Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 290 Sirius: I'll just take a look

Sirius felt uncomfortable being stared at. He looked down at himself, tugged at his collar, then rubbed his shoulders, and stretched the hem of his robe, but nothing came out.

He raised his head again and bared his teeth at Regulus.

Regulus stopped looking at him, now certain that he was serious.

Then he raised his right hand, pointed his index finger at Sirius at random, and performed a Transfiguration.

Sirius's robes began to change.

The fabric at the neckline was loosened by two inches, the seams shifted, the fabric on the shoulders was stretched out, the pleat under the armpit was flattened, and the length of the cuffs was lowered to just cover the wrists.

The robe seemed to come alive, adjusting itself on Sirius in a very quick process, less than two seconds.

Sirius stood there, stunned.

He looked down at himself and found that his collar was no longer tight, his shoulders were no longer constricted, and when he raised his arms, he felt no pulling sensation under his armpits.

He turned his shoulder, then turned again, the fabric clinging to his body, fitting him perfectly everywhere.

He looked up at Regulus.

Regulus had already turned and walked down the corridor.

Sirius's mouth was open, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't. The expression on his face changed from a daze to realization, and then to an indescribable embarrassment.

He probably meant to say, "Oh right, transfiguration, you can do that too."

He took a deep breath, shook his shoulders to shake off the embarrassment, and strode after him.

The two walked towards the study, one after the other.

The study door was open.

The fireplace burned with a green flame, burning neither too high nor too low, the light flickering on the wall.

A bookshelf stretched from floor to ceiling, with black hardcover books lined up tightly, the gold lettering on the spines occasionally flashing in the firelight.

On the top shelf of the bookshelf were several silver items, an astrolabe, and a metal ball whose purpose was unknown, all gleaming dimly in the green fire.

Several stacks of documents and files were placed on a low cabinet next to the bookshelf, sorted by year, and adorned with bookmarks bearing the Black family crest.

The air in the study had a sinking feeling; it was quiet and closed off, as if the outside world was shut out once you entered.

Orion sat behind his mahogany desk, several parchments spread out in front of him, looking like voting records from Wizengamot.

A magic lamp sits on the corner of the table, its light gathered in the lampshade, illuminating only the area around the tabletop.

He held a quill pen in his hand, making annotations on the edge of the file, the quill tip making a soft sound as it scratched across the parchment.

Hearing the door open, he looked up, put down his pen, and leaned back in his chair.

"Sit down." He gestured with his chin toward the two chairs opposite him.

Regulus went over and sat down.

Sirius pulled out a chair next to him and sat down more loosely than he had at the table.

He leaned back in his chair, rested his hands on the armrests, and stretched out his legs, adopting a casual posture.

He was still a bit tense at the dinner table, talking to Orion as if he were arguing with something.

Now that the initial urge has passed and been digested, I feel much better.

His gaze swept around the study: the bookshelves, the desk, the fireplace, the portrait on the wall—all exactly the same as before.

He had been to this place many times.

It was almost always the same. Orion sat behind his desk, while he sat opposite him, separated by the mahogany table and the silence of the entire room.

The father's gaze was calm as he waited for him to come over before speaking, usually a lecture or an explanation of the rules.

He used to sit in this study, his thorns all standing on end.

For every word Orion said, he mentally retorted.

Family honor is none of my business.

Pureblood lineage? Bullshit.

You are the eldest son, and I don't want to be.

On the surface, they sit still, but inside they are in turmoil; their faces are either as silent as stone or with their heads bowed in avoidance.

He hated the study, hated his father's silence behind the desk, hated the invisible pressure, and hated his own silence even more.

He wanted to overturn the table, smash things, and stand up to rush out.

But he just sat there, mouth closed, eyes fixed on the wood grain of the table or on his hands on his knees.

Here he was tested, taught, and required to be what the eldest son of the Black family should be like.

He can't do it, and he doesn't want to, but he can't put it into words.

Those words stuck in my throat turned into silence, into resistance, into hatred, into escape.

What now?

Sirius looked at the open documents on Orion's desk, at the quill pen still stained with ink in his hand, and at the shadow cast on his profile by the green flames of the fireplace.

He tried to look at the room with a different pair of eyes.

Remove Blake's identity as the eldest son, his identity as a rebel, and his identity as an oppressed.

Like someone who has wandered into the wrong room, or a guest who has been temporarily pulled in, look around with the most ordinary eyes.

The old things are still there—the silence, the repression, all the things that made him want to flip the table are still there.

But that's something the eldest son of the Black family should bear; he's Sirius, not him.

The study is large and tastefully furnished but not extravagantly. Everything is placed in its proper place, neat and orderly, just like the owner of this room.

Orion sat there, his hair neatly combed, his expression composed, looking like a middle-aged man handling his work.

He was looking at documents when he saw them come in. He looked up and told them to sit down.

Sirius used to take this as an order and feel uncomfortable, but now he just doesn't think of it that way.

He detached himself from the atmosphere of the study, stripping himself clean and tidy.

He was looking at these things as they were, not as he thought they were.

A study, a table, and a person.

He doesn't belong here, so he doesn't hate it, maybe.

He just sat there and watched.

Regulus sat down without speaking, looking at Orion and waiting for him to speak first.

Orion closed the file in front of him and pushed it aside.

"Christmas dinner," he said unemotionally, "the day after tomorrow night, at Lestrange Estate."

He shifted his gaze to Sirius Black, his tone unhurried: "Now that you're back, you must be present this year."

He looked at Sirius with a calm expression, as if he were assigning a task, or perhaps casually explaining, "The eldest son of the Black family has missed the Christmas dinner for two consecutive years. People outside will have something to say about it."

"With the eldest son standing beside the head of the family, the family is complete, and everyone is on the same page. When people see you standing there, they won't ask any more questions."

After he finished speaking, he waited for Sirius's reaction.

In the past, when these things were mentioned, Sirius would either immediately explode or turn his face away without saying a word, as if he were locked up.

He had seen both of these reactions far too many times, and he wanted to see which one it would be this time.

Sirius leaned back in his chair and listened. It didn't explode, nor was it locked.

"I know," he said casually, then muttered to himself, "I was going to go anyway."

He wanted to see not only the Black family, but also what those pure-blood families who sided with Voldemort looked like.

Malfoy, Nott, Caro, Lestrange...

He had heard those surnames countless times at the tea party in Grimaldo Place, and every time Walbuga mentioned them, his voice would rise.

He wanted to see for himself what was going on with these people.

Orion's brow twitched slightly, but he quickly stopped.

He didn't press further and continued speaking.

"Speak less at the banquet, stay by my side, and I will introduce you to the people you need to meet. Shake hands, nod, and say a few polite words."

He paused for a moment, then said, "Bella will take your arm; she's the mistress of the Lestrange family, and you're the eldest son of the Black family—that's the rule."

Sirius's face changed.

His lips drooped, then his brows furrowed, his nose wrinkled, and his whole face scrunched up, as if he had smelled something rotten.

Bella took his arm.

Just imagining that scene made him feel like that arm wasn't his own anymore.

Bellatrix Lestrange, his cousin, a mad dog who licked Voldemort's heels, a fanatical follower who always talked about that man, and whose eyes burned with a chilling fervor.

Her voice, the excited tone of her voice, the light emanating from her when she mentioned Voldemort—all of these gave Sirius goosebumps.

He loathed her madness and flattery, her pure-blood fanaticism, her worship of violence, and her glorification of black magic.

Most importantly, she was still staring at Regulus, looking at him as if he were a piece of wood that could be carved into the shape her master would like.

He already knew about the bone box; it was a gift from Bella on behalf of Voldemort. He didn't think about it anymore.

Just imagining the feeling of being linked arm-in-arm with someone like that makes him want to rip the arm off and feed it to the dogs.

Orion added, "After you've finished toasting, stand where you're supposed to stand, don't say anything unnecessary, and don't get into any conflicts with anyone."

"I can't," Sirius finally replied, his voice muffled.

"I was just saying, in case." Orion glanced at him.

Sirius fell silent.

He listened as Orion went through the steps, from greetings and toasts to positioning, walking routes, and who should speak and who should nod.

With each point he mentioned, another layer of unease settled in his heart.

He thought he was well prepared, that coming back to see things wouldn't be difficult, and that he could handle everything.

But when I actually heard these details, my body reacted before my brain did.

I felt a tingling sensation in my arm, which started from my elbow and went up, like something was crawling under my skin.

Then came his chest, and his stomach tumbled upwards. It wasn't a strong twitch, but the force pushed up to his throat, making him want to cough but unable to.

I unconsciously leaned back, trying to get away from those words.

Just take a look.

He said to himself.

I came back to see what these things are really like, and to see if I can see them with a different perspective.

Look at how Bella behaves in that situation, look at how those pure-blood families talk to each other, and look at how Voldemort's people operate.

He doesn't need to like them or agree with them; he just observes.

Like an audience member who goes backstage to look at the props and mechanisms, no matter how exciting the performance on stage is, he knows it's all fake.

These are all things he used to desperately try to escape.

Now he chooses to go in, neither running away nor making a scene, but simply watching.

Perhaps after reading it, he will know what he hates and what he opposes.

Sirius took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose with a slight sound, like a sigh but not quite.

His face still showed disgust, not quite wiped clean, but he nodded.

Orion glanced at him twice, then nodded.

His gaze shifted from Sirius to Regulus's face. He didn't speak, but asked a question with his eyes.

Why leave him here?