Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

For the next two days, Snape began to follow Samuel and Lena.

They didn't follow him around all the time, as that would make him look suspicious; they just appeared at the right moments where they might be.

On the way from the cellar to the Great Hall before breakfast, in the corridor from the Great Hall back to the common room after lunch, and on the path from the side gate of the castle to the courtyard after class.

He memorized their route, including when they would take which road, how long it would take, whether they would stop, and where they would stop.

Then he discovered something: other people would occasionally appear around Samuel and Lena.

Alex Rozier watched them pass by from the corner of the corridor, with Avery Cuthbert trailing far behind.

Snape didn't care; they watched their own shows, he did his, each performing their own act without interfering with the others.

He wrote all of this down so he could tell Rabastan about it later.

Anyway, that's exactly what that young master wanted: someone chasing, someone running, someone watching—that's what makes it work.

Sunday morning.

In a corner of the Slytherin common room, Avery leaned back on a dark green velvet sofa, his legs crossed and his hands clasped on his stomach.

He tried to imitate Regulus's style, but he didn't quite get it right.

Avery was a bit tense, his back was too straight, his shoulders were hunched, trying to project an imposing presence, but he was getting a little tired of it.

He himself felt that he had a very imposing presence; when he sat there, he looked like a big shot.

Snape stood before him, his face so dark it could wring water out of it.

He knew it was an act, something for the people around him to see, but he still felt embarrassed to be called over and made to stand in front of everyone by a younger student.

He wanted to hate Avery, the Cuthbert's son, a second-year student, a year below him, who sat there putting on airs and made him stand.

But he couldn't bring himself to hate him. It was his own choice, and he would be rewarded for standing here.

He didn't hate Rabastan either, because he was an idiot, so stupid that he couldn't see that the whole thing was a show for him.

Hating an idiot is a waste of your emotions.

He only hated that he had no power, and that he could only stand here.

But he knew that standing now was so that he wouldn't have to stand anymore in the future.

He swallowed his anger, his face still grim.

Avery didn't offer him a seat; the sofa opposite was empty, but Snape remained standing without Avery speaking.

He's the young master of the Cuthbert family, even if he's only in his second year, even if his magic is just so-so.

But his last name is Cuthbert, and if he makes a mixed-race person stand, then that mixed-race person has to stand.

In Slytherin's logic, this makes perfect sense.

There were a few people in the common room.

Two fourth-grade girls were sitting near the fireplace, flipping through a magazine. Their gazes drifted over here briefly before returning to their own.

Near the middle, a sixth-grade boy was writing something, his quill pen scratching on the parchment, without looking up.

A few younger students huddled on a sofa some distance away, whispering to each other, their eyes glancing this way every now and then.

Avery's voice wasn't loud; he lowered his voice to make it sound deep: "Those two are Blake's men. Mind your own business."

Snape didn't say anything.

Avery stared at him for a moment, then raised his chin slightly: "If I see you with them again, you'll have to face the consequences."

Snape remained silent.

Avery waited a while, but received no response. He then curled his lip slightly and said, "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you." Snape's voice was wooden and dry.

Avery stared at him for a while, then waved his hand as if shooing away a fly.

Sunday afternoon, before dinner.

The corner of the corridor not far from the common lounge was dimly lit, with torches spaced far apart, so the light couldn't reach this corner.

Rabastan stood there, arms crossed, chin slightly raised, leaning against the wall in a condescending posture.

He wore a dark robe today, with the Lestrange family crest pinned to the collar, and his hair was neatly combed back, revealing his forehead.

Snape stood opposite him, his tone flat and emotionless: "Those two are tight-lipped. We asked them to their faces, and they wouldn't say a word."

Rabastan didn't speak, he just looked at him, silent for a moment, then silent again.

He wanted to create a sense of oppression, a silence that only exists when a superior puts pressure on a subordinate.

This made him feel like a big shot, a big shot who could get things done, a big shot who needed his subordinates to report to him.

This silence made him feel incredibly powerful.

Snape lowered his head, not wanting him to see the twitching corner of his mouth that he couldn't suppress: "After tracking and observing them, we found that there were always people watching them, Rozier and Cuthbert, appearing in turn."

Snape took a breath, composed himself, and then looked up: "Cuthbert warned me in the common room to mind my own business."

He said those two were Blake's men, and anyone who touched them would be in trouble.

"That's all?" Rabastan finally spoke, his tone tinged with impatience.

Snape nodded. "That's all."

Rabastan's expression changed, as if he could no longer keep up the act.

He intended to give a profound response, listen, slowly nod, say "I understand," and then let Snape leave.

But he already knew all of this that Snape was talking about.

He sent Snape to inquire, hoping to find out more, but what Snape reported was the same as what he already knew.

What was the point of him sending Snape?

Wouldn't that make his arrangements seem completely useless?

Snape looked up and glanced at him.

Rabastan's expression had dropped; his feigned profound silence had shattered, and his irritation was written all over his face, which he couldn't even be bothered to hide.

"There's another way," Snape said.

Labastan frowned: "What method?"

"Truth serum."

Rabastan's eyes narrowed slightly.

Snape's tone remained flat and even: "I worked as an assistant in Slughorn's office, I've seen the recipe, and I can make it."

Rabastan stared at him without saying a word. They were in the same grade, and he knew Snape's potion-making skills.

Snape continued, "The finished product costs five hundred gallons, but if you make it yourself, the material cost will be around three hundred."

Rabastan's eyebrows furrowed even more.

Seeing his hesitation, Snape added, "The brewing process requires waiting for the lunar phase, the full moon in two weeks. Any later and it will be a holiday."

Labastan remained silent for a long time.

Three hundred Galleons was nothing to him; he could easily find it in his pocket.

However, Truth Potion is not an ordinary potion, and if it is discovered that someone is using it on students, it will be a serious matter.

A scene suddenly popped into his mind.

Bellatrix.

Her black curly hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a long velvet robe draped over her chest, accentuating her curves. Her neckline was low, revealing a section of her collarbone and the glistening skin below.

But the dark silver lace button at the neckline was fastened tightly, neither too high nor too low, just enough to cover the most vulnerable spot.

He stared at that button many times, wondering when it would come undone.

As she turned around, the lines of her hip bones were faintly visible beneath her robe. Her waist twisted slightly, but it was enough to keep him watching for a long time.

His throat was dry, and he had only one thought in his mind: to get closer, to smell her scent, and to see her neckline droop down when she bent over in front of him.

She was his elder brother's wife, and he should call her sister-in-law, but his relationship with her was never close, and there was no love between them.

If he could find Blake's secret, and find evidence of what the heir that Bella cared about was really doing.

If Bella knew he had accomplished this, would she give him a second glance?

When we pass each other in the hallway, will I not treat him like a child, but like a man?

He swallowed hard and pressed the images down.

It's not the right time yet.

Rabastan looked at Snape again.

Three hundred Galleons—the cost of materials. Snape, a half-blood, was dirt poor; his robes were even worn out at the cuffs. His eyes would light up at the sight of three hundred Galleons.

He saw right through him; this guy was trying to make a quick buck.

Rabastan's lips twitched into a smug grin.

"I'll buy the ingredients, you just need to cook it." His voice returned to its condescending tone.

Snape's expression didn't change, but his eyes flickered, as if he had been seen through and was momentarily flustered, a little annoyed, a little unwilling.

Rabastan caught that look in his eyes and became even more certain.

Sure enough, this poor guy was just trying to scam money, and he saw through his scheme.

"Fine." Snape's voice remained calm, but his expression darkened, as if his objective had not been achieved.

Then he began to list the materials: "Moonflower juice, three ounces, collected on a full moon night, the best of the best; African tree snakeskin, one ounce, dried and ground into powder."

Half an ounce of the horn of a five-legged monster, ground into powder; twelve fresh mistletoe berries, or twenty dried ones; and two ounces of sap of sap.

Standard ingredients: distilled water, crucible wax.

Rabastan listened, his brow furrowed.

Snape continued: "Prepare an extra portion of moonflower juice, an extra portion of African tree snake skin, and an extra half portion of five-legged monster horns. It's the first time I've made this, so I'm afraid of making a mistake."

Rabastan stared at him for a few moments; all these extra items added up to over two hundred Galleons.

He was almost about to ask, "What does this have to do with me if it's your first time staying up late?"

But he swallowed the words back down his throat.

Truth Potion is a high-level potion, but it's nothing special for the Lestrange family; they can easily find it by rummaging through their potion cabinet.

But he can't take it from home. His older brother is now the head of the family, and he'll ask, "What do you need the truth serum for?"

What could he say?

He said he wanted to know what the Black family heir was up to at school?

Or is it that he wants to show off in front of his sister-in-law?

Buying it outside won't work either; those shops in Diagon Alley have records of who sells truth serum.

It's all very clear who bought it, what they bought, and when they bought it.

What is the young master of the Lestrange family planning to do by buying truth serum?

So Snape's suggestion is perfect.

He provided the ingredients, Snape brewed the potions, and when things went wrong, Snape took the blame.

He was just a kind-hearted young master buying materials for his poor classmates. Who knew that Snape would take the materials to brew a Truth Potion? And give it to his students?

He knew nothing about it.

As Rabastan thought about this, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly upwards.

His mind works incredibly fast; he thinks everything through perfectly, leaving no room for error.

He suppressed his smugness and put on that serious expression again.

He nodded, said "Wait," then turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, fading into the distance.

Snape stood at the corner of the corridor, head down, a slight upturn of his lips that he quickly reversed.

Five hundred Galleons—he had never seen so much money in his life, and the materials for five hundred Galleons were the same.

Truth serum? Where did you get truth serum?

It's just fooling idiots.

The materials are real, the price is real, and the waste is real, but the truth serum is definitely not real.

Rabastan would buy double the ingredients; he would use a little to make a pot of something that looked like truth serum, and the rest would end up in his pocket.

Those materials will be exchanged for money, or brewed into potions and then exchanged for money; in short, they won't stay in our hands.

Perhaps after this incident, the Black family will have his potions on display in their potions shop in Diagon Alley.

The bottle bears his mark, a sealing rune, and a small engraving on the shoulder of the bottle.

Snape discovered the truth: there are fools among purebloods, and not only there, there may be many.

He used to look up at these people, feeling that he could never reach them.

Now he looked down and found them still standing there, their minds blank.

This is the case in Labastan, and it will happen to others in the future.

The thought made his chest feel hot, but the heat subsided in less than two seconds.

Because he thought of Blake again. What could he have done if Blake hadn't handed him the opportunity?

He won't even have a chance to lie.

That's not right either. He can still fool people, but what happens after he does?

To be discovered, and then to be retaliated against?

It was Blake who pushed Rabastan into his path, and it was Blake who made the deception a reality.

He was simply taking what was rightfully his in his role.

He thought he saw through the purebloods' stupidity, but what good did it do?

He was still being pushed along, only the person pushing him had changed.

He completely suppressed the slight smile on his lips, turned around, and left.