Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 323 Sage Time

At number 12 Grimmauld Place, in Orion's study, stacks of letters were piled on the desk.

Kreacher would bring in a new batch every half hour, place the latest arrival on top, and then bend over and leave.

Orion categorized them.

The first pile on the right is a probe. The wording is polite but has a hidden meaning. On the surface, it's about concern, but in reality, it's about probing the Black family's attitude.

The second pile on the right is a gesture of goodwill, with warm language that repeatedly mentions the Black family's long history and past friendly relations.

On the left, this pile consists of a few letters speaking on behalf of Lestrange. They are not many, just a few, and are worded tactfully, without pleading for him. They seem more like they are testing the waters.

What are the Black family's plans for handling this matter? Do they intend to completely crush the Lestrange family?

Several letters were placed separately on the corner of the table. There was no sensitive content in the wording, but they were asking about one thing: how exactly did things end last night, and whether there was any higher-level intervention.

These people are asking about Voldemort.

Orion looked at the letters on the corner of the table and tapped his fingers lightly on the surface twice.

He only learned about Voldemort last night.

Regulus didn't seem to be seriously injured, but his mental state was clearly off. His face was pale, and upon closer inspection, his eyes were unfocused. He walked steadily, but at a slower pace.

A typical reaction after experiencing intense psychological intrusion.

After returning home, Regulus recounted what had happened, not in great detail, but he covered the key points.

Voldemort appeared after Fiendfyre was released. He had a brief exchange with Voldemort, who used Legilimency on him.

During Legilimency, he showed Voldemort what he wanted him to see and hid what he didn't want Voldemort to see.

After listening, Orion remained silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "Is he satisfied?"

Regulus said, "We should be satisfied."

Orion nodded, and the two went back to their respective rooms.

Now he sat in his study, looking at the letters inquiring about Voldemort, but thinking about something else.

The fact that these people are making inquiries indicates that they have already guessed that Voldemort might make a move.

This conjecture is logically sound, but there may be another layer of meaning behind these people's conjectures.

They believed that Orion Black and Voldemort had some kind of direct contact.

This speculation is inaccurate; the person who came into direct contact was Regulus, not him, but he had no need to clarify.

This misjudgment, which led outsiders to believe that the Black family and Voldemort were closer, did not harm the Black family; in fact, it benefited them.

The Black family's strategy within the pure-blood faction has always been to maintain maximum independence on the periphery, not to be considered a direct descendant, but not to give the impression of being distant.

If outsiders believe that he has had direct contact with Voldemort, then the Black family's bargaining power will naturally increase in the subsequent political games, and he won't have to do anything.

Let the misjudgment fester.

But these letters inquiring about Voldemort were either an attempt to probe the Black family's background, or some might be asking around for others, deliberately pushing the speculation that Voldemort had come forward to make more people believe it.

When things are chaotic, everyone wants to take advantage of the situation.

He opened a few important ones, read them, put them back on the table, and didn't reply.

Not urgent.

Wait a few days and see who gets impatient; those who come knocking first are the ones who really need to be dealt with.

Regulus was in the bedroom, lying on the bed.

Since returning last night, he hasn't left the room except for those few words he exchanged with Orion.

The curtains were drawn, and the room was dark. The fire in the fireplace burned very low, with only a little dark red light leaking out from the firebox, making the long crack in the ceiling appear and disappear.

He lay on his back with his eyes open, but he wasn't thinking about anything.

There's nothing wrong with my body. Last night's fight with Bella took a toll on my stamina, but I recovered after a good night's sleep. A twelve-year-old's body is very resilient.

Mental exhaustion is another matter.

Voldemort's Legilimency should not be viewed as a simple form of mental isolation or resistance.

That was a wizard standing at the pinnacle of the magical world directly entering his mental realm, rummaging through it, scanning it, and touching it.

Throughout the process, he maintained a highly precise mental operation, deciding which memories to show him and which to hide.

The way you hide something should be so natural that it doesn't seem like you're hiding it; the part you reveal should feel like it's being passively exposed rather than actively displayed.

Doing these things in front of Voldemort requires dozens of times more mental energy than usual.

The Star Orbit Meditation continued, with the six stars following their respective orbits, and the light of Betelgeuse shining steadily behind the little soul figure.

The magic flows in a loop, with a portion of it being directed toward the repair of the mental structure.

Several micro-cracks appeared in the core area's defenses when the containment chamber resonated. They were not serious and did not affect functionality, but it would take time for the cracks to heal naturally.

He wasn't in a hurry; he had done everything he needed to do.

Bellatrix struck, Fiendfyre was unleashed, the manor burned down, Voldemort arrived, Legilimency was executed, he guarded what he should guard and released what he should release.

The next steps will take time; we just need to wait until the pureblood community's reaction stabilizes and the news spreads further.

There are also gains on a spiritual level.

The things I experienced last night—facing Voldemort face-to-face, clashing with one of the most dangerous wizards in the spiritual realm, and holding the line under extreme conditions—these experiences themselves are nourishment for the soul.

Betelgeuse is responding.

Since last night, he could feel some subtle changes deep within his spiritual world; something was loosening in the position of Betelgeuse.

There has been no qualitative change yet, but it is accumulating.

He can't say for sure how things will change or to what extent; we'll have to wait and see.

The seed has been planted, and it will slowly grow.

But these are all rational analyses. Beyond that, he only has one feeling right now: he doesn't want to move or do anything. This state manifests in his actions as complete stillness.

His mind was blank, his thoughts were sluggish, and the inner engine that drove him to analyze, plan, and act had completely shut down after last night's intense output.

Magic is returning, and the spirit is healing, but that drive to get things done is temporarily gone.

He hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, and he was hungry, but even more reluctant to move.

Walbuga didn't come to wake him. Usually, if he overslept, his mother would appear at the door at eight o'clock sharp, but she didn't today.

Kreacher didn't bring any food either.

His father must have told him to get some rest.

He lay in bed all day, from morning to noon, and from noon to afternoon.

She tossed and turned twice, changed the direction of her pillow, kicked the blanket to her feet and then pulled it back, put her hand on her stomach, and stared blankly at the cracks in the ceiling for a long time.

I did something big, it drained me dry, and I haven't been able to recharge it yet.

A spider silk thread hung down from the ceiling. It was so thin that it was almost invisible in the dim light, with only a tuft of furry stuff hanging from the end of the thread and swaying slightly.

Baruch was hanging upside down on the spider silk, his buttocks facing the sky, his eight legs curled up on either side of his body, slowly descending.

It descended to about a foot above Regulus's face, tightened its rear end, stopped, slightly opened its chelicerae, stared at him with its eight eyes, and tilted its head slightly.

Regulus looked at it, and it looked at Regulus, then Regulus gently blew a breath.

Baruch, hanging on the spider silk, swayed twice, back and forth, like a fluffy pendulum.

"Regrus...tired..."

Its sound remains the same: broken, abrupt, and mostly monosyllables.

His language skills are still developing, but he's improved compared to a few months ago; at least he can now put two or more words together.

Regulus didn't nod; lying down was inconvenient.

He hummed in agreement: "Tired."

Baruch's eight legs gave a slight push in the air, pulling him up a bit, and then he put them down again.

"Powerful...no rush..."

Regulus looked at it, a slight smile curving his lips. This spider was becoming more and more human-like.

"Don't worry, I'll make you stronger in a few days."

Baruch's chelicerae opened and closed twice, clicking, then the spider silk descended, and his entire body lowered down, gently landing on Regulus's chest.

Its eight legs were fully extended, and it circled twice on the robe, as if searching for the most comfortable position, before lying there motionless.

It was quiet for less than a minute.

"Baruch...hungry..."

Regulus closed his eyes briefly. He was hungry too, but he didn't want to move.

Then he looked at the light coming through the gap in the curtains; it was warm, orange-yellow, and it was evening.

"Kreacher," he called out.

With a snap, the little elf squeezed out of the air, bent over, his nose almost touching the floor: "Young master's name is Kreacher."

"Get me some meat," Regulus said. "Raw. Do you have dragon meat?"

Kreacher thought for a moment: "There's half a rib of a Romanian ceratops in the storeroom."

"Cut a piece."

Kreacher disappeared again.

Regulus propped himself up and reached out to lift Baruch from his chest and place him on his shoulder.

Kreacher returned quickly, carrying a silver platter with a deep red raw steak on it. The cut surface had a fine texture and was streaked with dark purple blood, characteristic of dragon meat.

Baruch jumped from the shoulder onto the table, his eight legs tumbling over quickly, his chelicerae opening as he began to tear at the flesh.

Dragon meat fibers are tougher than ordinary meat, and Baruch's claws couldn't bite through it for a while. It used its eight legs to brace against the meat, pulled it, tore off a small strip, and swallowed it with a crunch.

Then continue tearing and swallowing.

Blood seeped from the cut of the steak, spreading across the silver plate. Baruch's leg was stained with blood, leaving a trail of small purple footprints on the edge of the plate.

Regulus sat at the desk watching it eat, resting his chin on his hand.

After it finished eating, only a few scraps of meat and a patch of blood remained on the silver plate.

Regulus lightly tapped his finger, casting a cleansing spell to remove the blood from the silver plate. He then tapped Baruch, cleaning off the bloodstains on his body as well.

Baruch shuddered, his fine bristles twitching.

Regulus stood up, walked to the wardrobe, and changed into a dark house robe.

"Stay here."

He left it on the table, opened the door, went downstairs, and went to eat.

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