Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 335 1974, the beginning of the new year

Cornwall's weather is like a madman.

Yesterday was gloomy and oppressive, with thick clouds like a dirty quilt covering our heads. The wind blew from the west and stung our faces. We didn't see the sun all day.

When I opened my eyes today, the sun was shining.

The sky was a clear, clean blue, the clouds swept away by the wind to the horizon, and the sunlight shone obliquely from the east, casting a warm hue on the walls of the stone house.

The waves on the sea were smaller than yesterday, the wind shifted from the west to the south, and the temperature rose a bit.

Today is January 1, 1974. 1973 has passed just like that.

The British don't really celebrate New Year's Day. Whether you're a Muggle or a wizard, the first day of the new year isn't a particularly important day.

Wizards' holidays follow the magical calendar; New Year's Day is just a mark on the Muggle calendar, and most pure-blood wizards don't even bother to remember what day it is.

Regulus did remember, but it had nothing to do with the New Year; rather, it was because he had a timer in his head.

Next year, in 1975, Voldemort and his Death Eaters will step out from the shadows and into the limelight.

The term "Death Eaters" began to appear on the front page of the Daily Prophet, no longer referring to certain extremists or unidentified dark wizards.

As missing persons cases escalated from sporadic to frequent, the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic switched from routine patrols to a wartime-like structure.

After that comes war. This kind of covert infiltration will become a thing of the past. What follows will be the Wizarding Wars, which will cover the whole of Britain, become open and intense.

From now on, in about a year, the magical world will change.

But to be honest, he didn't feel any urgency about this time.

He sank an island yesterday, and his mind contains a complete roadmap of chain transmission, conversion points, and the conversion of magic and mass. The ultimate form of the Disintegration Curse is still waiting for him in the distance.

Each of these things takes time to achieve, and that's exactly what he needs.

He knew war was coming, and he knew he would be a part of it.

But that was a year later.

He couldn't control what would happen a year from now, and he certainly couldn't control when Voldemort would make his move, nor did he want to.

But he has a full schedule of things to do within a year.

The two forms of the Disintegration Curse are already stable, Baruch's transformation plan is in full swing, Betelgeuse hasn't been lit yet, the soul hasn't grown stronger, and spatial deformation has only just begun.

The light source magic still needs further development, and there's still a whole line of alchemy on Flamel's side that hasn't been touched yet.

He has too many things to do, and while he has enough time, it would be a waste to spend it elsewhere.

War can wait.

Baruch lay beside the pillow, his eight legs tucked in, still asleep. The Transfiguration Charm kept him at the size of a palm, making him look like a furry little black spider.

Because it was just a hairy little black spider, Regulus turned his gaze away from Baruch and looked out the window.

In the plantation's open space, two willows stand in stark contrast under the sunlight.

The one on the right is intact, its branches swaying slowly in the morning breeze, the ends occasionally twitching as if stretching.

Its trunk is thick and sturdy, with full knots, and the whole tree exudes a healthy, swaying charm from top to bottom.

The one on the left is no good.

The branches drooped, their ends dragging on the ground, as if they couldn't hold on any longer. The knots on the surface of the trunk were dry, cracked, and grayish, and the bark was peeling outwards, revealing the grayish-brown wood layer underneath.

On the thickest main branch, there was a wound for some reason, with blackened edges and a liquid of indescribable color oozing out.

It is dying slowly.

After he drained her magic power for a day and a half, her magic power circulation almost came to a standstill, the cycle couldn't run, and she lost the ability to absorb magic power from the outside world.

A magical plant that has lost its magical cycle won't die immediately, but it'll be close.

He looked around for a while, then got up and put on his robe.

Mandrake costs 300 gallons per plant. It's not exactly cheap, but at least you won't feel bad if you ruin it.

Smashing twenty plants to create a disintegration curse is extremely cost-effective, and the sacrifice made by the mandrake for this is only right.

The "beating willow" is different.

Before this, there were only two trees in the whole of Britain, both at Hogwarts, and only one of them was mature.

Wild populations are managed in protected areas in Bulgaria and Romania, and the export of adult plants is regulated by the International Department of Magical Cooperation.

He hadn't asked how much favors and resources Orion had spent to get two plants, but it certainly wasn't a small amount.

His father prepared for all of these things to be scrapped when he got them for him; that's how it is with magical research, material consumption is the norm.

But scrapping and dying are two different things. This thing is rare, hard to obtain, expensive, and strictly regulated. It feels a bit wasteful to just let it die like this.

Every plant that can be saved is a plant saved.

Regulus's lips twitched slightly.

That's what he said, but what he really wanted to do was try to see if natural magic could revive a Willow Tree that had run out of magic power.

This was the first time he had encountered such a situation.

Previously, when using nature magic, I would interact with healthy plants, establish connections, sense cycles, and guide magical energy.

The question of whether natural magic can be reactivated to restore the magic cycle of a dying magical plant is worth verifying.

I'll give it a try.

He had just put on his boots when Baruch woke up, propped himself up on all eight legs, and hopped from the pillow onto his shoulder, his front legs draped over his collar.

Its two top eyes stared at the bright sunlight outside the window, and its chelipeds opened and closed twice.

Regulus casually remarked, "He's awake."

Baruch clicked his tongue: "...Wake up."

Just as he was about to push the door open and go out, a dark shadow flashed past the window.

A large owl, its greyish-brown feathers ruffled by the sea breeze, its wingspan nearly half the width of a door, its claws clutching a rolled-up newspaper, flapped and bumped against the window.

newspaper.

Regulus glanced at it and roughly guessed it: Orion.

It wasn't anything urgent. If it were, he would have used Floo Powder or Apparated directly to deliver the newspaper. He probably just thought the man should check the news.

He opened the window, and an owl swooped in, tossed the newspaper onto the table, then perched on the edge, its round eyes darting around before fixing on Baruch on his shoulder.

The owl looked shrewd and alert. Its pupils contracted as if it were focusing, its feathers bristled even more, its neck stretched forward, its beak opened, and it let out a low cooing sound.

Baruch perched on Regulus's shoulder, his eight eyes fixed on the owl's round pupils, before slowly circling behind Regulus's neck and hiding himself in the shadow of the hood.

But it wasn't completely hidden; its two front legs peeked out from the edge of the hood, resting on the back of his collar, and its two main eyes peered out from the seams of the fabric.

The giant eight-eyed spider is not afraid of owls; an adult giant eight-eyed spider can eat hundreds of owls in one meal.

But Baruch had probably learned a rule: birds that find people or deliver things on their own should not be eaten.

The owl hooted a few times, then turned its head to look at Regulus, who was waiting to be fed on the edge of the table.

Regulus had no food; there was only half a loaf of bread left over from yesterday in the hut, so hard you could hammer nails into it.

If we had to say what could be considered food, it would probably be Baruch, but with an owl's teeth, it certainly couldn't bite through the giant spider's carapace.

He waved his hand, and the owl hesitated for a moment, then flapped its wings unhappily and flew out of the window. It was swept off its feet by the sea breeze, tilted slightly, straightened itself, and flew away to the east.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the newspaper.

Baruch climbed out of the hood and back onto his shoulder, his eight eyes also fixed on the newspaper.

The Daily Prophet, January 1, 1974, New Year Special Edition.

The front page was divided into two parts, and the top part was surprisingly about Muggle news.

He glanced at it; the front page headline was alarmingly large: "Muggles plunged into darkness!"

A set of photos was attached.

On the left is the night view of central London, pitch black with only a few buildings lit up.

In the middle is a Muggle family gathered around a dining table, with a few candles lit on the table, making the light dim. The family members are wrapped in thick coats and hunched over.

On the right is the daytime scene, where a long line stretches from the entrance of a store to the street corner, with everyone wrapped in coats and hunched over, queuing to buy candles.

Subtitle: "The lights are out for Muggles: Oil crisis sweeps through the non-magical world, Britain plunges into a three-day work week."

The main text is written in a lively style.

"Since October of last year, Arab oil-producing countries have imposed an embargo on Western countries, nearly cutting off the oil supply that the Muggle world relies on to sustain its clumsy civilization."

A coal miners' strike has thrown the global economy into turmoil, forcing the British Muggle government to declare a national state of emergency and implement a so-called three-day work week.

Factories were only allowed to operate three days a week, shops and offices had their electricity usage restricted, and schools relied on candles and kerosene lamps for lighting.

"Barnabas Chuffi, a member of Wizengamo, commented: This once again proves the superiority of magical civilization."

Our lighting comes from magic lamps and glow spells, our warmth from fireplaces and warmth spells, and our travel from Floo Powder and Apparition—it has nothing to do with those dark, murky liquids.

The Muggles built their civilization on a flammable liquid buried underground; now that liquid has been cut off, their cities have become caves darker than the Middle Ages.

A spokesperson for the Department of International Magical Cooperation stated that the British Ministry of Magic will closely monitor whether the chaos in the Muggle world will affect the enforcement of the Secrets Act.

During power outages, Muggles are frequently coming and going, increasing the likelihood of them accidentally passing by the entrance to Diagon Alley or Platform 9¾. Wizards are advised to be discreet.

Editor's Note (Commentary):

A reader wrote in to ask whether Muggles, unable to use electricity, would rediscover the benefits of candles, thereby rediscovering the mystery of fire and thus re-entering the edge of magic.

The editorial team believes such concerns are completely unnecessary; a species that cannot even find a substitute for oil is unlikely to spontaneously return to the right path of civilization.

Another commentary had an even more scathing title: "The Muggle Energy Crisis: Have They Finally Discovered Fire Isn't Created with a Flintstone?"

The accompanying cartoon showed several Muggles scrambling around a stalled car, while in the background a wizard sat leisurely under a tree, drinking tea with a glowing stone under his teacup.

Baruch stuck one of his front legs out from his shoulder, pointing at the dark London night scene photograph in the newspaper.

".--.black."

"Power outage," Regulus explained to it. "Muggles need electricity for lighting, and when there isn't enough, the lights go out."

Baruch opened and closed his chelicerae, probably pondering the concept of electricity, but finally gave up and retracted his forelegs.

He continued reading.

The lower half of the same page features headlines in a more formal font, reporting news from the magical world itself.

Minister of Magic Election: Harold Mintham Succeeds Eugenia Jenkins, Promising Stability and Order.

The accompanying image is a half-body portrait of Mintham, a middle-aged wizard with a square face and broad shoulders, his hair combed back, and wearing a dark purple Ministry of Magic robe.

His expression was serious yet approachable, a clear politician's face.

The text quotes Minchamp's inaugural address.

"The Ministry of Magic's duty is to maintain peace and order in the magical world."

In the current complex situation, the Ministry of Magic will not favor any side, will not suppress any legitimate political stance, and will not allow any individual or organization to supersede the Ministry of Magic.

"Ms. Jenkins has made contributions to the wizarding world during her tenure, but a new era requires new leadership."

I will prioritize stability, ensuring that every wizard and witch can live, work, and practice magic in a peaceful environment.

The other accompanying article was about Jenkins' resignation, which was politely worded but made its meaning clear.

"Ms. Jenkins has chosen to step down before the end of her term for personal reasons."

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