Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 354 A Rare Opportunity, A Sneak Attack

Regulus nodded to Avery, signaling them to go ahead.

Avery shrugged, unfazed, and walked straight to the door with Alex. Hermes didn't even glance at him, put his hands in his pockets, and followed them out.

Regulus had assumed that Dumbledore would be the first to speak to him after the holidays, but Slughorn came first.

Thinking about it, it makes sense. The Slytherin headmaster cares about his students. After such a big thing happened during the Christmas holidays, it's normal for him to keep him for a chat after school starts.

Perhaps there are other reasons, but the professor wanted to know something about Voldemort.

Rumors circulated that Voldemort had appeared that night, so it's not surprising that the professor came to ask him about it.

Regulus stood up, walked to the front of the podium, and nodded politely: "Professor."

Slughorn chuckled and waved, tilting his head towards the office: "Come on, let's talk in my office."

Regulus followed.

The door to the potions office was to the right of the podium. As soon as I opened the door, a complex smell hit my face.

The strange aroma of various potion ingredients mixed together was hard to identify, but you could tell from the smell that it wasn't cheap.

The walls are covered with group photos of wizards whose names you can name. Some of the photos show people moving, smiling and raising their glasses at the camera, while others are old and yellowed, with still figures.

Slughorn smiles almost exactly the same way in every photo.

On several shelves against the wall were rare materials; Regulus recognized some of them, but not others.

The silverware on the table gleamed, the armchairs were covered in thick velvet, and on the small round table by the fireplace sat half a bottle of mead and several plates of pastries.

The entire room is filled with a carefully crafted sense of comfort and abundance.

Slughorn settled into his large chair, his round body sinking into the thick cushion with a soft thud.

He opened the drawer, took out a box of candied pineapple, opened the lid, took a piece and put it in his mouth, then pushed the box and all in front of Regulus.

"Try it, a Christmas present," he mumbled, his tone smug. "Sent by a student from the Department of Magical Sports, probably to remind me of his recommendation letter for promotion next month."

Regulus sat down in the chair opposite him, his posture upright and somewhat relaxed.

He picked up a piece of candied fruit, took a bite, and found it too sweet, almost like Dumbledore's Lemon Olaf.

He placed the candied fruit on the side of the tea saucer, and the teapot next to him floated over by itself, filling the cup in front of him with steaming hot black tea.

He picked up the cup, took a sip, and washed away the cloying sweetness: "Thank you, Professor."

You're welcome, you're welcome.

Slughorn took another piece, then leaned back and crossed his fingers on his stomach.

He looked at Regulus, his smile relaxed, and casually asked, "How's everything at home? How's Orion's health?"

"All is well, Professor," Regulus said, clasping his hands on his lap. After a moment's thought, he added, "My father asked me to give you his regards. He said I should learn more from you."

Slughorn raised his eyebrows, a look of exaggerated satisfaction on his face: "Orion, you're too kind."

Then, deliberately putting on a stern face, he pointed at Regulus with his finger: "Then why don't you learn it? Your potion-making talent is so good that it makes me sigh, but why aren't you interested in potions?"

He's talented enough, but he just doesn't put in the effort. I've mentioned that to Albus countless times.

Regulus lowered his head slightly, revealing an embarrassed expression.

Slughorn stared at him for a while, then couldn't hold back any longer and laughed, waving his hand: "Never mind, I know what you're thinking."

Regulus shook his head inwardly.

You wouldn't believe it, Professor, but it will shock you.

"I heard this year's Christmas dinner was quite lively." Slughorn's tone was still relaxed, with a hint of gossip, as he held a piece of candied pineapple in his hand and stuffed it into his mouth.

Then he added, "Lesterrange Manor looks quite spectacular now, even the foundations are burned away?"

Regulus, holding his teacup, didn't rush to reply.

The professor, of course, knew what had happened that night.

House Slughorn, one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Families.

The professor himself is the patriarch, head of Slytherin, the most outstanding potions master of the time, the founder of the Slug Club, and has connections throughout half of the wizarding world.

His status in the pureblood circle is, in some ways, even higher than Orion's.

The news that Lestrange Manor was burned down, Bellatrix was beaten to a pulp, and Voldemort himself was present was probably the most complete version of the story he had, besides those directly involved.

The smiling old man looks easygoing, but he's incredibly capable.

Regulus took a sip of tea and put down his cup.

Slughorn's smile faded slightly, his tone still relaxed but more serious: "Are you alright?"

'

Regulus looked at the professor.

The professor certainly had his own agenda; the roundabout way of bringing the conversation to this point indicated more than one intention.

But if you look closely at that round face, you can tell that his concern is genuine.

He met the professor's gaze, smiled, and said in a relaxed tone, "It's alright, Professor."

After thinking for a moment, she added, "It's just a family matter; I'm sorry to have troubled you."

Slughorn looked at Regulus, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment before sweeping from his face to his hands and back again.

Regulus didn't dodge, nor was there anything to dodge; he let the professor see.

He sat there, relaxed, breathing steadily.

Regulus could feel some kind of sensation touching him, not an intrusion, nor with any malice, but like a very thin net that briefly covered him before quickly withdrawing.

It was so light that he wouldn't have been able to detect it if his senses hadn't been sharp enough.

Wizards of this caliber naturally possess unique methods.

Professor Slughorn is more than just a Potions Master; in the final stages of the Battle of Hogwarts, he, along with Professor McGonagall and Kingsley, fought against Voldemort himself.

A wizard who can withstand a battle of that level is far more skilled than he usually appears.

After a breath or two, Slughorn finished reading and nodded: "It's good that you're alright."

He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then sighed.

"Bella..." He shook his head, his tone filled with regret, helplessness, and a complex emotion that only a teacher would have: "Sigh."

Regulus didn't reply, but lowered his head slightly.

How could he respond? Should he say it's not a pity? Should he say she performed very well? Should he say she's very useful?

There wasn't much to say; he sat quietly, waiting for the professor to continue.

There was a moment of silence.

The fire in the fireplace flickered twice, and the bottle of mead reflected the firelight on the small round table.

Slughorn put down his teacup and rubbed his fingers against the ring on his other hand.

His gaze shifted to the group photos on the office wall. Among those photos with identical smiles, some faces hadn't appeared in public in the magical world for a long time.

Then he looked away and his gaze fell on Regulus.

He hesitated.

Regulus could tell, but he didn't say anything.

Then the professor spoke, his tone softer than before, even a little cautious, as if he himself wasn't quite sure what answer he wanted to hear.

"Regulus, you saw him?"

Regulus kept his eyes down and didn't answer immediately.

He knew who the professor was asking, and he also knew the professor's inner conflict.

Tom Riddle, Slughorn's most prized and favorite student.

The most dazzling collectible of the Slug Club: an orphan, exceptionally talented, handsome, and well-mannered, perfectly meeting the professor's criteria for collecting future big shots.

The professor's appreciation for him was genuine, unrelated to bloodline or family background, purely because he was so outstanding.

Later, at a party, the professor had been drinking and Riddle tricked him into revealing his knowledge of Horcruxes.

Riddle asked a very clever question, like a good student asking a profound theoretical question.

The professor answered, saying that splitting one's soul could allow one to transcend death, that it required killing to accomplish this, and that seven was a magical number.

Later, Riddle became Voldemort.

This is the biggest stain and source of fear in his life.

He knew what he had given that young man, and what that knowledge had been used for, but he dared not face it, dared not admit it.

He later altered this memory, giving Dumbledore a revised version in which he said the soul should remain whole.

It is now 1974. Voldemort is still on the rise, has not yet fallen, and the First Wizarding War has not yet come to an end.

When Voldemort falls for the first time, the professor will feel fear and will hide for ten years.

He dared not return to Hogwarts, nor let anyone find him, for fear that Voldemort's remaining forces would cause him trouble, and also for fear that Dumbledore would ask him about that matter.

But now, the professor should feel guilty; his students are becoming what he doesn't want to see, and he has no power to stop it.

So he has to ask.

He wanted to know what Voldemort had become, and to what extent those words from back then had been used.

Regulus understood all of this and decided to answer.

There's nothing to hide; he'll tell you once he sees it.

But you have to be careful about what you say and how much you say.

He could only know what he saw with his eyes, at most adding his perceptions, judgments, and speculations; he couldn't utter a single word.

The professor waited there, without urging him, his finger resting on the ring without turning it, just waiting.

The office was quiet for a while, with only the low crackling of the fireplace.

Regulus looked up and nodded slightly: "I saw him."

Slughorn shifted his body slightly forward, his stomach touching the edge of the table.

After a moment of silence, the professor spoke, his tone casual, but his eyes remained fixed on Regulus.

"He looks...what a coincidence?"

What a coincidence!

That's too broad.

Regulus knew that the banquet wasn't about Voldemort's attire or whether he looked good.

They were talking about the most powerful dark wizard in the world today.

The fact that Slughorn asked him this question shows that the church doesn't treat him like a child, so there's no need for him to pretend to be confused and beat around the bush.

"He looks different from an ordinary person," Regulus began to describe objectively.

"The color and texture of the skin have changed, becoming waxy white, and the direction of the ducts can be seen under the skin. The nose has been flattened, leaving only two narrow slits. The lips are extremely thin, dark purple, and the boundary between them and the skin is almost invisible."

His eyes were dark red, with vertical pupils that slowly contracted in the firelight. He walked silently, and all sounds around him automatically disappeared.

Slughorn kept listening.

Regulus continued.

"In terms of magical perception, when I stand in front of him, all I hear is blank space. Visually, there is someone in the 'pong,' but magically, there is nothing there."

He knew that the instructor was clear-headed, and his perception was more acute than that of the wizard Yile. He had demonstrated this last year, and it was no problem for him to speak out.

"There's another sensation," Regulus said slowly, "a tremor deep within the bones, subtle but clear, starting from the spine and spreading outwards along the ribs when you stand next to him."

He finished speaking and didn't continue.

Slughorn didn't interrupt; his smile was long gone, replaced by focus and seriousness.

He had forgotten about the candied pineapple in his hand; the syrup was dripping down his fingers without him noticing.

Silence. The only sound in the office was the fireplace.

Slughorn's gaze seemed to be fixed somewhere, as if he were looking at a group photo on the wall behind Regulus, or perhaps something more distant.

Then his voice became even softer than before, almost as if he were talking to himself: "When he talks to people... what's his expression like?"

He paused, pinched the candied fruit between his fingers, and then released it.

"What was his reaction when he saw someone who was supposed to be injured?"

It paused again.

"I mean... Bella...did he...what was his expression when he saw Bella?"

Regulus knew exactly what the question was asking.

The teacher had pieced together what had happened: Voldemort's oath, Bellatrix lying on the ground severely injured—he had all that information.

He asked whether Voldemort felt any emotional reaction when he saw his most loyal follower fall before him.

Voldemort and Bellatrix were both students of Slughorn.

When it comes to understanding them, Slughorn ranks among the top in the entire wizarding world.

He watched Tom Riddle transform from a promising young man into what he is today, and he watched Bellatrix go from the Black family's heiress to their most fervent follower.

One of the two students became the Dark Lord, and the other became the most elusive dog at the Dark Lord's feet.

Regulus thought for a moment; this question involved judgment.

If he answers and there is no reaction, it would be tantamount to saying that Voldemort has lost his normal emotional responsiveness.

This is a conclusion, and it is subjective.

He chose not to answer.

He was silent for a moment, then gently shook his head.

The shaking technique itself has no clear meaning. The banquet can be interpreted as him not wanting to talk, as him not being able to explain it clearly, or as Voldemort not having any clever reaction.

How could I possibly understand that this was about a banquet?

Slughorn stopped fiddling with his fingers, his whole body still, his face showing no obvious change, only that all his movements had stopped.

Regulus lowered his head slightly.

A moment later, Regulus looked up; the opportunity was too good to pass up.

The atmosphere here is such that it would be a shame not to ask anything. If you want to hear something from the professor, now is the time.

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