Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 342 Parents, Rules, Nonsense

After walking through the first-floor corridor, Regulus arrived at the door of Orion's study. The door was not closed, so he pushed it open and went in.

There were new piles of letters on the desk, at least two more stacks than before I left. The envelopes were of various colors, and most of them had sealing wax with the family seal.

He didn't look closely and walked straight to the end of the study.

The portrait of the Black family on the wall was still dozing off. He waved his hand, and the portrait slid open silently, revealing the stone door behind it.

The stone door was heavy. He pushed it open and went inside. The door closed behind him with a dull thud.

The training room was small and rectangular, with rough gray stone walls and floor. The ceiling was high, with a few iron lamps hanging from it, making the light dim but sufficient.

They're fighting inside.

A red light flew from the center of the training room. It was a disarming spell, and it flew quite accurately and at a decent speed, heading straight for Sirius's chest.

Sirius dodged to the side, ducked to the left, and rolled on the ground.

The posture wasn't exactly graceful; the shoulder landed first, the leg swung in mid-air, and it took half a step to regain its balance after getting up. In actual combat, rolling like that is just asking to get hit.

But Hawke was clearly holding back, and Sirius did indeed dodge the attack.

Sirius was wearing a training uniform, a close-fitting, dark-colored outfit made of durable, easy-to-move-in fabric.

The cuffs were pulled up above the elbows, and there were a few shallow abrasions on the forearms; I don't know if they were from today or yesterday.

He flipped himself to his feet, raised his wand to retaliate, but stopped when he heard the door open.

He turned his head and saw Regulus standing by the door frame.

Sirius's expression changed several times in an instant.

At first, they were surprised, not expecting Regulus to come at this time.

Then, his body moved faster than his mind. With his right hand still holding the wand, he raised it, opened his mouth, raised his eyebrows, and turned up the corners of his mouth. A cheerful greeting had already reached his tongue.

"Reg—"

'

Then his mind caught up. He shouldn't have been so enthusiastic. He withdrew his hand, his expression changed, his lips drooped, his brows furrowed, and he turned to look at the wall as if nothing had happened.

There was nothing on that wall, but he stared at it intently.

Regulus stood at the door, watching his retreating figure, feeling embarrassed for him.

Sirius's condition is quite different from before he left.

This guy probably figured something out himself. He's been holding it in for several days since the Christmas dinner, going from anger to silence to his current awkwardness. He must have gone through something in between.

But given Sirius's mind, he's more likely to get stuck on a single point and it's unlikely he'll figure everything out on his own.

It's more likely that Orion told him something.

Thinking about this, Regulus suddenly realized something quite interesting.

Previously, he was always thinking about how to talk to Sirius, how to arrange things for Sirius, what things he should know, and what things he shouldn't know.

But ultimately, Orion is the father, not him.

Talking to Sirius, arranging the eldest son's path, and keeping some things hidden—these were originally Orion's tasks.

He was just a little Black, but he acted like the head of the family, and he did it quite naturally, never feeling that anything was wrong.

His lips twitched, and he realized that there was probably something wrong with him.

The other person had stopped long ago as well.

Gerald Hawke stood at the other end of the training room, his wand hanging at his side, but not put away.

He was in his early forties, lean, with short gray hair almost touching his scalp, and an old scar on the outer side of his left eyebrow that extended to his cheekbone.

Wizards of Auror origin have a special stance, with their center of gravity always on the balls of their feet. They can move at any time, but they look very relaxed and can change to other postures at any time.

Regulus entered the training room and nodded slightly: "Mr. Hawke, excuse me."

Hawke's expression wasn't particularly serious, but he wasn't deliberately relaxing either; he maintained a businesslike demeanor.

To be honest, he didn't quite know how to face this thirteen-year-old boy.

After news of the Christmas dinner incident spread, Orion communicated the message to the family's core employees.

Pure-blood families have a well-established system for managing their core employees.

You will know what you need to know. Knowing this will help you do things better, make correct judgments about the family, and avoid misinterpreting rumors circulating outside.

Orion has consistently done a very good job in this regard.

There wasn't a long explanation; it simply outlined the basic sequence of events.

Regulus clashed with Bellatrix at the dinner party, displaying far greater strength than expected. Bellatrix was crippled, and the manor was damaged.

The wording was restrained, and the details were few, but it was enough for everyone to understand one thing: the Black family had produced an extraordinary heir.

The benefits of this approach are also clear.

Firstly, it unites people's hearts. In the increasingly tense situation in the magical world, the emergence of such a figure in the family will make everyone who is attached to the Black family feel that they have made the right choice, which will make them feel safer and work harder.

Secondly, it helps to reach a consensus. The rumors outside are all over the place. Some say that Regulus killed Bella, some say that he used the Unforgivable Curse, some say that he was that person's student, and so on.

If core employees only listen to external versions of events, their judgments may be biased, which will affect the direction of their work.

Letting them know the truth, or at least a filtered truth, is far better than letting them guess.

When Hawke heard this, he discovered something that made him a little uncomfortable.

He first met this little wizard during the last holiday when he was teaching Sirius the basics.

He remarked to Mr. Black that Sirius was very talented, possessed abundant magic, and had unlimited potential.

Sirius Black is indeed very talented, but compared to his brother, one is practicing basic combat in the training room, while the other burned down Lestrange's manor.

Moreover, those words were said in front of Mr. Black, who was sitting opposite him with the training room door open, so Sirius could hear them.

They probably found it quite funny, but as for Sirius, now that he thinks about it, all that's left is probably embarrassment.

Hawke was not feeling too comfortable, but he didn't show it on his face. He greeted him naturally and replied, "No problem, Mr. Black."

""

He glanced in Sirius's direction, where Sirius was still looking at the wall, then turned back: "We've been practicing for a while, and we're about to take a break."

It's not even nine o'clock yet, it's still early, it's a bit too early to rest.

Regulus didn't say anything, but remained polite and nodded: "Sirius, thank you for your trouble."

Sirius Black had his back to them, and when he heard those words, his shoulder twitched.

He grinned.

Regulus is using this tactic again.

The tone, the wording, it's exactly the same as in Professor McGonagall's office, as if he's apologizing on his behalf.

He was furious. "Who told you to apologize for me? Are you my brother or my father?"

Most importantly, he didn't cause any trouble that time; he was seriously learning Transfiguration, and he's practicing diligently today as well.

On what grounds?

Now again?

Hawke opened his mouth and looked at Regulus.

The child spoke in a manner completely like an adult, but his demeanor didn't seem to be feigned; it was very natural, as if he were taking responsibility for Sirius.

Hawke had a slight doubt in his mind. He was only thirteen years old, and Sirius was his older brother. Was this a case of mistaken identity?

Then he realized that Sirius was still looking at the wall with his back to him, and the atmosphere was a little strange, so he continued the conversation.

He shook his head: "It's nothing, Sirius One."

He paused, then coughed lightly: "Quite talented."

After saying that, he glanced at Sirius Black, then turned his gaze back.

Regulus continued, his tone as unhurried as before: "What level are you at now?"

Sirius couldn't hold back any longer.

He turned around abruptly, bared his teeth at Regulus, his expression rather unfriendly, his lips drooping, his eyes glaring. He wasn't exactly fierce, but he was definitely not friendly.

He didn't say anything, just stared at me.

Regulus didn't look at him; his gaze remained fixed on Hawke.

Hawke glanced at Sirius's face, then at Regulus's completely unmoved expression, and decided to leave immediately.

"The progress is obvious," he replied briefly, and before Regulus could ask any further questions, he took a step back towards the door. "I still have some things to take care of, so I'll be going now."

Regulus stepped aside and politely said goodbye, "Take care, Mr. Hawke."

"Okay," Hawke walked to the door, taking one last look at Sirius. "School's starting soon. See you next holiday."

Sirius's expression suddenly changed, and for a moment, his expression became inscrutable.

Next holiday.

He didn't come back this time to stay.

He came back to see what was really going on in this family, what the so-called purebloods were all about, and what Regulus was really like.

He didn't know if he would be back at 12 Grimmauld Place during the next holiday.

He glanced at Regulus, said nothing, and turned back to Hawke: "Goodbye, Mr. Hawke."

Hawke nodded, left the training room, and the stone door closed behind him.

The training room quieted down, leaving only the two of them.

Regulus looked at Sirius.

My training clothes were dusty, there was a scuff on my knee, I had a little sweat on my forehead, and my hair was messy, but overall I was fine.

Sirius felt uncomfortable being stared at and asked irritably, "What are you looking at?"

Regulus ignored him, his expression unchanged: "Want to talk?"

Sirius paused for a moment, then nodded.

Regulus turned and left the training room, walked behind Orion's desk, and sat down in the armchair.

Sirius followed them out, saw this scene, and raised an eyebrow.

That's Orion's chair.

In a family of Blake's stature, the study is where the head of the household exercises power; documents are signed, affairs are handled, and decisions are made.

Ultimately, this is an extension of the patriarch's power.

In some pure-blood families, especially those old-fashioned ones among the Twenty-Eight Sacred Clans who are almost dead, only the head of the family can sit on that chair. Even the heir doesn't dare to touch it, and even close relatives like the eldest son have to stand in front of the table to speak.

The rules are as cold as stone; blood ties here are only about hierarchy, not warmth.

But some families don't care.

Some families are small, with few children, and don't have many rules. A study is a study, and a chair is a chair; whoever wants to sit can sit there.

Some even lack a study altogether, like the Weasleys, whose living room served as their entire living room.

The Black family is somewhere in between.

The house wasn't cold; the relationship between Orion and Regulus was far closer than it appeared.

But the Blake family home was anything but warm; if you had to find a word to describe it, it would be oppressive.

Etiquette, rules, hierarchy—these things, along with the sour smell of ancestral portraits, form the underlying character of 12 Grimmauld Place.

This is what Sirius hates, what he wants to smash and escape from.

But now Regulus sat down without hesitation, leaning back and resting his arm on the armrest in a relaxed posture.

It's so natural.

Sirius felt a complex pleasure; he smirked, then quickly closed his mouth again.

His rebellious side was touched, and seeing his younger brother doing something against the rules made him feel instinctively comfortable, as if someone had done something for him that he had always wanted to do but had never done.

But then came a strange, inexplicable unease, because he knew that Regulus was not rebelling against the rules.

Sirius thought to himself, if he sat in that chair, it must have been intentional, a provocation, a declaration, an attitude of "I'm going to trample on your broken rules."

Regulus did not; he simply sat down.

He wasn't challenging anyone's authority or testing anyone's bottom line; he probably just found the chair comfortable and sat down.

This difference made Sirius feel uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.

Perhaps it's because he defies the rules, because he hates the rules; Regulus doesn't follow the rules because the rules don't matter to him.

Sirius shook his head, banishing these random thoughts, and sat down casually across from him.

He leaned back in the chair, slumped in, and stretched his legs out so long that his feet almost touched the table.

But he was still aware of the risks and didn't actually put it on.

Regulus suggested they talk, but he didn't speak first; he just looked at Sirius.

Sirius didn't say anything either. The two sat facing each other, separated by a desk piled high with letters.

Regulus sized him up.

It's a bit like when I first came home; I'm casual and lazy, as if I've detached myself from the world and am looking at everything from an outsider's perspective, not caring about anything.

Regulus confirmed it; Orion had spoken with him, though he didn't know what they discussed, but it had been effective.

Sirius, feeling unbearably stared at, was about to speak when his gaze suddenly shifted and fixed on Regulus's left shoulder, where something seemed to flash and disappear.

He blinked, then looked again, but there was nothing there.

Then a small, dark red creature emerged from the right shoulder, its eight legs clinging to the collar of the robe, half its body sticking out, and its eight amber eyes staring intently at Sirius.

Sirius's attention was completely diverted.

He raised his chin slightly: "What's that?"

Regulus smirked: "Spider."

Sirius bared his teeth, angered by Regulus.

Regulus spoke the same nonsense when talking by the lake or when they met in the corridor.

When asked anything, he would give the shortest, most accurate truth to evade the question. There was nothing wrong with the words themselves, but they were utterly useless.

It's infuriating, but it makes you feel relaxed.