Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 359 Regulus, the Good Shovel

Regulus bowed slightly, his attitude respectful: "The magic of the poison tentacles doesn't follow a fixed path; it diffuses and permeates, which is a different logic from the Whomping Willow."

Sprout nodded, tapping his fingers lightly on the watering can beside him: "One slow, one fast, one quiet, one violent."

Her brown eyes looked at him, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes crinkling together, a mischievous smile playing on her lips: "You're planning to research the paralyzing effect of the poisonous tentacles too?"

"Not for now," Regulus shook his head. "Just observing."

He stayed to fulfill his promise.

Professor Sprout told him about the magical properties and tendencies of the Whomping Willow. Last year, he learned the words Conduction and Vibration, which led to the Disintegration Charm.

Perhaps he could have discovered it himself even without the professor's explanation, but it would have taken him much longer.

In his mind, the "Strike Willow" was just a grumpy tree that would whip people, nothing more.

If the professor hadn't pointed out the two fundamental properties of conduction and oscillation, he probably wouldn't have been pondering the attack mechanism of a willow tree that liked to attack people.

Of course, it's hard to say.

Perhaps one day when he was really bored, he strolled around to that tree and got a couple of slaps, which piqued his interest.

More likely, he will, like all normal young wizards, avoid that tree until he graduates.

He felt grateful to the professor.

Moreover, the professor said that if one day you really find the "Hit-and-Beat Willow" and discover something from it, remember to tell her.

Regulus said directly, "Professor, the research on the Whomping Willow has yielded results."

Sprout paused for a moment while wiping her apron.

She looked at Regulus, her eyes lighting up.

She hung the last pair of scissors back on the wall, pulled up a stool, and patted the stool next to her: "Sit down and talk."

Regulus sat down beside him, picked up a piece of withered vine that had just been trimmed from the stone platform, and placed it on the table between the two of them.

He briefly explained the research approach.

Starting from the transmission and oscillation taught by the professor, we establish a connection with natural magic and the Mandarin Duck, perceive its complete attack mechanism up close, and replicate the magic model of oscillation transmission.

"The key is the superposition of shocks. Each time the 'Strike the Mandarin Willow' strikes, the resulting shocks will automatically seek out the cracks left from the previous strike and travel deeper along the fracture, doubling the efficiency each time."

I extracted this logic and turned it into a spell.

He raised his wand and whispered a spell.

A thin, yellowish-brown beam of incantation shot from the tip of the staff, its edges trembling slightly, conveying a sense of instability visible to the naked eye, before striking the tip of the withered vine.

The beam of light struck the tip of the vine, leaving its surface intact. The next moment, fine cracks appeared on the surface of the vine tip, which quickly deepened and expanded. In an instant, the entire vine tip shattered into a pile of fine fragments, scattered on the stone platform.

It shattered silently, without any sound or light.

Sprout stared at the pile of slag on the stone platform, stretched out his finger, picked up a little and put it in his palm, rubbed two fingers together to feel the texture.

It's crushed very evenly, with roughly the same particle size, and it's completely crushed from the inside out.

"It broke from the inside," she said softly, her eyes filled with admiration. "It has the same effect as the branches of the Whomping Willow, but you made it controllable."

Regulus nodded with a hint of a smile in his eyes.

The professor remained silent for a moment, cradling the crumbs in his palm, and then said something that Regulus hadn't expected.

"This would be great for loosening the soil."

Regulus's lips twitched slightly.

The professor either didn't notice his expression, or he did but didn't care, and continued speaking on his own.

"The land behind the greenhouse has a layer of compacted clay three feet below. Every spring, I spend three days using magic to loosen it layer by layer, which makes my arms ache."

She gently poured the crumbs from her palm onto the edge of the stone platform and gathered them with her fingers: "If we can use this to break up the hardened layer from the inside..."

She looked at Regulus, her eyes filled with relief and heavy anticipation.

In front of her wasn't a second-grader who could develop spells on his own; in front of her was a particularly useful shovel.

Regulus's eye twitched.

The same thing, he and his father thought about how to make it bigger, while the professor thought about how to use it smaller.

What the father and son saw was the weapon's potential, its upper limit, how big of a target it could take down, and whether it could destroy a city.

Professor Sprout saw the potential of agricultural implements: could they break up the hardened clay layer and save three days of loosening the soil?

He snapped out of his thoughts and nodded respectfully: "The professor is right. It's perfect for loosening the soil. By lowering the intensity and controlling the area, you can break up clods without damaging the roots. It's entirely feasible."

The professor patted his knee with satisfaction, his eyes showing even more approval. This child was sensible.

"Come help me loosen the soil when spring comes."

Regulus straightened his back slightly, his expression almost one of delight, his tone filled with obvious joy: "No problem, Professor."

The professor chuckled, stood up, and dusted off his apron: "Wait here for a bit."

She turned and walked deeper into the greenhouse, squatted down in front of two rows of planting troughs planted with bob bulbs, stuck her fingers into the soil to test the moisture, flipped the leaves over to look at them, and took out a small shovel to loosen the topsoil.

Regulus sat on the stool waiting, sunlight streaming down from the glass roof, dust motes slowly drifting down in the beams of light.

The professor returned shortly after, wiping his hands on his apron.

She sat down again, the sunlight falling on the pile of rubble, her tone still gentle: "Mr. Black, what you learned from the Whomping Willow is how to break things."

The Willow Tree that lashes out doesn't know what it's hitting; its branches strike whatever they touch. Your spell is different; you have a target, you choose what to smash.

Her gaze fell on Regulus's face, her eyes devoid of any seriousness; she looked like a witch who had taught for twenty years looking at a student she had been observing for a long time.

"The difference between you and a tree is that you can choose what to break and what not to break."

Regulus met the professor's gaze and nodded earnestly: "I understand, Professor."

Destruction is a capability, as is choosing not to destroy.

He recalled Professor Slughorn's words: "Stay away from things that are irreversible."

The two professors spoke differently in content, but their views were similar.

Professor Slughorn was reminding him to be mindful of the costs, while Professor Sprout was reminding him to be mindful of the choices.

One perspective is from the perspective of consequences, and the other is from the perspective of capabilities.

The professors at Hogwarts were all guiding him in their own ways.

No one forced him to take a particular path, no one grabbed his arm and told him he had to do it this way. They just said something softly as he passed by, and then watched him walk on his own.

Slughorn drew a line for him with phase transitions and irreversibility, while Sprout pointed him in the right direction with breaking and not breaking.

He may not listen, and even if he listens, he may not do it; even if he does it, it may not be right; and even if it is right, he may not agree with it.

But he could sense the professors' good intentions; they were all gentle and kind, without any pressure.

The professor didn't continue, stood up, and dusted off his apron: "Just remember that."

As the conversation came to an end, Regulus's self-glow unconsciously swept towards the depths of the greenhouse.

In the corner, a glass cabinet with a constant temperature spell stood quietly, the inside of the glass cover covered with a thin layer of mist, making it difficult to see what was inside.

But he knew what was inside: a thicket of sun-dried ebony bushes.

A small shrub less than 30 centimeters tall, with branches as black as charcoal, pure white leaves, and fine golden threads flowing through its veins.

The only remaining one at Hogwarts, left behind by a Ravenclaw headmaster three hundred years ago.

Legend has it that they only grow in ancient church cemeteries or sites of saints' martyrdom, requiring an environment of extreme purity and light, and are a concrete manifestation of faith.

The professor followed his gaze, then looked back, and said in a nonchalant tone, "It's still there."

Regulus was still watching, and to be honest, he was envious.

This thing is different from the "beating willow".

Even if the willow tree is rare, at least it has a place of origin. It has Bulgaria and Romania. With money, resources, and connections, you can always get your hands on it.

Sunflower ebony shrubs cannot grow wild; their growth conditions are too demanding. It's not that they can survive just because you give them certain types of soil and temperatures; they require a specific type of environment.

You can't create an old church cemetery, nor can you replicate a site of saints' martyrdom.

This plant is not something you can easily obtain; it's the only one left in all of Britain, and it's been living in this glass case for three hundred years.

There are probably only a handful of them in all of Europe.

Sprout looked at him: "You're not ready yet."

Regulus looked away and lowered his head: "I know."

The professor stared at him for a while longer.

She knew the little guy wasn't giving up; she'd noticed it the last time he came—he wanted to touch her, but she could also tell he'd held back.

Now another semester has passed, and he still has the same attitude.

She shook her head and didn't say anything more.

Regulus let out a sigh of relief, putting those thoughts aside. Just as the professor had said, he wasn't ready yet.

Then he looked up and steered the conversation back on track: "Professor, there's something I'd like to ask you for help with."

Sprout sat back down, speaking casually, "Speak."

Regulus coughed lightly: "One was lost during the research on the Man-Beating Willow."

The professor's expression changed; his lips turned down slightly, his eyes showed regret, and his voice was somewhat urgent: "How bad is it?"

"Excessive mana extraction has brought the circuits to a near standstill," Regulus said, his eyes lowered as if embarrassed.

Then he quickened his pace: "I used natural magic to restart the cycle, and the absorption channels of the root system were reopened. It is recovering, but very slowly."

Finally, he said, "The branch tip has sprouted new buds, and the color of the scar edge is darkening. It's not dead, but it's far from healthy. I'd like to ask you if there's any way to help it recover faster."

Sprout took a deep breath: "A mature beating willow, do you know how many years it takes for a mature beating willow to grow?"

Regulus lowered his head slightly, his tone more respectful than before, even a little obedient. He knew the professor wasn't blaming him, nor could he; the professor was just feeling sorry for the tree.

"You said that the seedling stage lasts thirty years and the growth stage lasts thirty years."

"Where are you from?"

"Bulgaria's Magic Reserve"

Sprout tapped his fingers lightly on his knee twice.

The Whomping Willow in the Bulgarian Magic Reserve is not something that happened sixty years ago.

The wild trees there have a recorded history dating back to the 12th century AD, and there are many ancient trees that are hundreds of years old in the valleys of the Balkan Peninsula.

She took another deep breath to calm herself down.

She wasn't blaming Regulus; the tree was brought by the Black family for research purposes.

Whether Orion Black is willing to provide his son with resources of this caliber as experimental subjects is a matter for the Black family.

Research inevitably involves losses, especially the study of magical plants. In her decades of teaching, she has witnessed countless instances of students ruining materials.

This time, however, she smashed a Willow Tree, a plant listed high on the list of protected magical plants. She was genuinely heartbroken, but it was not her place to blame her.

But it's an ancient tree that's hundreds of years old...

She was silent for a moment, then asked, "Where?"

Regulus continued obediently: "Cornnore, my family's plantation."

The professor glanced at Regulus.

She certainly knew that the Black family's plantation in Cornwall was a prestigious asset in the British academic circle of magical plants.

From mandrake to dragon's blood fern, there has been a stable output there, and the business has been operating there for at least two hundred years.

But then her professional curiosity kicked in when she saw willows growing in the plantation: "Two?"

"Two plants. The good one was untouched, while the one whose magic I extracted was the one that was damaged."

The professor felt a pang of sympathy, but quickly returned to his professional demeanor.

The presence of two damaged adult *Willow of the Beating Tree* plants simultaneously means that the difference in magical properties between healthy and damaged states can be compared, which is of direct value for the study of *Willow of the Beating Tree*.

Moreover, the damaged plant's natural magic maintained a weak cycle, requiring external intervention to recover, which is almost unprecedented in the history of magical plant cultivation.

It's certainly possible to do it, but almost no one has the opportunity to face this situation.

Mature "beating willows" are so rare, who would bother to drain the magic of a "beating willow" to a standstill?

But there is one now, right in Cornwall.

She was the most authoritative witch in the field of magical plants in all of Britain, so it was impossible for her not to be interested in this case, much less not to take it.

"I have things to do at the greenhouse on Saturday morning, but I'm free in the afternoon," she stood up, her tone decisive. "Will you come pick me up, or will I go by myself?"

Regulus also stood up: "I'll come to pick you up. Saturday afternoon at two o'clock, at the greenhouse entrance."

Sprout nodded, then pointed at him with a finger, the tip still covered in mud, his tone slightly exasperated: "Mr. Black, next time before you conduct your research, think about how you can save a single tree from being destroyed."

Regulus's lips curled into a slight smile: "As much as possible."

The professor snorted, clearly not believing it, but didn't pursue the matter. He turned and walked deeper into the greenhouse, squatting down in front of the wilted bulb and continuing to work.

As Regulus stepped out of the greenhouse, the air suddenly cooled down.

In January in the Scottish Highlands, the sun is already setting in the west, and the sunlight shines obliquely from behind the castle towers, casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets.

He walked along the stone path toward the castle.

Above the treetops of the distant Forbidden Forest, a star shone brighter than the others.