark silver lace trim at the neckline, and the buttons were fastened all the way up to her collarbone.

The robe fit her body tightly at the waist. She sat upright with her back not against the chair back. Her left hand rested on the table, her fingers long and slender, her nails painted dark red.

On the table was a silver plate containing roasted young chicken, charred to a crisp, accompanied by mushrooms and potatoes simmered in red wine.

The wine glass beside him was filled with deep red wine, the liquid gleaming dimly in the candlelight.

She cut off a piece of meat with her knife, put it in her mouth with her fork, chewed it three times, and swallowed it.

The movements were neither too fast nor too slow, and there was almost no sound as the food was being cut.

Rodolphus sat at the other end of the long table, dressed in a well-tailored dark gray robe with a silver Lestrange family badge on his collar, featuring a snake coiled around a sword with intricate dark patterns.

In front of him sat pan-fried lamb chops, served with roasted garlic and rosemary, the juices pooling in a dark ring at the bottom of the plate.

He used a knife to remove the meat from the bone, cut it into small square pieces, and put them into his mouth one by one.

When chewing, the mouth is closed and no sound is made.

His posture was as upright as Bella's, but more stiff, as if he were wearing an ill-fitting suit of armor.

The dining table was quiet; the sound of knives and forks touching the porcelain plates was faint and cold, and no one spoke.

The two were separated by the length of a table, on which candlesticks, vases, and silver condiment bottles were arranged in a row, like a dividing line.

A house-elf emerged from the shadows, moving slowly and crouching low, almost parallel to the ground.

A dark brown tea towel was wrapped around her body, its edges frayed, revealing her thin arms and legs.

It walked to Bella's chair, stopped, bent down even lower, its nose almost touching the stone slab, and raised its hands above its head, holding a silver tray with a letter on it.

Its voice squeezed out from its throat, thin and trembling: "Mistress...the letter..."

Bella ignored it, her gaze fixed on the plate in front of her. She picked up a piece of foie gras with her fork, put it in her mouth, chewed it twice, and swallowed it.

Pick up the napkin and wipe your mouth slowly, from left to right, then fold the napkin and put it back on the table.

Then she reached out and picked up the letter from the tray. The moment her fingers touched the paper, she recognized it.

This is the paper she mailed out last night.

Her expression changed; the color faded from her face, her lips pressed into a line, the corners of her mouth pressed down tightly, her eyelids drooped slightly, and her eyelashes obscured her pupils, making it impossible to see what was inside.

The little elf was still lying on the ground, his forehead pressed against the stone slab, his whole body trembling.

Bella unfolded the letter.

The first thing you see on the paper is a dark brown stain. It has dried, and the edges are curled up with tiny cracks. The color gets darker in concentric circles from the center outwards, and the darkest part is almost black.

Her first thought was blood.

Her pupils contracted slightly, her fingertips paused on the paper for a moment, then she lowered her head and sniffed it.

Dry tomato sauce.

Her face darkened completely. She took the letter away and looked down at its contents.

The dark red tomato sauce forms two letters, a capital S and a capital O, with no space between them.

The stroke "S" starts thick and ends with an upward flick, resulting in uneven edges because the tomato sauce shrinks after it dries.

The "O" is written in a round shape, with a trailing line at the end, as if the writer was impatient when writing the last stroke and just casually flicked it.

The two letters were followed by a question mark, with the dot of the question mark being very long and drooping downwards, like a drop of not-yet-dried tomato sauce about to drip down, but already dried.

SO?

Bella clenched the letter tightly, her breathing becoming heavy.

Her purpose in writing the letter was simple: to warn him, to give him a warning, to let him know that she was watching him.

SO?

Bella clenched the letter tightly, her breathing becoming heavy.

Her purpose in writing the letter was simple: to warn him, to give him a warning, to let him know that she was watching him.

She mentioned this during the holidays, saying that sheltering those two mixed-race people was unacceptable.

At the time, Regulus neither responded, made a promise, nor refused. She wanted to force him to make a statement, but Orion stopped her.

But in her heart, the matter was already settled.

Moreover, that was a minor matter, even a reminder to Regulus that she was watching him, that his master was watching him, was more meaningful than preventing the protection of those two half-bloods.

But Regulus didn't listen.

Since last week, the two half-bloods have been appearing at the heart of the Slytherin table, sitting next to Regulus. The patronage has gone from private to public, from a possibility to a fact.

When Bella learned about this, her first thought was confusion.

She didn't understand why Regulus did that.

They're just two mixed-race people; it's not worth it. The heirs of the Black family would gain nothing by sheltering two mixed-race individuals.

No one in the pureblood circle would think highly of him because of this, and Voldemort's side certainly wouldn't treat him any differently because of it.

She wrote that letter, carefully choosing her words; it contained warnings, threats, and an ultimatum.

She expected Regulus to at least give a response—an explanation, a defense, silence, or even a retort.

But Regulus only replied with, "So?"

She didn't care about the two mixed-race people; that was a minor matter. What she really wanted was Regulus's attitude.

She married Lestrange, but she still took the Black name. A married daughter doesn't mean the relationship is severed; that's not the logic of a pure-blood family.

Regulus is the heir to the Black family, and if she can keep him under her control, her influence within the family will be secure.

In front of Orion, in front of Walbug, and even in front of Voldemort, she was the one who could influence the future of the Black family.

The master will gain a completely controlled Black family, not only as an heir, but also with the vast resources accumulated by the Black family over hundreds of years.

Regulus's reply made her feel out of control; she took his obedience as an endorsement of her authority in front of Voldemort.

Regulus was disobedient, and she couldn't just explain it away by saying the child was opinionated.

She could only sense one thing: her authority had been challenged.

This is undoubtedly offensive.

The underlying logic of the pureblood core circle is very simple: hierarchy.

The Black family is indeed powerful, but she is the eldest daughter of the Black family, Regulus's cousin, and a member of Voldemort's inner circle.

In her mind, her writing letters was a way of superiors beating down, and Regulus's reply was like pulling her down from her superior position to look at her at eye level, or even looking down on her.

Her anger stemmed from a simpler and clearer reason: she understood that Regulus hadn't taken her words seriously at all.

Bella wasn't stupid; she knew Regulus was talented and that he was progressing quickly.

However, within her understanding, there is an upper limit to how a second-year wizard can be; no matter how strong they are, they are still just a junior wizard.

She was confident in her own power and had faith in Voldemort's power.

Why should a twelve-year-old child reply to her letter with such an attitude?

Unless, he has something she doesn't know about.

Once the thought popped into my head, even anger was suppressed.

She began to wonder, where did he get his confidence? Who was backing him up? Dumbledore? Or something else?

Then another emotion welled up from deeper within: fear.

Bella's feelings for Voldemort were not simply loyalty.

She was infatuated with him, an infatuation that ran deep in her bones. Seeing him, hearing him speak, or being looked at by him would make her tremble all over.

But she was also afraid of him, afraid of disappointing him, afraid that he would think she was incompetent, afraid that one day he would only look at her once and then never look at her again.

The word "loyalty" is too light; it cannot encompass her entirety.

She feared Voldemort would think she couldn't even control a child.

Regulus's reply was not only an offense to her, but also a denial of her abilities.

If Voldemort knew, he might think, "You can't handle the person you recommended."

Therefore, she had to suppress the matter before Voldemort found out, or interpret it as Regulus's problem, not hers.

She sat there, clutching the letter, her chest heaving violently, her breathing heavy, as if something was blocking her airway.

She was wrapped in a dark green velvet robe, the silver lace at the neckline gleaming coldly in the candlelight.

She stared at the "SO?", her lips twitching slightly before forming a cold, sharp smile.

Then she took a deep breath, lowered her shoulders, and her chest gradually calmed down.

She folded the letter and tucked it under her palm, then picked up her wine glass with her other hand and took a big gulp.

She wanted to personally deal with the families of those two half-blood wizards and teach Regulus a lesson he would never forget.

But as soon as the thought popped into her head, she suppressed it; she couldn't do that.

Once those two mixed-race family members are involved, the situation changes.

She got married, but she still took the surname Black, which is one of the foundations of her identity.

To mess with those two mixed-race family members is tantamount to slapping the Blake family in the face.

Regulus is the heir to the Black family, and to some extent, or when necessary, Regulus does what the Black family wants.

Orion will not tolerate this.

She could disregard Orion, but she couldn't disregard Voldemort.

Voldemort is still in the stage of winning over pure-blood families; it's not time for him to completely crush them yet.

House Black is one of the highest-ranking families among the Twenty-Eight Holy Families. Voldemort needs the support of House Black, or at least, he needs House Black not to openly oppose him.

If she were to put the Black family on the opposite side by disciplining her cousin, she wouldn't be highly regarded by Voldemort.

Voldemort wanted people who could get things done, not people who would cause him trouble.

More importantly, Voldemort's attitude toward Regulus was one of observation, not elimination; the Dark Inspiration was a test, not a judgment.

Voldemort wanted to see how far this Black family heir could go and whether he was worth winning over.

If she were to make the decision for Voldemort at this stage and kill the person Regulus was protecting, it would be tantamount to overstepping Voldemort's authority.

No matter how crazy she was, she wouldn't dare to make decisions for Voldemort.

There is also a more direct reason.

If she were to turn her attention to those two mixed-race family members, it would be tantamount to admitting that she couldn't do anything to Regulus and could only take her anger out on the people around him.

That would be so embarrassing.

She can be ruthless, but she cannot appear incompetent.

During the holidays, she planned to make Regulus face her again, in the living room of Black's old house, with Orion and Walbuga both present, and make him say "SO?" one more time.

She bet he wouldn't dare.

Bella stood up, the chair leg scraping against the floor with a short, sharp screech.

She folded the letter twice, clutched it in her hand, and turned to walk out.

The hem of her dark green robe swept across the ground, stirring up a gust of wind. The candlelight flickered, and her shadow slid across the table, disappearing into the darkness from the light.

Rodolphus never looked up from beginning to end. When Bella stood up, he was cutting up a pigeon; when Bella walked out, he was chewing on a pigeon.

As Bella's footsteps faded away, he swallowed his last bite, put down his knife and fork, and picked up a napkin to wipe his mouth.

Then he leaned back in his chair, turned his head, and glanced towards the corridor.

There was no one there anymore; only the firelight from the fireplace illuminated a small area.

He was silent for a moment, then raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

The house-elf was still huddled in the shadows next to the chair, his body bent over, his forehead almost touching the floor tiles, and his knees hitting the ground.

Rodolphus flicked his finger.

The little elf got up from the ground, ran over with small steps, stopped next to his chair, bent his body at a right angle, and pointed his nose at the floor tile.

"Owner."

"That letter just now," Rodolphs said in a flat, monotone voice, "what's going on?"

The elf's voice trembled: "Replying to Master...it's...it's a reply from the young master of the Black family."

"content."

The little elf trembled even more violently. It dared not look up, its voice broken and intermittent: "The reply...the reply...wrote...wrote two letters...S...O...and a question mark..."

Rodolphus didn't speak, but tapped his finger on the armrest of the chair.

The little elf hesitated for a moment, then lowered her voice even further: "The reply... seems to be from Tomato Sauce."

Rodolphus turned his head to look at the little elf, his expression unchanged, but a hint of surprise or amusement flashed in his eyes.

He was silent for a moment, then waved his hand.

The little elf bowed and disappeared.

Rodolph leaned back in his chair, looked at the empty seat across the long table, picked up his glass, took a sip, and put it down.

The Black family heir, a second-year student, replied to Bella with a "SO?" written in ketchup.

Bella was dismissed with ketchup by a twelve-year-old.

Rodolphus's lips twitched.

But in any case, this matter has nothing to do with him. Let the Black family handle their own internal affairs.

The Lestrange family doesn't get involved.

He picked up his knife and fork and continued eating.

She could disregard Regulus, but she couldn't disregard the surname Black.