Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 315 Politeness and a Despicable Heart

In the distance, a muffled roar came from the raging fire, like a dragon crashing into something, with rubble and flames falling together.

After Voldemort exited the mental space, he remained silent for a while, his gaze still fixed on Regulus's face, his vertical pupils slowly contracting as if refocusing.

Then he spoke: "Dumbledore."

The tone was neither a question nor a statement, nor even as if he were speaking to Regulus.

He simply read the name aloud, like encountering a familiar title while flipping through an old book.

There was something extremely faint in his tone, something that was hard to pinpoint—whether it was mockery or something else—so thin it was almost transparent, but it was there nonetheless.

He saw those parallel sensory memories, Dumbledore's magic and his magic, placed on the same plane.

Regulus's expression remained unchanged.

Voldemort did indeed see that memory; his plan had worked.

"Professor Dumbledore is my headmaster," Regulus said matter-of-factly, as if stating a fact that needed no explanation: "I have learned from every great wizard, Your Excellency."

He had thought about every single word in that sentence.

Everyone put Voldemort and Dumbledore in the same category.

The great wizard acknowledged Voldemort's status, but did not place him in a unique position.

Dumbledore was a great wizard, and so are you.

You are on the same level; what I see in you is magic itself.

I'm not looking at factions.

Throughout his life, Voldemort encountered people who either worshipped him, feared him, or wanted to destroy him.

Regulus's attitude is not among these three options.

He was saying, "You are part of my understanding of the world, and your magic is something I want to understand, but like other great wizards, you are my point of reference. I walk my own path."

Voldemort showed almost no outward reaction to this response.

The size of his vertical pupils remained unchanged, his flat nostrils twitched slightly, and the shallow, wound-like line on his lips did not change its curvature.

His breathing was so light that it couldn't be heard from four meters away, and he didn't even adjust his posture.

But he looked at Regulus for a little longer than before, just a little, half a second or a second, and in those serpentine vertical pupils, he couldn't discern any more precise units of time.

Then his gaze shifted from Regulus and landed on Bella for the first time.

Bella was still lying on the rubble, her body twitching much less, her lips still moving as if she were muttering something.

Judging from the movement of her lips, it should be two syllables, repeated repeatedly, pronounced indistinctly, with dried bloodstains at the corner of her mouth.

Perhaps it is missing its master.

Voldemort glanced down at her.

There was no anger, heartache, or disappointment; there was nothing that could be read into his expression. He looked at Bella as if she were a broken stone pillar in ruins.

Then he looked away.

"She used a killing curse on you," he said lightly, "and it failed. You can deal with her as you see fit."

Regulus understood.

Voldemort didn't ask him if he wanted to kill her; he was merely stating a permission, a top-down authorization.

I allow you to do that.

If he kills, it means he submits to the power framework given to him by Voldemort; you give me power, so I will use it.

If not to kill, it depends on the reason.

And then there's the wording itself. Bella failed, but what if she hadn't? What if Bella's killing curse had hit her?

But tonight will be a different story.

Voldemort would not speak to the corpse of a minor wizard.

He'll probably walk in, glance at the two people lying on the ground—a dead Black heir and a still-breathing Bella—and then turn and walk away.

There is no fairness or unfairness in the face of the Killing Curse, only being hit or not.

Bella lost, so she was handed over to Regulus.

If Regulus loses, he probably won't even deserve a second glance.

Regulus's mind raced, and he shook his head slightly, but his attitude was clear.

Then he lowered his head slightly, with appropriate respect.

However, in this context, if you refuse the power offered by the other party, you should make amends with extra politeness.

Regulus said, "She's family, it's a family matter, sir."

Bella's family brought her back to the framework of blood relations; she was a married daughter of the Black family and his cousin.

The family matter confines everything tonight to the realm of internal family conflict, and the power to decide rests with the Blake family, not with anyone else.

He did not receive Voldemort's authorization.

I don't need the power you're giving me. I have my own source of power. She's my family, and how I handle her is a matter for the Black family.

But he did not refuse Voldemort's offer.

Family matters are a universally accepted principle in the pureblood community, and Voldemort cannot accuse someone of being disrespectful simply because they take their family affairs home to handle them.

This is a kind of Black-style pride: I don't need anyone's approval to deal with my family, not even Voldemort.

But this pride is wrapped in a respectful demeanor, so it doesn't become offensive.

Your Excellency, I shook my head and explained that I had my reasons and was being very polite.

Voldemort looked at him, and then fell silent for a short while.

Then Bella disappeared.

There was no movement, no wand, no spell, no sign.

She lay on the rubble, and was gone the next second.

There was only a human-shaped dent left there, and even the bloodstains beneath her had disappeared, leaving the place clean and tidy, as if she should never have been there in the first place.

Her wand also disappeared; the wand that had been used with the Killing Curse, the Crucifixion Curse, the Black Mist, and the Black Barrier, along with its owner, were taken away.

Regulus noted this detail down in his mind.

Silent and rodless, there's not much to say about it, but there's something else here: precision and range.

Bella, along with the blood beneath her and the wand beside her, were simultaneously removed without leaving a trace.

The highest form of Apparition, or a means that transcends the scope of Apparition.

He interfered with Bella's Apparition tonight, causing her to tear off a layer of flesh, but he couldn't even sense what Voldemort did.

gap.

After dealing with Bellatrix, Voldemort turned his attention back to Regulus.

The vertical pupil paused for a moment in the dark red iris, and that cold gaze fell on Regulus's face, as if making a final confirmation.

Then he said his last words of the night.

"Regulus," it was that unsettlingly soft voice, each syllable rounded and smooth, "Looking forward to seeing you again."

Regulus maintained a respectful posture, bowing slightly: "Your Excellency."

Voldemort turned and walked back the way he came.

The darkness spread back from that direction, thicker and more textured, rising from the ground like liquid, seeping from the cracks in the ruins, and gathering around his figure.

His robes trailed silently across the gravel, Voldemort's silhouette blurring in the darkness, his edges melting away and merging with the surrounding gloom.

He took two steps, and then he was gone.

There was no instant of disappearance, no snapping sound, no sound of air being compressed.

After a certain step, he was no longer there, like a drop of ink falling into ink.

The darkness lingered for a while after he disappeared, then slowly receded, and moonlight and firelight shone back into the area.

Regulus stood alone in the middle of the ruins, his legs feeling a little weak.

He was not afraid, of course; it was just that the mental strain was affecting his body.

The extreme exertion of the brain-blocking technique almost drained all my mental energy, and my body reacted accordingly, my muscles started to ache, and my knees trembled a little.

He took a deep breath, activated his Star Orbit Meditation to its fullest extent, and recovered to a sufficient level in a very short time. Then he looked at the three-headed beast not far away.

The Fiendfire only dared to reignite after Voldemort disappeared, cautiously probing several times to confirm that the thing was truly gone before slowly spreading back.

He wanted to try it.

The will pressed down along the connection, just as Voldemort had done, using the caster's will to suppress the Fiendfire's autonomous tendencies, telling them that they couldn't go that way.

The three giant beasts trembled simultaneously, the giant snake's tail retracted halfway, the dragon's wings tightened, and Chimera buried its head into the giant snake's body.

There was a reaction, but it wasn't the same.

When Voldemort came over, Fiendfyre was genuinely afraid. That fear was a kind of instinct that had been rewritten. It dared not burn in that direction, like the bottom of the food chain encountering the top.

When he pressed forward, Li Huo also heard him, because the connection was still there, but it felt more like he was hearing an order than encountering a natural enemy.

gap.

Another gap.

Fine.

He withdrew his will, thought for a moment, and decided to put away the fierce fire; it was pointless for it to burn.

I thought it was pretty good to see the manor collapse piece by piece. The Lestrange family's lair was burned down, and the noise level was just right, so that everyone in the pureblood circle could hear it.

But after Voldemort's visit, the three giant beasts cowered in a corner, too afraid to even be burned, which made him feel that the fire had lost its appeal, and even the idea of ​​burning down the manor had lost its appeal.

Forget it, let's just keep it. Leaving the remains is more useful than burning it clean.

The ruins of Lestrange Manor are here; anyone passing by can see them, faster than any news, and more visually striking than any verbal description.

The sight of a pure-blood family manor, which had been in operation for over two hundred years, being burned to the ground by a twelve-year-old wizard during a family dispute is itself the best deterrent.

Moreover, the manor wasn't completely burned down; only a few ruins remained, so the Lestrange family still had to make a choice.

Rebuilding on the original site amidst the ruins, laying new bricks on the old scorched earth, stepping on the foundations he burned every time he returned—that was a sign of defiance, a determination to hold the line.

They want to rebuild in the same place and loudly proclaim to everyone that we have not been defeated and are ready to get our revenge at any time.

Alternatively, rebuilding at a new site, with a new manor and a new grandeur, starting all over again in a different place, is a way of biding one's time, quietly accumulating strength, and waiting for future revenge.

Rebuilding on the original site is utterly despicable; you're seeking revenge.

Rebuilding in another location is a heinous act; you are plotting an even greater revenge.

Neither option is right; take your time to think about it.

Regulus twitched his lips slightly, then got down to business.

>