Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 289 My younger brother is taller than me?

Sirius Black pushed open the door to his room.

The sheets were clean, the tabletop was dust-free, the curtains were drawn, the fireplace was not lit, and it was cold.

Kreacher kept cleaning, making sure every corner was spotless even if the room's owner wasn't coming back.

When Sirius came back last time, he thought this room was a showroom, displaying traces of the Black family's thirteen years as the eldest son.

But those marks had nothing to do with him, or rather, he didn't want to have anything to do with them.

On the bedside table sat a silver photo frame containing a picture of him when he was three years old. He was wearing a formal little suit and was grinning at him, looking so happy.

There were several books on the bookshelf that Walburga had chosen: "The Pureblood Family Etiquette Guide," "The History of the Black Family," and "Noble Bloodlines." He hadn't opened any of them, and the gold lettering on the spines was still as good as new.

Next to him were his own belongings: an old set of broomstick maintenance tools, several photos of him and James taken at Hogwarts, and a well-worn copy of "Quidditch Origins".

The two piles of things were placed side by side, clearly distinct; one half represented the person the Blake family wanted him to be, and the other half represented the person he himself wanted to be.

He used to find these things annoying, feeling that the room was a constant reminder to him that he was Blake's eldest son and that he couldn't escape it.

Now, when he looks at the same things, he feels less agitated.

He went inside, his fingers gliding across the bookshelves.

He remembered when he was five years old, Regulus was building blocks on the floor of this room.

They were still young then, and hadn't separated yet.

Regulus's tower was tall and stable. He kicked it, and the tower collapsed. Regulus glanced at him, said nothing, and started building it all over again.

He kicked it again.

Regulus glanced at him again, but said nothing, and started building again from the beginning.

The third time, he didn't kick it. Instead, he squatted down and helped him build a piece, which was crooked and uneven. Regulus straightened it.

Looking back now, those were probably some of the few warm memories they shared.

He didn't know why he thought of this.

Sirius withdrew his hand, walked to the window, and drew back the curtains.

Night fell through the glass of Grimoire Place, and a few streetlights were on in the square in front of it, their dim light illuminating only a small patch of ground.

Three or four Muggle kids were playing soccer. They were short, wearing thick coats, and ran clumsily. The ball was kicked into the bushes, and one kid crawled in to retrieve it while the others shouted from outside.

The sound came in through the glass, muffled and indistinct.

Sirius leaned against the window frame and watched for a while.

Muggle kids, kicking a ball, running around, simple.

They don't need to care about pure blood or mixed blood, they don't need to be taught how important bloodlines are, and they don't need to think about the war situation.

He didn't feel envious at all; he just felt that the scene looked very distant.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place is shrouded in magic; those outside cannot see inside, but those inside can see outside.

He stood here the whole time, looking over there.

Sirius watched for a while, then lowered the curtains, turned around, took a few steps, and threw himself onto the bed.

My back slammed onto the mattress, and my body bounced.

He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

There were several small cracks on the ceiling, stretching from one end to the other, just like in his childhood memories, unchanged.

Quiet.

The whole old house was quiet, the kind of quiet that belonged to the Blake family, heavy and oppressive, making you afraid to breathe too loudly.

He used to hate this silence, feeling it was a net that swallowed all sound, making it hard to breathe.

Lying on this bed now, listening to the silence, I don't feel anything particularly special.

I don't hate that much, and I certainly don't like it; I'm just quiet.

After a while, he got up and opened the wardrobe.

Hanging inside were several old robes, some dark, some light, all embroidered with the Black family crest on the collar, still the size he wore when he was twelve.

I didn't prepare a new one for him.

Of course, Walbuga wouldn't prepare anything for him.

Sirius pulled out a dark robe that he could barely fit into, draped it over his body, and put his arms inside the sleeves.

The collar was so tight it constricted my neck, and the seams on the shoulders were taut. When I raised my arms, my armpits ached from the pulling.

He pursed his lips and shouted.

If you're not going to provide preparation, then you're not going to provide it. Who cares?

He didn't look in the mirror, tugged at his collar a couple of times but couldn't open it, so he just ignored it, pushed the door open and went out.

Regulus returned to his room and took the Baruch out of his arms, placing it on his desk.

Baruch stood on the table with his eight legs, turning his head from left to right and from right to left. His two chelicerae opened and closed with a click, and his eight eyes scanned the entire room.

It raised its front legs and tentatively tapped the table twice, click.

"This is my lair," Regulus said.

Baruch clicked twice more, then suddenly bounced on the table, all eight of his legs leaving the ground at the same time, landing in a different direction.

It climbed to the corner of the table, reached the edge, poked half its body out to look down, then pulled back, and jumped towards the windowsill, landing on it and placing its paws on the glass to look outside.

Outside was Grimmauld Place, with streetlights, cobblestone streets, human cubs, and the windows of the row of houses across the street were dark.

Baruch jumped from the windowsill back onto the table, landing softly, his hairy legs tucking in and out again.

It circled the ink bottle on the table, stopped next to the notebook, and opened and closed its chelipeds twice, making a clicking sound.

"Stay here," Regulus tapped its carapace. "Don't wander off."

Baruch raised his front leg and gestured in the air.

I'll bring you some food later.

Click.

Baruch found a corner on the table, curled up, tucked his eight legs under his body, and turned into a fluffy ball.

Everything is settled.

Regulus pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk.

The rune box given by Orion lay quietly in the corner, its dark wood surface and runes subtly engraved, showing no outward signs of abnormality.

He took the box out.

The moment I held it, even through the protective runes and multiple layers of magical structure, that feeling still emanated from it.

The bone box inside has a presence; it's heavy and dense, like it's supporting a living, breathing thing. You can feel its presence even through the box.

At the same time, the containment chamber deep within consciousness reacted, and the virtual personality became active.

Regulus glanced inside along the mental connection.

Inside the containment room, the pure white hexagonal room remained unchanged, with no doors or windows, only four walls and a ceiling.

The virtual persona squatted in the middle of the room, its hair disheveled, and used magic to draw a bunch of crooked runes on the ground.

The runes were drawn and erased, erased and drawn again, from left to right, from right to the wall above, and then from the wall back to the ground.

The research materials I imported from Dark Awakening last time have long been used up. What could be disassembled has been disassembled, what could be analyzed has been analyzed, and what could be simulated has been simulated.

There's nothing left for it to study now.

It's going crazy.

Like the rage of a research fanatic locked in an empty room and cut off from supplies, their curiosity and desire to delve into things are blocked, they are pent up and can't get out, so they can only vent their anger on the walls and the floor.

At this moment, it finally sensed the existence of the bone box outside. It raised its head, moved closer to the wall, pressed its face against it, flattened its nose, gleamed in its eyes, and scratched the white inner wall with its fingernails.

It knew there was movement over there, knew there was something good there, but couldn't reach it, and mumbled something unintelligible.

Regulus overheard through the filter and heard something along the lines of, "I know you're outside," "Give me," "Give me some more," "I haven't finished researching," "There's still a lot I don't understand."

The tone was urgent and anxious, but the underlying logic was still research-driven. It wasn't begging for power; it was asking for materials.

This setting is correct.

But its magic was a little darker than when it was last checked, with a thin layer of the bone box's characteristic corrosive shadow on the edges, clinging to the surface of the magic.

Completely unaware of its own actions, it continued scraping the wall.

Regulus withdrew from observation.

It really should be done again.

The amount imported last time was too small. The virtual personality digested it all in half a month, and then it just idled for more than three months. The research efficiency dropped to zero, and I could only go crazy.

After finishing our business with Orion, we'll extract a batch of materials from the bone box and import them into the containment chamber.

This time, we can increase the quantity, control the filter layer parameters carefully, and give the virtual personality more time to process it.

Moreover, it will be useful for the dinner party.

He put the rune box back in the drawer and closed it.

Baruch lay on the corner of the table, his eight eyes watching his movements, his chelicerae opening and closing slightly, without making a sound.

Regulus ignored it, changed into a dark house robe, straightened his collar, and went out the door.

In the hallway, Sirius Black also came out of his room.

His old robe was so tight it made him look awkward all over; he was pulling at the collar with one hand, his neck was crooked, and his face was full of disgust.

He saw Regulus, loosened his hand from his collar, and his gaze first fell on Regulus's shoulder, then moved up to the top of Regulus's head, and then back to the shoulder.

He took two steps toward Regulus, stood side by side with him, gestured with his hand above his head, and then swung it horizontally toward Regulus.

Then he stopped, and Sirius discovered something that made him very unhappy.

Regulus seems to be taller than him.

He gestured with his shoulder again.

Regulus's shoulders were also a bit wider than his, and the shape of their robes was different. His old robe was stretched because it was too small, while Regulus's robe was stretched because of his frame.

Sirius's lips twitched downwards slightly.

How did this guy grow up like this?

Eating at Hogwarts, in the same dining hall, with the same food, could Slytherin eat better than Gryffindor?

Is a cellar more conducive to health than a tower?

Or did this guy secretly drink some height-increasing potion?

He muttered to himself, then glanced at Regulus's shoulders again, confirming that they were indeed wider than his own.

This is unacceptable.

He is the older brother.

How can the older brother be shorter than the younger brother?

Although it's only a little bit shorter, although it might be an illusion, although it might look different depending on the shoes worn—

But he just couldn't accept it.

Sirius suppressed his awkwardness, tugged at his tightly bound collar, and raised his arm, causing the fabric under his armpit to immediately crease.

"Regulus," he said casually, but with a hint of gritted teeth, "get me a robe. This rag is choking me."

He tugged at his collar again, tilted his head, and turned his neck, looking exactly like a big dog stuck in a collar.

Regulus stood there without moving from beginning to end, letting him gesture and measure as he pleased, a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth.

But upon hearing this, the corner of his mouth twitched again, his expression momentarily puzzled. He stared at Sirius, as if to confirm whether he was serious.