Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 375 Give Mother a Hug

Regulus went back to his dormitory and found Baruch lying in the fireplace, his eight legs outstretched, his dark red bristles gleaming in the embers of the embers.

Hearing footsteps, it raised its head, and with a click, it stirred up tiny sparks.

Regulus crouched down: "Something's going on today. We can't make a sound or show our faces."

Baruch's eight eyes turned to him simultaneously.

Regulus reached out his hand, and Baruch climbed out of the fireplace, shook his bristles, and they crawled up his fingers to his palm, shrinking into a small ball.

He put Baruch into the inner bag and then wrapped him in another layer of magic.

This layer of magic was extremely thin, clinging to Baruch's body and flattening out his magical fluctuations, making him appear as an ordinary, inconspicuous shadow in the inner pocket of his robe.

If conventional detection methods can't find anything, then the other party is being impolite.

Then he can be impolite.

The reason Baruch was brought along was because it needed to be replenished with Transfiguration Charms periodically. Regulus wasn't sure what the funeral would be like and had no chance to attend, so he had to bring it along.

Baruch lay still inside the bag.

Even through the robe, you could feel its eight legs curled up under its body, its chelipeds tightly tucked in, and even the occasional clicking sound it usually made was gone.

Obedient and well-behaved.

As we stepped out of the castle gates, the February wind blew in from the direction of the Black Lake; it was cold, but not biting.

The frost on the lawn had melted, the flagstones were damp, and the air smelled of earth and withered grass.

Regulus waited a few minutes, then the door opened and Sirius walked out.

He changed into the robe he wore when he went out, the one he wore when school started. It was quite neat, but the collar wasn't tied properly and was crooked.

Upon seeing Regulus, he grinned and walked straight over without saying a word, just staring at him.

With his hands in his pockets, he stood awkwardly, his weight shifted to one leg, and his other foot tapping around on the edge of the stone slab.

He looked from head to toe, from toe to head, and from face to shoulders. As Regulus walked forward, Regulus turned to the side and continued to look.

Regulus stopped in his tracks, his tone indifferent: "What are you looking at?"

He knew Sirius's tactics; the more you engage with him, the more excited he gets. But this time, ignoring him only fueled his own enthusiasm.

Sirius glanced at it a few more times, then grinned, his tone casual yet probing: "I thought you would..."

He swirled his tongue in his mouth, probably trying to figure out what to say, but couldn't, so he gave up and simply said, "Are you feeling unwell?"

He was checking on Regulus's condition.

Boroks was their maternal grandfather, and although they weren't close, what if Regulus cared?

Sirius needs to observe his younger brother's attitude before deciding whether and to what extent he should restrain himself in future situations.

If Regulus showed any sign of distress, he would refrain from adding to the trouble.

If Regulus felt nothing for him, then he could continue to be indifferent without worry.

Regulus glanced at him sideways, ignored him, and walked straight ahead.

Sirius grinned and quickly caught up to stand beside him.

Regulus remained unchanged, his face revealing nothing, but he was certain that Regulus was just like him.

The two walked along the cobblestone path toward Hogsmeade.

The sun had just peeked over the eastern mountains, its pale light barely warming the lawn.

In the distance, the outline of Hogsmeade emerged from the thin mist, its staggered rooftops and crooked chimneys emitting wisps of gray smoke.

It takes forty minutes to walk from the castle gates to Hogsmeade. Normally, it wouldn't take long by carriage, but now there are no carriages, only walking.

Sirius walked for a while and was clearly getting annoyed.

He turned to look at Regulus and asked, "What's the matter?"

Regulus ignored him.

Sirius, unconcerned, asked again, "Where to?"

Regulus raised his chin, gesturing towards the front.

Sirius looked in that direction and saw a path leading all the way to the entrance of Hogsmeade Village. You had to cross a small hill and go around a bend in the carriage road.

"It's so far," he said, pursing his lips. "I should have brought a broom."

After saying that, he looked at Regulus again, raised an eyebrow, and became smug. He leaned closer to Regulus and nudged his shoulder.

"How's your flying going? Want to try sometime?"

Regulus remained completely unmoved.

He flew up, and Sirius couldn't even catch a wisp of dust, a mere broom.

But thinking about it further, the scene is quite interesting.

Sirius Black, riding his beloved Sweeper series, lay sprawled on the broom, his posture dashing and brimming with confidence. The wind blew his hair back, making him feel as fast as lightning.

Then he started chasing from a few hundred meters behind, his Ironclad Curse shell blazing, propelled by Fiery Blaze, leaving a trail of orange-red flames stretching over ten meters behind him.

The sound exploded, catching up in a second, and the shockwave sent Sirius's broom tumbling through the air.

Sirius Black was hanging on the broom, his hair blown into a mess by the airflow, his mouth open, his face saying, "What the hell is that?"

Then it was Sirius's turn to chase after him, but as he chased, there was no one in front of him anymore.

If you add some special effects, Voldemort's non-vehicle flight spell would make him fly like smoke, elegant, light, and too fast to see.

Then he could unleash a torrent of thick smoke, billowing out black smoke that blots out the sky, splitting the sky in two wherever he goes, and people on the ground would look up and think it was a volcanic eruption.

The visual effect of the Dark Lord is that he is simply flying.

Regulus's lips curled into a slight smile, which he quickly suppressed: "Alright."

Sirius Black was muttering about the angle of the broom's tail fin when he heard that word and stopped abruptly.

He turned his head, his eyes wide, his face filled with disbelief: "You just said yes? You just said yes? You—"

Regulus nodded.

Sirius blinked twice, and then his whole body lit up.

"Really?! You agreed?!" His voice suddenly rose, carrying far across the empty carriage road.

His speech quickened instantly: "You need a good broom, the Seven Stars Sweep, you know? The new model from last year, its top speed can reach... no, you need the Comet 260. The Comet's acceleration is better than the Seven Stars Sweep, although its top speed is a little lower, but on curves—"

He began walking backwards as he spoke, facing Regulus, taking his hands out of his pockets and gesturing in the air, mimicking the trajectory and angle of a broom.

"—Sweeping across six stars is fine too. Sweeping is the most stable and it's not easy to flip over in strong winds. How will you fly? Do you use a broom too? You don't know how to ride a broom, do you?"

Regulus watched expressionlessly as he walked backwards and nearly tripped over a stone on the side of the road.

If I fly up and manage to catch some dust, you win.

Sirius Black was completely excited, and he was still spouting out parameters.

He started by comparing the braking distances of the Seven Sweepers and Comet 260, then talked about the old Seven Sweepers he test-flew at Hogsmeade last semester, and finally about James's Comet, whose tail fins were broken off three times.

Then he confidently announced, "You're definitely going to lose," and then started analyzing how to celebrate if he won.

Regulus didn't reply to a word and continued walking forward.

Sirius Black talked for thirty-five minutes about a forty-minute walk.

Upon reaching the entrance to Hogsmeade village, we were outside the range of the castle's anti-Apparition spell.

Sirius finally got tired of talking, took a breath, glanced back at the path he had just walked, and muttered, "Why couldn't they have told us in advance? Why did they have to tell us in the morning? We walked all this way just for a '7'."

Regulus glanced at him sideways.

How can you give advance notice? Are you setting a time for someone to die, and then telling them to wait until the appointed time?

He almost blurted it out, but then he thought, this is his maternal grandfather, even if we're not related, I shouldn't say that.

On second thought, Sirius's words, though seemingly thoughtless, were not entirely without merit.

Wizards are different from Muggles, and some of the more skilled ones can actually know things in advance.

A skilled player can predict when they will die.

Prophets, descendants of prophets, those old wizards who spent their entire lives sitting in the Department of Mysteries, facing the crystal ball, would occasionally see their own death reflected in their eyes.

There are too few diviners, even fewer who can predict their own death, and almost none who can predict it accurately.

So Sirius said something that seemed mindless, but it was actually quite clever. However, this cleverness had nothing to do with Sirius's actual thinking ability.

Moreover, this is how funerals are conducted in pure-blood families: news of death is not announced in advance, and the notification and funeral are held on the same day, sometimes only a few hours apart.

Death is a very private matter. Given the size and status of the Blake family, there was no need to prove anything through pomp and circumstance. They simply notified the right people, family and close relatives, and carried out the ceremony quietly on a small scale.

As for preventing people from causing trouble at the funeral and preventing the news from leaking and attracting unwanted people, those are secondary considerations.

Sirius probably didn't know these rules, or if he did, he didn't care. He just felt tired after walking for a while and started complaining.

Regulus didn't bother to explain.

The two stood at the village entrance for a while.

Sirius drew his wand, about to say, "I'll take you away," when Regulus's figure had already vanished.

Snapped.

Sirius's mouth was still open, and his wand was raised in mid-air.

He stared at the spot where Regulus had just stood for a second, grinned, and waved his wand.

Snapped.

At number 12 Grimmauld Place, in front of the portico, Regulus landed first, his feet stepping onto the stone steps at the entrance.

A few seconds later, Sirius appeared beside him, swayed slightly, and then steadied himself.

The door was pushed open from the inside, and Kreacher appeared in the doorway, bowing deeply. Upon seeing the two young masters, he bent down and saluted, his ear tips twitching twice in the morning breeze.

"Young Master, Young Master, Kreacher is all ready. The clothes are in the room."

The foyer was quiet, with a low green flame burning in the fireplace, casting flickering light on the portraits of ancestors on the wall.

Regulus went upstairs to his bedroom, where his formal attire was already prepared and laid out at the foot of the bed.

The pure black robe was made of thick, heavy fabric with a solid feel, and featured very fine silver thread patterns on the collar and cuffs.

He picked it up and glanced at it. The cut, the details of the pattern, the silver thread design—this was the standard procedure for the Black family to attend funerals, the standard for heirs.

Simple, composed, not obvious, but discerning people can see it.

He changed into it and straightened his collar in front of the mirror.

The person in the mirror is thirteen years old, with slightly curly black hair, gray eyes, and wearing clothes that are much older than their age, but they don't look out of place.

Baruch crawled out of the inner pocket of the robe and landed on the bed quietly. Regulus reached out, and it crawled into the new inner pocket.

Regulus wrapped himself in magic again.

Baruch adjusted his posture, shrinking even smaller, and remained motionless.

Regulus patted him: "Good boy."

Once outside the bedroom, the hallway was completely silent.

The portraits of our ancestors hang on the wall, most of them dozing off, a few with their eyes open glancing at him briefly before looking away.

Sirius Black also came out of his room, his robes neatly worn, unusually with the collar closed, and his expression was also composed.

He simply nodded when he saw Regulus.

He disliked funerals, rules, and all the rituals in the house.

Especially this atmosphere—the green flames, the silent portrait, the heaviness in the air.

But he's no longer the boy who rebelled simply for the sake of rebellion. He still hates it all and will never like it, but at least he can pretend now.

He wasn't trying to please anyone; he had simply figured some things out for himself.

He can be annoying, but he doesn't need to show it every time.

Who are we showing this to?

Regulus glanced at him and nodded.

The two brothers went downstairs together.

When Regulus reached the corner of the stairs on the second floor, he saw Volbuga.

The mother stood by the window in the corridor, wearing a long black dress, her hair neatly styled, gloves on, one hand resting on the windowsill, the other hanging by her side.

Her expression was calm; she wasn't doing anything, just standing there.

Her face was turned toward the window, and the winter sun shone on her face, revealing her slightly reddened eyes.

Sirius stopped and didn't go any further. Regulus walked past him alone, and Volbuga turned to look at him.

The emotions in her eyes were complex.

Regulus reached out and hugged her.