Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 389 The Typical and Atypical of Hufflepuff

Regulus didn't have a particular opinion about Hufflepuff; he neither looked down on it nor thought highly of it, considering it just an ordinary school.

But Professor Sprout, the headmaster of Hufflepuff, was someone he respected from the bottom of his heart.

The witch who squatted in the greenhouse every day, sticking her fingers into the mud and talking to the magical plants, was one of the most dedicated people he had ever seen to aspiring wizards.

He could almost picture Professor Sprout's expression when he heard the news about the student—not disappointment or blame, but only sadness at not coming to him sooner.

If someone from another college had fallen to this state, he might not have cared much, but a Hufflepuff, Professor Sprout's child, he was more willing to listen to.

But none of these are the key points. The key point is that the professor helped him too much.

The origin of the Disintegration Charm was that Professor Sprout told him that the magical property of mandrake was disintegration.

The origin of the Disintegration Curse was that Professor Sprout told him that the magic of the Whomping Willow was based on conduction and vibration.

Even the concepts of feedback, connection, and giving in natural magic were explained to him by the professor.

Without these, the strongest spells he currently possesses might not even have taken shape.

Regulus looked at the young werewolf, his tone flat, neither warm nor pitying: "Tell me."

Of course he wouldn't rush to help; what would that make him?

The professor helped him so much that he was willing to look after a Hufflepuff for the professor, but only if the person himself was capable.

I can only help you if you tell me. If you don't say anything, then forget it.

The young werewolf remained silent for a while before speaking.

His voice was dry and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken to anyone properly in a long time, and the sound seemed to get stuck in his throat before finally finding its way out.

He spoke haltingly, but his pronunciation was fairly clear, and his choice of words was much more refined than those of Graybury and his ilk.

"My name is Edgar Tomlin," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I graduated last year."

He said he liked herbs and after graduating, he worked at a herb garden in another county, not far from home.

A few months ago, he was gathering herbs near a swamp in northern Wales. It got dark and the moon was full, but he didn't pay attention.

A lone werewolf pounced out of the bushes, bit him, and ran away.

He went home once and stood at the door for a long time. Through the window, he saw his mother lighting the lamp in the kitchen and his sister writing something at the table. Then he turned and left.

He feared that on the night of the full moon, he would become that biting creature, wake up in that kitchen, and taste blood in his mouth.

He went to St. Mungo's, where a few people were sitting in the lobby waiting in line. The receptionist glanced at the bite mark on his shoulder and told him to wait.

He waited, waited for a long time, watching people come and go, thinking that he would be looked at with pity, wariness, and disgust for the rest of his life.

He knew that after being bitten, everything would be over.

He left again.

Later, he heard that there was a mining village north of Yorkshire where Greyback sheltered werewolves, so he came.

I had thought it through when I came here. Since I had nowhere else to go, at least this place wouldn't kick me out.

When they arrived, they learned that the lone werewolf had been sent out by Greyback's men to bite randomly.

Regulus asked, "And then what happened?"

Edgar glanced back at Graybury.

The magical barrier Regulus had erected was still suppressing their voices, so the wolf couldn't hear what they were saying, but its yellow eyes were fixed on them like two smoldering embers.

"I'll stay here," Edgar said, turning back. "Everyone here is the same; nobody will mind you."

His voice lowered: "Nobody asked who you were before."

In the entire magical world, nowhere would a werewolf be accepted, except here, where at least no one looks at him differently, because everyone is the same.

A bleak compromise, existing, but not truly living.

Regulus listened, feeling a little surprised, but not entirely.

He had assumed that Greyback would bite people and then abduct them to expand the clan, but it turned out that Greyback came on his own.

But upon closer examination, it makes sense.

This is the predicament of werewolves: rejected by the whole world, and in the end, all they can find is a quagmire among their own kind.

Even a quagmire is a place for someone who has nowhere else to go.

He recalled the two magical textures he had seen before; the newly transformed ones were still struggling, while the ones that had been transformed for a long time had stopped struggling.

The one in front of me is still struggling, still tearing, still trying to confirm who I am by washing my nails and removing my stitches.

Compared to the empty house I had just seen in Graybuck's mind, this house still had people inside, the lights were still on, but the doors and windows were being squeezed in from the outside, and the people inside were still desperately holding on.

One is the endgame that has already ended, and the other is the ongoing battle.

He was faced with two extreme stages of the same disease at the same time.

Of the live samples, this one is more vibrant.

"Stay here," Regulus asked, "or leave?"

After asking the question, he first thought about himself.

If he were in a different situation, the first thing he would do in this predicament would definitely be to find the professor.

Sprout, Dumbledore, Flitwick, Slughorn, McGonagall—none of them would abandon the project.

But then he thought the assumption was pointless; he would never actually end up like that.

Werewolves are a threat to wizards, but as long as they are not completely helpless, it is not difficult to block them when they run into them, catch their breath, and then Apparate away.

Not everyone can cast the complete Ironclad Spell, but Apparition is a life-saving technique that any decent graduate can use.

The fact that a wizard who has attended school for seven years can be bitten by a werewolf at close range shows that his skills are extremely poor.

The guy in front of me is really not very good.

Edgar was stunned, a glint of light flashing in his eyes.

Someone was willing to take him away from this godforsaken place, something he had long since dared not even think about anymore.

Then the light went out.

He lowered his head, staring at the cleaned nail crevices on his hands, as if to confirm whether there were any normal human parts left on his body.

His voice was even hoarser than before: "I can't leave."

Regulus didn't respond, but glanced at the person in the light and waited for him to continue.

There was a moment of silence.

"Full Moon," he sighed, as if resigned to his fate, "When I transformed, I wasn't thinking clearly. My mind wasn't mine, and my body wasn't mine either. Here, it doesn't matter who I bite. There's no one I care about."

His voice deepened: "Going home means being closer to my parents and the living. If I can't hold on during a full moon, that's my mother and my sister. I'd rather rot here."

"Why don't you go find a professor?" Regulus looked at him. "Professor Sprout, or anyone else, Hogwarts won't abandon you."

Edgar was silent for a long time, then said, "I walked to the entrance of Hogwarts, stood outside the castle, and saw the lights on in the Great Hall, and people inside were laughing."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "I stood there thinking for a long time. Even if the professor were willing to take me in, what would the school offer a werewolf who's already graduated? What would I offer to make the school make an exception for me?"

Her voice lowered further: "Besides, this disease is incurable, and even the professor can't cure it."

This is a fact.

At this time, the wolfsbane potion had not yet been invented, and the werewolf transformation could not be suppressed. The only way was to lock oneself up on the night of the full moon, endure it, and transform back at dawn.

Lupin was protected by the Screaming Shack and the Whomping Willow, and by the protection that Dumbledore had specially arranged for him; he was watched over every full moon.

A Hufflepuff who has graduated doesn't have these.

Dumbledore could protect one student at school, but he couldn't protect everyone who was bitten and never returned.

Regulus looked at him.

Just now I thought this was an atypical Hufflepuff, so down on his luck, so pathetic, so resigned to his fate, so utterly cowardly.

Now it's flipped over.

He desperately wanted to go back, yet he prioritized the safety of others over his own survival.

There was a way out, but he blocked it himself so as not to implicate anyone.

This logic is flawed and can be easily dissected from any angle, but he stubbornly clings to it.

Unlike Gryffindor, who are brave, bravery is about plunging headlong into something and charging forward.

They're not as clever as Ravenclaw, whose cleverness lies in finding a way around a blocked path.

He knew perfectly well that this path was a dead end, but he still finished his work every day, washed his nails clean, and endured the night where no one could see him, waiting for dawn.

The most typical Hufflepuff.

A thought was ignited in Regulus's mind.

He had originally planned to leave after viewing the empty house in Graybuck.

This gave him a pretext to take action.

The obstacle that this wolf couldn't overcome—its transformation into a dangerous creature—was precisely the one he wanted to try, and perhaps the one he could solve.

Regulus said, "I can try to help you."

Edgar looked up abruptly.

"Let me make it clear what I'm going to try first."

Regulus said calmly, "If I can't cure you, you'll always be a werewolf. But on the night you can transform, I can make sure you don't lose your mind and hurt people. Maybe I can try that."

He changed the subject, saying, "I can't guarantee it will work out, but if it does, you might have to come back someday."

Edgar's eyes lit up immediately, and this time they didn't go out.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; his lips trembled violently. In the end, he just nodded several times.

Lucius listened from the side, his brow furrowing slightly, his gaze lingering on Regulus's face for a moment.

He wouldn't deign to help a werewolf; he considered it dirty to even be associated with werewolves.

But he took Regulus's words to heart and understood what they meant.

With profound mental magic and intervention at the level of will, how many wizards in the whole of Britain can suppress a werewolf's transformation?

Regulus was only thirteen years old.

Lucius combined this statement with the blows he had just struck at Graybury and came to what he thought was the correct conclusion.

Regulus wasn't trying to help anyone.

He was conducting an experiment, using this Hufflepuff werewolf to test his unseen methods.

Just like with Graybock, find a younger sample and measure different things.

Lucius's gaze toward Regulus subtly shifted, taking on a knowing look, as if he had seen a kindred spirit.

At the Christmas dinner, the Regulus who exuded gray magic and whose staff glowed green was the real Regulus Black—cold, efficient, and everything else was just a facade.

Someone capable of using that level of dark magic, could he really be a kind person who softens at the sight of pitiful people?

It's funny to think about.

What I just said to Hufflepuff was nothing more than polite words to coax the test subjects into cooperating.

Thinking this way, Lucius felt much more at ease and on the right track.

Regulus didn't care what Lucius was thinking.

He did it, or rather, he used his mind to enter Edgar's spirit.

But unlike the previous method, Graybuck forced his way in, smashing through any obstacles in his path.

Edgar did not resist; in fact, he welcomed him and opened himself up to let him in.

He wants this.

Regulus also tightened his grip, advancing slowly and gently, pushing his mental energy in gradually, but the result was the same; he went in in an instant.

He was searching in Edgar’s spirit, searching for the most solid, the most unyielding thing in the human psyche.

I've moved past the fear of being bitten, past the nightmares of full moon nights, and past the nights when I was so homesick I went crazy.

None of these are strong enough; they will all be washed away.

Further in, we found several items, intertwined together.

His family members he cared about: his mother's silhouette as she turned on the kitchen light, and his sister's hair whorl as she did her homework at the table.

He still remembered who he was: Edgar Tomlin, last year's Hufflepuff, a herb lover, a man who didn't want to become a monster.

At the very bottom lies the heaviest thing; he would rather rot himself than harm an innocent person.

This is it.

The Hufflepuffs have that unique quality: clumsy, heavy, stubborn, but incredibly resilient.

A smarter person would have already prepared an escape route; this little bit of stuff isn't strong enough.

This quality is useless in a place like Graybuck, but for Regulus, it is precisely what serves as an anchor.

Regulus picked out this anchor point, lit it, and reinforced it.

A faint blue light appeared in his eyes.

The light of Betelgeuse.

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