Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 324 Dinner at the Black Family

In the restaurant at Place Grimoire, long tables were covered with dark green tablecloths, and candles on silver candlesticks burned neatly with steady flames.

The dishes tonight are as plentiful as usual.

The Wellington steak is cut into thick slices and arranged on a white porcelain plate, with a pink cross-section and covered with a golden puff pastry.

Roasted lamb chops with rosemary, sauce spread on a silver plate, and served alongside charred potatoes and carrots.

The black truffle mashed potatoes were served in a small silver bowl, with three lines drawn on the surface, and roasted asparagus wrapped in Parma ham stood upright on the edge of the plate.

Each person gets their own bowl of cream soup. When the silver lid is lifted, steam rises up. There's also a basket of bread rolls, a dish of butter, and a pot of hot tea.

Kreacher's skills have always been top-notch.

Four people sat at the table.

Orion is in the main seat, Volbuga is to his left, Regulus is opposite him, and Sirius is next to Regulus.

Orion sat upright, just like any other evening, with his shoulders relaxed and a copy of the Daily Prophet's evening edition on his right.

He cut a piece of steak into his mouth, chewed it a few times, swallowed it, and then took a sip of tea, his rhythm no different from usual.

Regulus's posture was the same as before, his back straight, knife and fork in his hand, cutting whatever he needed to cut.

The father and son ate in similar ways, not saying much and not showing much emotion, which was the norm in this family.

They gave the impression that nothing had happened, as if everything from last night had nothing to do with tonight's dinner.

But the other two people at the table were in a different state.

Sirius has been staring at Regulus ever since he sat down, his gray eyes fixed on his face as if trying to see something out of it.

Regulus knew what he was looking at: the Dark Awakening and the green light emanating from the tip of his staff.

He didn't care. It's useless to say anything at this point. He's still in a rage. We can say something when he calms down.

Of course, not all of them.

Sirius's personality is what it is; if you knew everything, you'd never know what he was capable of.

It's not that I'm afraid he'll go around making a fuss. Anyone with a brain wouldn't do that. Although Sirius often does mindless things, he actually has a brain.

The problem is that while he may have a brain, whether he uses it or not is another matter.

Therefore, you can say some things, within a reasonable range, to let him know what's going on at home, so that he doesn't become blind and maintains the basic right to know that a member of the Black family should have.

This will also benefit him in the future. No matter which side he goes to, maintaining a certain level of understanding with his family is better than rushing out without knowing anything.

But those are things for later; for now, let him see.

There are plenty of people who see him, so one more won't make a difference.

Regulus cut another piece of steak, dipped it in black truffle mashed potatoes, and put it in his mouth.

After a day of hunger, the meat tasted especially good.

His gaze shifted from the plate to Volbuga.

Her attire tonight was as sophisticated as ever: a dark gray house robe with subtle embroidery on the collar and cuffs, her hair neatly styled, and her earrings were old pieces from the Black family.

Even at home, Wolbuja is never casual; he maintains a presentable appearance from morning till night, always dressed neatly and behaving elegantly.

But she was very quiet tonight, appearing silent.

In the past, Walbuga always had something to say at the dinner table.

She has a fixed set of dishes for the dinner table. She picks out the dishes for tonight: the roast meat is a little overcooked, and the soup should be half a spoonful less salt.

She would comment on the recent activities of each pure-blood family: which family had been promoted, whose proposal had been rejected in Wizengamo, and whose lady had said something rather inappropriate at a tea party.

There was nothing tonight, she was just eating.

Regulus glanced at her, then looked away and continued eating.

He didn't know what his mother was thinking; she was probably still angry.

Last night she told him to have a proper talk with Bella, but he didn't listen. Not only did he not listen, he also hit Bella.

The mother's silence was probably a way of expressing her dissatisfaction, a way of telling him through her silence.

The same old routine.

He glanced at Orion; since he wouldn't be staying home for long anyway, he'd leave his mother's affairs to his father.

Orion sensed the gaze, looked up, and met Regulus's eyes.

Regulus's face was expressionless, but Orion had known that face for twelve years and could read something in it.

It's like someone who finishes their work and then casually leaves the finishing touches to someone else, feeling perfectly justified in doing so, thinking, "These are your responsibilities, it's none of my business."

Orion picked up a napkin and wiped his mouth, asking, "How are you feeling?"

Regulus nodded: "That's about enough. I'm a little tired, I just need some rest."

Orion took a sip of tea: "After you finish eating, come to the study."

Regulus nodded again and hummed in agreement.

Sirius heard this and turned to look at his father, Orion, who had already picked up the newspaper and was completely ignoring him.

Sirius refocused his gaze on Regulus, who seemed to be arguing with someone.

Orion got up from the table first, placed his napkin next to the plate, and went to the study.

Regulus didn't follow. He was still hungry. After a day of hunger, his stomach had just recovered. He ate this meal more slowly than usual, but more than usual.

With only two bites left of his Wellington steak, he cut off the pastry and meat together and put them in his mouth. He then dipped a bread roll in the remaining sauce on the plate and ate it all.

Then wipe your mouth, put down your napkin, and stand up.

Walbuga was still sitting there, holding his teacup, but hadn't drunk from it.

Regulus said, "Mother, I'm going to the study."

Wolbuga looked up, a beat slow, as if he had just come to his senses.

She looked at Regulus, her gaze lingered for a moment, her lips moved, and after a while, she said softly, "Go."

"

Regulus nodded, then turned and left.

He didn't notice anything different about the way his mother looked at him, or perhaps he did see it but didn't think about it.

My mind is still sluggish from accomplishing something big; I'm too lazy to look closely or analyze.

He wasn't called Sirius either.

Sirius opened his mouth behind him, then closed it again.

He wanted to go with them.

Of course, he couldn't be bothered to listen to any of that—it was just his father and brother whispering in the study. He could imagine what they were saying.

It's probably about how to handle what happened last night, and how the Lestrange family will react.

Which families will seize the opportunity to curry favor, which families should keep their distance, and then it's necessary to calculate how much benefit the Black family gained from this matter.

benefit.

To defeat someone, and then sit down and calculate how much benefit this will bring.

His brother beat Bella, the plantation burned down, and now they're settling scores behind closed doors.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, his gray eyes fixed on the direction Regulus had left, his mouth agape, half a word stuck in his throat.

He wanted to go, but his reasons had nothing to do with what was about to happen in the study.

He wanted to look at Regulus's face and ask him a couple of questions.

Last night's green light, were you really planning to kill her?

Did those gray things from last night really have no effect on you?

He didn't get the chance this time, but there will be another time; he was determined to find out the truth.

He didn't even know what answer he wanted; he just wanted to ask.

He glanced at Walbuga, who seemed to be in a daze—he'd never seen him look like that before—but he didn't care. He stood up and left.

Volbuga withdrew his gaze from Regulus and landed on the black tea he was holding. It had gone cold, and the tea in the cup was dark and unremarkable.

She didn't drink it and put it down.

The study door was open, and Orion sat behind his desk, doing nothing but waiting.

Regulus walked in and the first thing he saw was the letter on the table.

Stacks upon stacks, several piles in total, the tallest one almost completely obscuring Orion's face, leaving only his forehead and the top of his head visible.

Regulus's lips curled up slightly.

Just now at the dinner table, I was thinking of asking my father to handle my mother's matter, but now it seems that my father still has a lot of follow-up work to do.

But we already have so many, one more won't make a difference.

Orion looked at his expression from behind the pile of letters, and it was the same kind of complacent look he had when he glanced at him at the dining table.

He didn't say anything, but pointed to the chair opposite him.

Regulus sat down; he knew what was going to happen next.

The letters were just the beginning; there were many more that followed—probing, overtures, attempts to build relationships, and requests for visits. Each family had its own set of excuses.

The process is pretty much the same for all these things. Whenever there's some change in the pureblood circle, the fireplace in Grimmauld Place gets busier than ever. Owls line up on the roof, and Kreacher opens the door eighteen times a day.

This has caused quite a stir, and things are only going to get more exciting from here on out. The next few days will be very busy.

Those who had been observing would start to move, those who were already standing nearby would take another step forward, and those who wanted to ride the coattails of the Black family would line up to deliver messages to Grimmauld Place.

Several more stacks would be piled up on my father's desk.

These things are predictable without much thought; that's how politics is—a stone thrown into the ground creates ripples that last a long time.

But he doesn't plan to participate.

He did everything he was supposed to do, demonstrated his strength, and spread his influence.

The effects of these things will develop on their own; the reputation will spread outside, and rumors will circulate within the circle. Whether he is present or not makes no difference.

His previous actions had a clear purpose: to nourish the soul, exert influence outward, and let those who need to know know.

Now that his goal has been achieved, continuing to appear in social settings will only give more people the opportunity to observe him closely, test him, and speculate about him.

All those who approached them could offer were connections, information, and political support.

The Black family has all of these things. Orion's network, built up over decades, is there any need for a twelve-year-old to reinforce it?

His job was to demonstrate power, and once that was done, he was done and it was time to leave. He did the work; the socializing was his father's job.

He already has enough fame; any louder and it would just be noise. Besides, it's much more useful to let people guess what he'll do next than to let them see what he's doing.

Besides, he had important business to attend to.

He'd been waiting for the "Hitting Willow" ever since Professor Sprout said it could shatter conduction, and it'd been almost a semester since then.

Baruch's transformation plan was something he and Baruch had been looking forward to for a long time; he had promised to make it stronger the day he brought it out of the Forbidden Forest.

These are the things he wants to spend his time on.

Compared to chatting and drinking tea with a group of pure-blooded family heads in the living room, he knew much better where his power came from.

It comes from research, from practice, and from the process of turning ideas into reality time and time again.

He held on when facing Voldemort last time, but that was all; he couldn't do the same next time they met.

Regulus looked away from the pile of letters: "Father, I'm going to practice magic."