Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 380 Domesticated, Wild

The family of four met on a gentle slope outside the cemetery.

The Blakes dispersed, and the cemetery surrounded by yew trees was deserted. Dusk pressed down from above the hills, and darkness fell.

Orion stood in front, with Volbuga half a step behind him, and Regulus and Sirius at the very back.

Sirius remained silent the entire time, his face somber, and he didn't look at anyone.

*Snap, snap, snap, snap* Apparition, back to Grimmauld Place.

As soon as he landed and stood still, Kreacher pushed open the door from the inside. Before he could even bow, Sirius paused for a moment, didn't even glance at anyone, and then, with a snap, disappeared again, returning directly to Hogwarts.

Orion frowned as he looked in the direction Sirius had disappeared, then turned to look at Regulus.

Regulus shook his head.

Orion's gaze lingered on his face for a moment before returning to his own without saying anything.

Walbuga glanced at the spot where Sirius had just stood, his gaze calm and unreadable, then turned and went inside.

Kreacher darted out from behind the door, bowed, and said, "Master, mistress, young master, Kreacher has prepared dinner: hot soup, hot dishes, and hot tea." The three of them entered the house and went back to their rooms to change clothes; they couldn't very well eat in their funeral robes.

Regulus returned to his room, closed the door, and gently patted the inside of his pocket.

Baruch poked his head out of the inner bag, saw the familiar surroundings, climbed up Regulus's upper body onto his shoulder, and then sprang up on his eight legs, landing on the bed.

It tossed and turned on the sheets several times, its dark red bristles fluffy and its chelicerae opening and closing, making a clicking sound.

After being cooped up all day, I can finally move again.

It jumped from the bed to the desk, from the desk to the windowsill, and from the windowsill to the bedside table, re-inspecting this small territory.

Regulus changed into a dark gray house robe and went downstairs to the dining room.

Orion and Walbuga had arrived. A dark green tablecloth covered the rectangular table, and the candles on the silver candlesticks were burning neatly.

Kreacher set up a table in the restaurant.

Grilled beef slices, roasted lamb leg with mint sauce, boiled peas, mashed potatoes, and a bowl of creamy asparagus soup—all steaming hot, filling the entire restaurant with the aroma of food.

The dining table was quiet, with only the clinking of cutlery against plates and the soft crackling of candle wicks; no one spoke.

Walbuga didn't eat much; he barely touched most of the food on his plate, drank a few sips of soup, put down his spoon, and wiped his mouth.

She stood up, lightly placed her hand on Orion's shoulder, glanced at Regulus, and then went upstairs.

Today was too tiring for her.

I stood at the funeral all afternoon, and my father was buried. My emotions fluctuated, but I maintained my composure throughout the day.

Orion glanced at her back, then looked down, cut a piece of mutton, put it in his mouth, chewed it a few times, and swallowed it.

He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and was about to tell Regulus to get some rest when he saw Regulus put down his knife and fork and look at him.

Orion paused, knowing his son had something to say, turned his head slightly towards the study, and got up to leave.

Regulus followed.

In the study, a fire burned in the fireplace, its green flames casting a somber glow on the entire wall of books.

Orion sat down in the armchair, picked up the tea that Kreacher had prepared in advance, and watched Regulus sit down opposite him.

"Lucius asked me for help," Regulus said directly. "Voldemort gave him a task: to meet a werewolf, Fenrir Greyback."

With Greyback's activities in Yorkshire under surveillance, the Ministry of Magic began to set up a detection network. Voldemort needed someone to relay a message to Greyback to restrain himself, and Lucius needed someone to accompany him to keep things under control.

He spoke briefly, with nothing to hide. In front of Orion, at least this level of things didn't need to be evasive.

Orion listened without much change in expression, holding his teacup in his hand and occasionally taking a sip.

After Regulus finished speaking, he looked at his father and added in a relaxed tone, "I'm interested in werewolves."

Orion's eyebrows furrowed slightly, but quickly relaxed.

His opinion of werewolves is nothing special: despicable, filthy, a contaminated bloodline, a walking source of infection.

It's not a question of whether they are victims or not; werewolves are not even on the list of species recognized by pure-blood wizards.

The bitten wizard certainly deserves sympathy, but sympathy is not the same as acceptance.

A werewolf, whether pure-blooded or mixed-blooded before being bitten, changes after being bitten, it's that simple.

But he wasn't surprised that Regulus said he was interested in werewolves.

Mandrake and Willow—both are things that every wizard who has been to Hogwarts knows, but only Regulus could conjure up spells of that caliber from them.

This kid always manages to find something worth digging into in places that others take for granted.

So Orion only had doubts, not questions.

He became interested; could there be some theory about werewolves that he didn't know about?

He put down his teacup, looked at Regulus, and gestured for him to continue.

"There's a little werewolf at Hogwarts," Regulus said. "He's under Dumbledore's protection at the school."

I once discussed this with Dumbledore, about the nature of werewolf transformation, and whether willpower can override animalistic instincts.

He looked at Orion, a slight smile playing on his lips: "Dumbledore said that will overrides instinct, and self-knowledge is the foundation of everything. Shortly after that conversation, I had an epiphany."

Orion's expression changed. He looked at Regulus, his teacup hovering in mid-air, forgetting to drink.

Regulus had told him about illuminating the soul.

He knew his son had succeeded, but he didn't know exactly how he did it, the process, the opportunity, or what triggered the final breakthrough.

Now I know it was a conversation with Dumbledore about werewolves.

Orion was silent for a moment, then brought the teacup to his lips, took a sip, and put it down.

Dumbledore's words, the teachings of an old wizard, were about willpower and self-awareness.

He tried to put himself in that scene and imagine how he would react if he heard the same words.

They'll probably think it makes sense, write it down, and then go about their business.

But Regulus heard the same words, and his soul was ignited.

Dumbledore deserves credit for this, undeniably, but Regulus deserves even more credit for himself.

The same seed falling into different soils will grow into completely different things.

Orion suddenly thought of Sirius Black.

If Sirius Black came up to him and told him that there was a werewolf at Hogwarts, how would he react?

He would probably say, "Stay away from werewolves, don't hang out with those things."

Orion's lips twitched slightly, but he dismissed the thought.

"So you want to go see Graybuck?" Orion steered the conversation back on track. "Compared to the one at school, Graybuck is definitely a more extreme example."

Then he asked, "What are you planning to do?"

Regulus said, "Let's take a look first, get a close look, and observe his mental and magical structure."

Orion nodded.

He wasn't worried about safety; they were just werewolves. Even if Fenrir Greyback was the biggest werewolf, he couldn't do anything to Regulus.

Let alone one, even if dozens or hundreds of werewolves attacked together, a burst of Fiendfire or the second form of the Disintegrate Curse would reduce them to ashes in an instant.

But this is clearly not a problem with werewolves.

Orion looked at him: "Lucius is looking for you, and you know what he means."

Regulus nodded: "To build relationships and gain favors."

Orion nodded again, knowing that Regulus understood.

Lucius himself wasn't bad, but this job didn't require him to be a great fighter; it was just a message relay, not an operation to wipe out a werewolf hideout.

Lucius chose Regulus because he valued the person, not his fighting prowess.

"It's fine to get involved in Voldemort's affairs," Orion said, putting down his teacup, his tone still relatively relaxed, "but you have to know your limits."

This is Lucius's mission, given to him by Voldemort. Go and help him. Voldemort's interpretation might be that the Black family heir is cooperating with his arrangements.

He looked into Regulus's eyes: "This impression has both good and bad. The good thing is that it makes the Black family seem willing to cooperate, while the bad thing is that it makes the Black family seem like they can be manipulated."

So when you get there, let Lucius take the lead. Let him say what he's supposed to say and relay what he's supposed to relay. Once that's all done, you can go about your business.

Regulus nodded; he thought so too.

Orion took another sip of tea, his tone and expression changing slightly.

"And—" his tone carried an undisguised contempt, "werewolfs are filthy, you'd better watch out."

.

"Greybourne is Voldemort's man, don't kill him," Orion continued, his tone still casually contemptuous.

"As for the rest, if anyone offends you, you can handle it yourself."

In his mind, for a werewolf to even touch Regulus, even just his robes, was an unacceptable act of blasphemy.

He knew Regulus would be fine, but as a father, he still had to say a few words of advice to his son, who was at that age and going to such places and dealing with such things.

After listening, Regulus simply replied, "I understand."

Orion looked at him, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment.

Then his tone returned to normal: "Get some rest."

Regulus stood up, walked to the study door, and closed it.

I went back to my room.

Baruch leaped out of the fireplace, ran a lap on the floor with his eight legs, jumped onto the table and then off, circling around Regulus's feet twice, his chelicerae clicking incessantly.

It ran around the room, jumping from the desk to the windowsill and then to the bed, its eight legs moving incredibly fast, like a bouncy ball that had been locked up for too long.

Regulus watched it go mad for a while, then called out, "Kreacher."

Snapped.

Kreacher appeared in the room, bowing respectfully: "What are your orders, young master?"

"Get Baruch a plate of dragon meat, from a Hebrides black dragon, cut into strips."

Kreacher glanced at Baruch with his large eyes, and his lips twitched slightly. He had a complex feeling about the spider that he couldn't quite explain.

Then he bowed and said, "Yes, young master."

*Snap*, it disappeared.

Two minutes later, *snap*, he reappeared, holding a silver plate with a row of sliced ​​dark purple dragon meat strips on it.

Kreacher placed the plate on the table, bowed, and vanished with a snap.

"You did well today," Regulus said, sitting down at his desk. "Let's have a good meal."

Baruch came running over on his eight legs, his chelicerae spread open, and he began to tear at the flesh.

They ate quickly and voraciously, without any manners.

Blood seeped from the cut of the steak, spreading across the silver plate. Baruch's leg was stained with blood, leaving a trail of dark red footprints on the edge of the plate.

Regulus watched it eat for a while.

Baruch finished the last piece of dragon meat, scratched the bottom of the plate twice with his claws to make sure it was gone, then raised his head and glanced at Regulus with his eight amber eyes.

The next second it launched itself off the table, darted to the top of the fireplace, its eight legs touched the edge of the fireplace stone, and then it flipped over and plunged into the fireplace flames.

With a sizzling sound, the dragon meat juices, oils, and bloodstains clinging to the bristles and pincers were instantly roasted to a crisp in the flames, sizzling a few times, and a smell of roasted meat rose up, along with a small wisp of white smoke.

Baruch rolled over in the flames, roasting himself belly up, kicked his eight legs a few times in the air, then rolled back over, comfortably sprawling out like a dark red little blanket.

Regulus looked out the window.

The night at Grimoire Place was quiet, the streetlights were dim, and the light cast on the street was only enough to illuminate the outline of the sidewalk.

Occasionally, a car would pass by the street corner, its headlights drawing a white arc across the window before disappearing.

A beige Ford Cortina slowly drove past the square, its headlights casting two beams of light through the fog, and the muffled sound of its engine coming through the glass.

In 1974 London, Muggles were still worried about the oil crisis and strikes, and the newspapers were full of news about inflation and unemployment.

He's going to meet a werewolf tomorrow.

He remembered Dumbledore asking him outside the Shrieking Shack, "What do you think of werewolves?"

He said, "It's too ugly."

But to be honest, he hadn't seen many werewolves.

Lupin is one, but Lupin is a cub. Normally, animal cubs are cute, but werewolves are the opposite; they're never cute.

Besides, Lupin, no matter how you look at it, is a domesticated animal.

With Dumbledore looking after him, the school protecting him, his brothers keeping him company, and the Screaming Shack where he could stay every full moon night, he lived a comfortable life.

The ones we'll see tomorrow are wild.

He twitched the corner of his mouth.

Let's see just how ugly it is.

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