Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 341 A Warm Home

Cornwall enjoyed fine weather on January 2nd.

The sun rose from the eastern sea, turning the stone cottage golden. The sea breeze was lighter than a few days ago, carrying a slight salty taste that no longer hurt the throat when inhaled.

Regulus packed his things; he didn't have much luggage, just a change of clothes and a few personal items, which he stuffed into his seamless, stretchable handbag.

Baruch shrank back to the size of a palm, perched on his right shoulder, his eight legs tucked in, behaving very obediently.

The newly grown warm-colored stripes at the joints shimmered in the morning light, and the bristles all turned dark red.

The white in its eight eyes turned into a translucent amber color, and when the sunlight shone on them, they looked like eight golden beads embedded in its furry head.

Agnes walked over from the east greenhouse, her steps as quick as ever, making no sound as she stepped on the dirt path.

She was still wearing that leather jacket, and her scarf had a few more pom-poms now. Her apron pockets were still bulging, and it was unclear what was inside.

Upon closer inspection, I noticed that Baruch's color had changed; it had transformed from a black spider into a dark red one, and its eyes had also changed color.

She didn't investigate further, and greeted him as usual, smiling and speaking in the same tone as when talking to someone else: "Good morning, Mr. Baruch."

Upon hearing his name, Baruch raised his upper body, extended his two pincers forward, and clicked a few times, as if in return.

The eight legs kicked twice on Regulus's shoulders, appearing excited.

Agnes was amused, and the wrinkles around her eyes deepened.

"Ms. Agnes," Regulus nodded slightly, "thank you for your help these past few days."

"No trouble at all," she waved her hand. "There's nothing to do in winter. The greenhouse heating is always on, and the seedlings don't need to be watched over every day."

"That 'beating willow'," Regulus glanced toward the open space, "has established a circulation system, but it's far from healthy."

After school starts, I'll ask Professor Sprout if she can help with the recovery. Until then, I'll need your help looking after the patient.

Agnes glanced north. The man-beating willow, drained of its magic, still drooped its branches, looking like an old willow in the morning light, completely devoid of the violent energy it had when it first arrived.

"It won't die," Agnes said confidently, gesturing with her chin towards the Whomping Willow. "It's growing, and I'm keeping an eye on it."

Regulus pulled a cloth bag from his pocket and handed it over: "You've had a hard time these past few days."

Agnes took the bag and weighed it in her hand. It was heavier than last time. She didn't count the weight or refuse, and simply stuffed the bag into her apron pocket.

"Mr. Black is too kind." She patted her apron pocket, making a muffled sound.

Regulus nodded: "Of course."

She thought for a moment, then added, "Let me know in advance next time you come, and I'll tidy up the little house again."

"must."

Agnes suddenly remembered something and pulled a scroll from another pocket of her apron. It was parchment, with yellowed edges, and tied with an old hemp rope.

"Oh, right, this is for you." She handed over the scroll.

Regulus took the scroll and unrolled it.

A nautical chart, hand-drawn, the ink has faded to brown, but the lines are still clear.

The coastline of Cornwall's west coast meanders down from the upper left corner, marked with reef areas, current directions, tide times, and a dozen or so uninhabited islands of varying sizes.

Each one was labeled with its name or number in small print, and some had a simple outline drawing next to them.

There's a circled area on the west side with the words "Snell Rock" written on it and a red cross drawn on it.

Agnes pointed and said, "Those islands are uninhabited, just piles of big rocks. Seabirds don't go there much, and the waterways are narrow and in the way."

She added with a smile, "They're all safe to play with."

Regulus cleared his throat, tucked the scroll away into his satchel, and said, "Thank you, Ms. Agnes."

"You're welcome," she said, taking a step back. "Please give my regards to Mr. Black."

Goodbye, Mr. Black.

Goodbye, Ms. Agnes.

Regulus nodded to her, turned around, and Apparated, disappearing into the sea breeze with a snap.

The sun and blue sky disappeared all at once when the plane landed right in front of my house, at number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The good weather in Cornwall changed completely when I got to London.

London in January is shrouded in a hazy gray, neither quite fog nor quite smog.

The sky was leaden gray, uniform, and dull. The sun was hidden somewhere, unable to penetrate the light or the wind.

The air was thick with the smell of an industrial city, a mixture of coal smoke and moisture that made your throat feel tight when you breathed it in.

Just a moment ago it was sea breeze and sunshine, and in the blink of an eye it's London's industrial gray.

Regulus had barely settled on the steps when the door opened from the inside.

Kreacher stood in the porch, his large ears twitching excitedly, his body bent low, his nose almost touching the floor.

"Young Master is back!" Its voice was sharp and trembling. "Kreacher cleaned the room three times! He changed the curtains! He changed the sheets! He even patted the pillows!"

Regulus stepped across the threshold, removed his cloak in the entryway, and casually said, "Thank you for your hard work, Kreacher."

Kreacher was nearly fainting behind him, trembling violently.

The entrance hall of Place Grimoire remains unchanged. The portraits of the ancestors hanging on the wall are dozing off. Two of them raised their eyelids slightly, glanced at him, and then closed them again.

He walked through the corridor, past the restaurant entrance, and glanced inside. The tables were spotless, the silver candlesticks were polished to a shine, but there were no cutlery or people.

He made a point of getting up early so he could have breakfast at home.

The food in Cornwall wasn't bad; Agnes prepared individual meals for him.

The shepherd's pie and ginger tea were quite decent, and the Yorkshire pudding, roast beef, and Christmas pudding were also good, much better than the staff meals.

But to put it another way, the plantation's stove was a Kreacher short of the kitchen in Grimmauld Place.

Regulus asked, "Where is Father?"

Kreacher followed behind, walking quickly with small steps, his voice respectful: "The master and mistress went to the Parkinson's house early this morning. The Parkinson's family is having a New Year's banquet, which lasts from noon until evening, and they won't be back until very late."

Pure-blood families never lack social occasions, nor do they pick and choose the days.

There are celebrations for Christmas, New Year's Day, seasonal changes, and when someone has a baby or someone has a death.

Even without any particular reason, they can concoct an excuse to get people together to drink tea, chat, and sized each other up.

They don't celebrate Muggle New Year's Day or care about calendar markings, but maintaining connections is a necessity, and they can always find a way to do so.

Regulus didn't take it seriously.

“The young master is at home,” Kreacher continued. “Mr. Hawke is also here, in the training room.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow slightly.

Sirius is practicing magic, which is not surprising, but it is indeed a bit early.

During the last holiday, Orion arranged for Hawke to teach him the basics, which, in Regulus's view, meant starting from scratch: posture, staff grip, spell casting procedure, and basic spells.

Sirius Black is quite talented; now that a semester has passed, it's time for competitive training.

Sirius Black was also busy at Hogwarts.

He sought out Professor McGonagall to learn about Transfiguration and traveled around with James and the others. Although he spent most of his energy on things he shouldn't have, at least he didn't completely waste his time.

When he went home for the holidays, he didn't stay cooped up in his room, nor did he wear that Muggle band T-shirt in front of Walbuga. Instead, he obediently practiced with others in the training room.

Whether it was arranged by Orion or he wanted to practice on his own, it's all good.

Sirius may have really taken those words about power to heart, and perhaps the Christmas dinner incident also played a role.

Sirius witnessed firsthand his fight with Bellatrix, saw Fiendfire burn down half the manor, and saw what the dark magic and pure-blood methods he used to scoff at meant in a real conflict.

Or perhaps it's just about staying in the training room, which is better than facing Walb in the living room.

Who cares? It's always good that he's willing to improve.

"Understood," Regulus glanced down at Kreacher, "Go back to your room first, and bring up breakfast, make it substantial."

"Yes, young master!"

"And also," he pointed to Baruch on his shoulder, "give it some dragon meat, the kind from last time."

Kreacher bowed and then vanished with a snap.

Regulus went upstairs and opened the bedroom door.

The room had indeed been cleaned, and the curtains had been replaced with new ones—dark green with intricate patterns and thick fabric.

The curtains were drawn, but outside was the London sky, a hazy gray, with no sunlight filtering in.

The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, making the room warm and cozy.

Baruch jumped off his shoulder, landed on the desk, and ran a few steps on his eight legs, heading straight for its drawer.

That drawer has been its territory ever since it first moved into Place Grimoire.

It crawled inside, circled around, scratched the bottom of the drawer a couple of times with its front legs, and touched the drawer wall with its chelipeds, confirming that everything was as before and the territory was still there.

Then it climbed out, jumped from the desk to the ground, ran to the bedside, kicked its eight legs, jumped onto the bed, climbed all the way to the pillow, tucked its six legs in, stretched its front legs forward, and lay very comfortably.

Regulus looked at it and found it amusing.

Previously, Baruch's activities in Grimoire Place were very limited, consisting of just this one room.

During the day, it explores every corner and furniture gap, wanders around the desk when it has nothing to do, and sticks its front legs out the window to look outside. At night, it sleeps on the corner of the table or curled up in the drawer, never going to bed.

But in the Cornish cottage, where the desk had no drawers, it was quite self-disciplined; it climbed onto the bed by itself and curled up next to his pillow to sleep every night.

After sleeping for a few days, it probably got used to it, and now that it's back in Grimoire Place, it wants to continue sleeping in the bed.

Moreover, it has become much more active than when it first left the Forbidden Forest. Yesterday, it secretly sprayed spider silk twice, once on the crossbeam and once in the corner of the wall.

Perhaps emboldened by Regulus's indifference, it decided to try and sleep with him again today.

So what do you want to do tomorrow? Have dinner?

Regulus didn't look at it again and turned to go to the baptismal chamber.

It's not that I'm not clean; a cleansing spell can solve everything. But once I get home, I always want to rinse off and change my state.

Hot water was poured over his head, and steam coated the mirror. He stood in the mist for a few minutes, not thinking about anything.

After showering, I changed into a clean, dark gray loungewear robe with soft fabric and a loose collar.

Food was already laid out on the table.

Kreacher's efficiency never falters.

Smoked salmon slices are arranged thinly on a white porcelain plate, scrambled eggs are steaming hot, toast is cut into triangles at an angle, and butter is softened in a small silver dish.

There was also a pot of Darjeeling tea next to it, with cups and saucers neatly arranged.

Baruch's small plate sat in the corner of the desk, containing a deep red dragon meat steak with finely textured cut surfaces and dark purple blood still seeping out.

It had gotten off the pillow and was lying there, its chelipeds tucked in, its two front legs resting on the edge of the plate, its eight eyes staring at the steak, but not eating it.

Waiting for him.

Regulus's lips curled into a slight smile as he walked over, sat down, and picked up his fork. "Eat."

Baruch then lowered his head, opened his claws, and began to tear apart the dragon meat, chewing it with a crunching sound.

The two of them, one human and one spider, quietly finished their breakfast.

Baruch sucked the last bit of dragon meat clean from his claws and rubbed his foreleg against his mouth.

Regulus finished the last sip of tea, stood up, and straightened the collar of his robe.

Baruch launched himself forward and landed on his shoulder.

Open the door and go downstairs.