Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 298 Appeal and Declaration

Orion was still in the center of the crowd, surrounded by several family heads, holding a wine glass in his hand, his posture no different from usual, neither relaxed nor tense, neither cold nor warm.

Walbuga sat around the fireplace with several ladies, holding a glass of red wine and talking to them. The ladies around her were laughing in unison.

Sirius stood next to Orion, but he couldn't quite understand what they were saying.

He recognized every word they used: Wissengamo, proposal, review, quota, stance.

But when these words are put together, they form a language he will never encounter in the Gryffindor Tower.

He looked at those people's faces and could discern something, not so much through observation, but more like an instinctive intuition.

The smile is fake, the seriousness is also fake, and the frustration of being ignored is genuine.

When you say "of course," you're thinking "maybe not," and when you say "we can consider it," you mean you're not qualified yet.

He disliked these things, finding them fake, hypocritical, and disgusting, but he watched them anyway.

At this moment, Bella walked to the center of the banquet hall, and the crowd automatically parted to make way for her.

She held her wine glass, her other hand hanging naturally at her side, her gaze sweeping across the room.

The hall fell silent.

"Ladies and gentlemen," magic carried her voice to every corner, "the Lestrange family is deeply honored to see you all here tonight."

She scanned the crowd, her gaze sweeping over each person's face.

The elegance and social restraint of the Blake family lingered on her face for only half a second before being replaced by a warm, almost flamboyant smile.

Bella's voice began to rise, as if something was pushing it outwards from the inside, with a sharp tremor.

"Can you feel it? Over the past few centuries, the territory of pure-blood wizards has been shrinking! Our traditions are being diluted! Our voices are being drowned out!"

We've retreated, we've been retreating, until today! A young wizard from a pure-blood family is sitting in a Hogwarts classroom, and who's sitting next to him?

Her gaze was fixed on a certain spot in the middle of the crowd.

"They are a group of people who don't know where their magic comes from!"

They crawled out of the Muggle mud, walked into our schools, read our books, learned our magic, and then loudly proclaimed on our land that your traditions were outdated, your bloodline didn't matter, and you were just like us.

Bella's voice rose even higher, and she waved the hand that wasn't holding the wine glass, her anger threatening to ignite anyone nearby.

"What is the Ministry of Magic doing?"

Her gaze swept slowly from one face to another, as if she were calling out names.

"They are compromising with Muggles, they are letting mixed races into our circle, they are using the law to tie our hands and feet."

Then he turned around and told the mud people, "Come on, this place is yours too."

They said this was progress.

The banquet hall was so quiet that you could hear the candlelight flickering.

"Progress?" Bella repeated the word through gritted teeth.

Her eyes were half fanaticism and half anger, her voice was sharp and piercing, and her eyes were frighteningly bright.

"They are gradually giving away the glory that our ancestors earned with magic, wisdom, and blood."

They assign positions in the Ministry of Magic to Mudbloods who only learned to hold a wand yesterday, and they call that progress!

The next moment, she laughed again, bigger and brighter than before, with an unsettling kind of pleasure.

"But we live in a remarkable era, and someone stepped forward!"

Some people in the hall held their breath.

"He saw our predicament, he saw where the true future of the wizarding world lay, and he wanted to establish a new order—but one that would never be a mixed-race order, not a Mudblood order, not a compromise order, not the weak, disgusting order that would allow us to get along with Muggles!"

She switched the wine glass to her left hand, raised her right hand, clenched her fingers into a fist in mid-air, and her voice trembled with a high pitch: "He wants to establish an order that belongs to pure-blood wizards, an order that belongs to truly powerful people!"

"Without the Ministry of Magic's permission, without haggling with the Mudbloods, we'll take it back ourselves!"

Her eyes shone unnaturally in the candlelight, as if they were burning with fire.

Then the voice suddenly changed, from fanaticism to a kind of oppressive laughter, like a preacher looking at those in the church who hadn't yet knelt down.

"Some of you are watching and waiting."

I understand. It's safe, smart, and dignified to wait and see who wins before stepping in.

She looked at everyone in the hall: "But I have something to tell you."

Her voice rose again, higher and sharper than before, almost every word squeezed out from between her teeth, every syllable carrying something she couldn't suppress.

"That great wizard gave us direction, gave us strength, and gave us names."

We are not a group of disillusioned people hiding in the shadows complaining; we are the creators of a new era!

The new era won't wait for everyone to be ready; it will come, it's already here!

Her gaze no longer fell upon anyone, but seemed to pierce through the void, fixed on some great figure.

"He won't wait forever, and neither will we. On that day, will you be on the right side or kneeling on the wrong side?"

She held up her glass: "You can choose for yourselves."

There was a moment of silence.

"For the glory of purebloods." Bella's voice fell back to normal volume, but the burning sensation beneath her was still intense, making the muscles around her eyes twitch.

"For the glory of purebloods!"

The sounds exploded, uneven, but loud.

Some people shouted until their faces turned red, some were still panting after they finished shouting, and some opened their mouths later, but their mouths were wider than anyone else's.

Regulus stood beside the pillar and also raised his cup.

He glanced around at the people who were clapping.

Those who truly believe can tell that those people clapped the most enthusiastically and spoke the loudest.

Their eyes were shining, their lips were trembling, and they didn't need any instigation; they were releasing their own energy.

Bella spoke out about what was weighing on their minds, openly, loudly, and in front of everyone.

They will be at the forefront.

Those who echoed were also evident; they raised their glasses, shouted slogans, their expressions were spot-on, and the intensity in their eyes was no less than that of the others.

But it lacks that wholehearted dedication.

It was all perfunctory, even more obvious. They clapped, but the smiles on their faces seemed forced.

These people's faith in pure-blood glory is about the same as their faith in investment returns; they believe when they make money and run when they lose money.

There are also some people who have no expression at all, raise their glasses, drink, and put them down, as if they are going through a process.

They don't need to be incited, because they've already taken their positions; they don't need to be threatened, because they themselves are part of the threat.

But the composition of the people is not the point; the point is what Bella just said.

Regulus brought the sparkling water to his lips, took a sip, and his gaze lingered on Bella.

Last Christmas, at Malfoy Estate, the person who stood on the stage to speak was Abraxas Malfoy.

He remembered those words very clearly: the wizarding world was at a crossroads of change, the powerful were setting the rules, and a great wizard was leading them.

The wording was appropriate, the rhythm was steady, every sentence stirred emotions, but every sentence also left room for maneuver.

Abraxas is more like a shrewd politician; his speeches are like a businessman pitching for investment. He talks a lot, but only gets one point out: it's good to follow us.

He also stood in the position of appeal, leaving the audience room for choice: you can stand here, or you can think about it some more. Anyway, the crossroads of change are there, and you will make a decision sooner or later.

Whether you believe in the Pureblood Glory thing or not is irrelevant.

But Bella was different; her words contained a threat, a declaration, an ultimatum.

Abraxas is talking about "us" from beginning to end, while Bella is talking about "you".

She was drawing lines for everyone present, telling them to stand over or be stepped on.

Not clever, because cleverness is not required.

Everyone who has entered Lestrange Manor for tonight's banquet knows exactly what they are doing, and everyone knows who that great wizard is.

Everyone made a choice and prepared, just with different purposes.

Last year, Abraxas's speech was a call to join; this year, Bella's speech is a declaration of the beginning.

A year passed between the appeal and the declaration, but the nature of the two events was completely different.

Bella was paving the way for Voldemort.

Regulus knew that in 1975, the Death Eaters would make their first public move, and the name "Death Eaters" would appear on the front page of the Daily Prophet for the first time.

Voldemort will no longer hide; he will step out from the shadows and pull everyone onto his chariot—willingly, forcibly, or those who haven't had a chance to escape.

At that time, many people's illusions will be shattered.

Those who thought they could just follow along and see what happens will find that there is no such option anymore; once you're on board, you can't get off.

Those who think they can back out when things turn bad will find that the cost of backing out is much higher than the cost of staying.

Some people's fantasies will become reality, power and interests will be redistributed, and the proportion of pure-blood families in the wizarding world will reach its peak during Voldemort's rise.

At the same time, there will be another group of people whose world will collapse that year.

Those who sit in the Ministry of Magic's offices thinking they have everything under control, those who believe that law and order can solve everything.

They would discover that Voldemort's men were present on every floor of the Ministry of Magic, in every office, and at every voting table.

Bella's fanaticism made her speech sound like the ravings of a madman, but a madman doesn't necessarily tell lies.

In fact, every word she says comes true.

Less than two years.

That's enough for him to prepare.

Regulus raised his glass and exchanged a glance with Bella across the crowd.

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