Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 287 Shouting and Making a List

Regulus watched Sirius walk over from the crowd.

He wore a black leather jacket over a dark gray sweatshirt, with a white T-shirt peeking out from the collar. His jeans were tucked into black Doc Martens, and his hair was loose and slightly disheveled by the wind.

He was dressed as a Muggle, but it didn't look out of place on him; in fact, it was quite pleasing to the eye.

The last time Sirius was at this station, he looked miserable and resentful, his brows furrowed, as if the whole world owed him something.

This time it was better; he took bigger steps, his shoulders weren't hunched over, and although he didn't have much of a smile on his face, he didn't have that expression that said he was ready to fight the whole world.

Sirius walked up to him and stopped.

When Kreacher saw Sirius, his body visibly stiffened.

Its long ears twitched twice, then it quickly resumed its standard respectful posture and bowed.

"Young Master," Kreacher's voice trembled slightly, tinged with excitement, "You're home too... Master and Mistress will be so happy!"

Sirius's lips twitched, a forced smile.

He didn't believe a word Kreacher said, but he couldn't be bothered to correct him.

Happy?

If Volbuga saw him, he would probably just snort coldly; Orion might give him a second glance, or he might not.

But Kreacher thought they would be happy.

Kreacher straightened up, extended his fingers, and prepared to touch the two men's trouser legs.

Sirius moved aside.

Kreacher's finger froze in mid-air. He looked up at Sirius, his eyes filled with confusion: "Young Master?"

Sirius ignored it and turned to look at Regulus.

He has a complete aversion to the species of house-elves.

It wasn't directed at Kreacher Benche; Kreacher just happened to be a house-elf, happened to be from the Black family, and happened to have been running around with him since he was a child.

He disliked the way these creatures existed, devoid of self and freedom, driven by instinct to obey and taking enslavement as their calling.

This thing made him feel uncomfortable all over.

"You said last time," Sirius stared at Regulus, his tone casual, "Apparition is the basic introduction to spatial distortion."

Regulus glanced at him, knowing what he was about to say.

"Let me experience it."

Regulus's lips twitched slightly.

Good idea.

Apparition was practically as easy for Regulus as walking.

During the journey, his perception of space changed from an initial rough feeling of compression to precise, quantifiable structural information.

With each apparition, space has a shape in his perception; he can sense where it contracts and expands, the degree of contraction, and the speed of expansion.

Taking people with you is certainly not difficult; the attendants can be made visible, which is easy to do. The key lies in the passenger experience.

He can minimize the space compression process and make the passageway as smooth as possible, so that passengers are less uncomfortable.

Alternatively, the process of compressing and stretching space can be unfolded layer by layer, allowing passengers to fully experience every force exerted on them by the space.

"Would you like to experience something smooth or something turbulent?" Regulus asked.

Sirius Black paused, then frowned. "What do you mean? Apparition has this kind of distinction?"

He opened his mouth to ask, "Stable is—"

'

Before he could finish asking, Regulus grabbed his arm, his fingers tightening, and told Kreacher, "Go back yourself."

""

The next moment, the space contracted.

The first thing Sirius felt was ear pressure; something was pinching his head from the outside in, causing his temples to swell and his ears to buzz.

Then it's the body, starting from the chest and squeezing inwards, the air in the lungs is being pushed out layer by layer, trying to inhale but unable to, as if the entire chest cavity is being squeezed.

The sensation on the skin is the strangest, like a thousand fingers pressing in from all directions at the same time. It doesn't hurt, but it's so dense that it makes you want to shiver.

It didn't last long, maybe two or three seconds, but during those two or three seconds, he felt like a tube was being inserted into him, and the tube was being twisted, and as it was being twisted, it was also shrinking.

Regulus gave it a medium level.

It wasn't to torment him, though maybe a little, but mainly to let him fully experience the process of spatial travel.

If everything is kept as stable as possible, most of the spatial changes will be smoothed out, and you won't feel anything even if you pass through, which would be like coming for nothing.

Leave some wrinkles and some compression so that his body remembers what it feels like to travel through space. This will become the most direct reference for him to learn Apparition in the future.

Regulus himself felt nothing at all; it was as if he had taken a step.

Baruch in his arms didn't react much either.

Last time, he deliberately reduced the pressure to a minimum, and the spider still gagged for a while, but at least it didn't spray out any spider silk.

I've pretty much gotten used to it this time.

So the only one who is truly suffering is Sirius.

Landing on the steps outside Gate 12 of Grimaldo Place.

Sirius was bent over, his hands on his knees, making a series of muffled sounds in his throat.

He took almost half a minute to straighten up, his face was a little pale, and there was a little saliva on the corner of his mouth from when he was gagging.

He looked at Regulus, baring his teeth: "Is this stable or unstable?"

Regulus stood to the side, his robes perfectly smooth, his breathing even, his hands hanging at his sides, a faint smile on his face, the corners of his mouth slightly curved.

"Things are relatively stable," he said.

Sirius glared at him, spitting out a swear word: "Shift!"

A thin layer of frost covered the iron railings in front of the gate, and a few withered grasses squeezed out from the cracks in the stone slabs on the steps. The black gate stood silently in the night.

The door opened from the inside, and Kreacher came out, bowing and stepping aside: "Young masters, please come in."

Sirius glanced at the open door, then at Kreacher, and then at Regulus.

He frowned, his eyes clear, his face full of confusion: "Why not just go inside?"

Regulus glanced at him, shook his head slightly, did not answer, and stepped inside.

Stupid question.

If Apparition could get into the Blake family's old house, that would be terrible!

The anti-Apparition Charm at 12 Grimmauld Place has been reinforced over generations, effectively locking the entire house in place.

His Starry Sky Kite could force its way through, but that was an exception. Ordinary Phantom Teleportation couldn't get in, and he didn't want to disturb that layer of defense every time he went home.

Sirius didn't know this kind of thing. It just goes to show that he really didn't listen to any of the Black history stories that Walbuga told him when he was a child.

Not only that, they lack common sense, and not only do they lack common sense, they also don't use their brains.

Sirius made a face behind him, his mouth twisted, and then followed him inside.

Kreacher closed the door behind him, the lock clicking shut with a soft thud that echoed down the hallway.

It was already dark. The fireplace in the foyer was burning, and the green flames illuminated the portraits on the wall in a dim light, as Blake's ancestors looked towards the doorway.

Footsteps came from the direction of the living room, and Walbuga walked over from the other end of the corridor.

She wore a dark green robe with the Black family crest embroidered on her left breast and a Sirius brooch pinned to her collar, which flashed briefly in the firelight.

Her clothes were impeccable, her makeup was perfect, and her hair was styled in a neat updo without a single stray hair; there was nothing wrong with her at all.

Even at home, the lady of the Black family maintained her elegance.

In the past, when Regulus came home, Volbuga would almost always run to greet him.

Her steps were hurried, her voice loud, and her outstretched hand seemed to carry the wind, as if she wanted to pull her son into her arms, chanting "My Rael" and "My good son" repeatedly.

This time she didn't run away.

She came out of the living room, walking at a moderate pace, and stopped in the middle of the hallway. She folded her hands in front of her, held her chin up, and turned her lips away, her gaze fixed on Regulus with a deliberate air of composure.

"Regulus," she said, her voice lacking its former fervor, "you're back."

She came up and hugged me, putting her arm around my head and giving me a loose hug, as if she were performing a ritual.

Then let go, take half a step back, and there's a sense in the light that says, "You know why I'm like this."

Regulus stood there, letting her embrace him and let her release him, his expression unchanged from beginning to end.

He saw right through her scheme.

Because of what happened with Bella, because she felt he should listen to her more, and listen to Bella more, now that he's back, she wants him to know she's unhappy.

She doesn't say it directly, but expresses it through this attitude.

She thought that restraining her enthusiasm was punishment, and that reducing her attention was putting pressure on him. It seemed that as long as she didn't act so eager, he would panic, take the initiative to explain, and give in.

But she didn't know that her son didn't need her enthusiasm, nor was he afraid of her indifference.

She probably doesn't realize that her methods only work on those who genuinely care about her feelings.

Whoever cares will be led by the nose; if you don't care, it's just a performance, not even clever.

In fact, no one in this family, except Kreacher, cared.

But he wouldn't say it; there was no need, and besides, she was his mother.

It doesn't affect his interactions with her.

He knew exactly what she wanted, what she cared about, and where her bottom line was, and he could always give her a satisfactory response.

Sirius stood on the other side of the foyer, his back against the wall, his hands in his jacket pockets.

He watched this scene with a slight smile on his lips, as if he were enjoying a good show.

He knew all too well how Walbuga used to greet Regulus—the way she practically wanted to use a megaphone spell to let all the wizards in London know her son was back, rushing over to hug him and pulling him into her arms.

He found it disgusting.

What's going on now?

He mentally compared this incident to what Regulus had said by the lake.

He'll be busy during the holiday; he needs to calm down.

Then Volbuga greeted Regulus with this attitude, the two things being too close together.

Is that all there is to it?

Wolbuja?

wrong.

What Walbuga cared about most was the Black family's reputation and the honor of purebloods.

Regulus had never embarrassed her in these matters, at least not to his knowledge.

Who is she giving that look to?

So Regulus must have done something she knew about but disapproved of, but he just didn't know what it was.

He thought about it for a while, but couldn't come up with an answer.

I decided to stop thinking about it. Anyway, I'm home now. Regulus said we'll talk about it when we get home, so I'll just ask him later.

Walbuga released Regulus and turned to walk towards the dining room: "Dinner is ready."

He didn't look at Sirius once the entire time.

Sirius was happy to relax. After Walbuga had walked away, he sidled up to Regulus and, in a low, sarcastic voice, said, "Baby Regulus, does Mommy not like you anymore?"

His expression was extremely irritating, with raised eyebrows, a smirk, and eyes full of mockery.

Regulus ignored him and walked straight into the living room.

They're making a big fuss now, but we'll have to make a list later.