Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 423 Sirius's Talent and Effort

Regulus turned around, the door opened, and Sirius walked straight in.

The Gryffindor school robes were worn fairly neatly, with all the buttons fastened, the collar closed, the cuffs not rolled up, and even the belt properly tied.

But the clothes just didn't look quite right on him; there was something wrong with them.

He was flawless from head to toe, but when he stood there, it was as if even the fabric had been tainted by his carefree and irresponsible manner, hanging loosely on his body, not quite settled.

However, once inside the door, he became somewhat more restrained, slowing his pace, straightening his posture, and lowering his chin.

After all, she is the strictest headmistress in all of Hogwarts, and no young wizard can be so unruly in front of Professor McGonagall.

But he wasn't stiff; he was relaxed, probably because he felt he was doing the right thing and wasn't afraid of being criticized.

He held a roll of parchment in his hand, not rolled very tightly, with the edges curled up, revealing the writing inside.

Regulus glanced at it.

The title is written quite large, with one letter taking up the space of three letters. The brushstrokes are casual and not smooth enough; it looks like a spider crawling on paper after drinking too much.

The bottom is covered with tiny characters, which makes it seem like they've taken it seriously, but whether it looks good or not is another matter. Those tiny letters are crammed together crookedly, like a swarm of earthworms moving house.

Exactly the same as when I was a child, with no progress whatsoever.

I skimmed through a few lines of the content; it wasn't a typical Transfiguration class paper, but more like his own practice notes.

Judging from Sirius's posture, he was clearly not called in to be criticized.

The professor didn't react with any surprise; he didn't even raise his head when the door opened, clearly having expected it.

It seems this guy always comes to this office.

Good, he's making an effort.

Students who proactively go to the professor's office are generally not bad; at the very least, it shows they know how to get down to business.

Regulus's lips curled up slightly, a hint of satisfaction flashing in his eyes.

Professor McGonagall looked up at that moment, her gaze sweeping across his face and then landing on Sirius Black at the door.

His expression remained the same, serious and upright, with nothing revealed behind his square-framed glasses.

But after noticing the expression on Regulus's face, he quickly pursed his lips and then looked away.

Sirius Black entered the room, nodded to the professor, and said in a slightly casual tone, "Professor."

Then, glancing to the side, he saw Regulus.

His eyes widened, his eyebrows rose, he bared his teeth, and the first thing he said was, "What are you doing here?"

Regulus thought the question was mindless.

What could be the reason he's here?

Was he called in to urge me to finish my Transfiguration paper because I hadn't written it?

He came to the office, of course, to ask about advanced magic; what else could it be?

He looked at Sirius Black, his tone gentle, even somewhat amiable: "You've arrived?"

Sirius's teeth were itchy.

Here we go again.

Every time Regulus spoke to him in that tone, he felt like he was being treated like a child who needed to be coaxed.

He ground his back teeth and wrinkled his nose, but didn't lash out in front of McGonagall. He just snorted and strode over.

Professor McGonagall's gaze drifted over the table again, sweeping between the two brothers without changing her expression.

Sirius didn't need the professor to tell him to sit down; he pulled out the chair next to Regulus and plopped down in it.

Then, for some reason, he suddenly turned his head and quickly raised an eyebrow at Regulus, his mouth twisting into a smug grin.

Regulus didn't know what was wrong with this guy, so he gave him a look that told him to behave.

Sirius pouted, wiggled his bottom on the chair, and finally quieted down.

He placed the roll of parchment on the table and pushed it forward a little, his movements were respectful enough that he didn't throw it directly in front of the professor.

Professor McGonagall reached out and took it, pressing her palm down, and glanced at Regulus.

Do you need anything else? If not, you can leave.

Regulus sat there steadily.

Sirius's arrival wasn't unexpected, but he did have some questions to ask. The academic discussion was over, but Dumbledore's matter hadn't been brought up yet.

Anyway, let's just wait and see how well this guy has been training lately.

The professor's gaze lingered on his face for a moment, then, as if realizing something, he looked away and stopped looking at him.

When his gaze fell on Sirius, he immediately became obedient, straightened his back, and sat down demurely.

The office quieted down, the fire in the fireplace crackled occasionally, and the tabby cat on the wall was still chasing butterflies, leaping from the left to the right of the picture frame, only to turn back after missing its target.

McGonagall was looking at Sirius's parchment, her brows furrowed slightly, her finger slowly moving down the line of worm-like writing.

Sirius was well-behaved for only a few minutes before he started getting restless.

The toes lightly touched the ground, then the knees started to shake, and finally the whole leg was shaking.

Regulus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, too lazy to look at him again.

A few minutes later, Sirius quietly lifted his bottom, took the chair, and moved it towards Regulus, inch by inch, without making a sound.

He leaned closer, leaned over, and nudged Regulus with his elbow.

He lowered his voice and asked in a low voice, "What exactly are you here for?"

The office wasn't small, but it was so quiet right now that you could hear the sound of a quill pen dipping into ink; no matter how quiet you tried to be, it wasn't quiet enough.

Regulus glanced at McGonagall; she was looking down, raised her eyebrows slightly, but made no other move.

The professor decided to watch the spectacle again.

He tilted his head toward Sirius and replied in an even softer voice, "I have a question for you."

Sirius's interest was piqued; his eyes lit up, and he leaned closer, his shoulders almost touching Sirius's. "Spatial distortion?"

Regulus shook his head.

Sirius frowned, thought for a moment, and said, "Human shapeshifting?"

Regulus looked past him toward the fireplace.

Sirius Black pouted, refusing to give up, and continued guessing: "Interspecies transformation?"

Regulus ignored him.

Sirius's nose wrinkled too. He took a breath and looked at it from several angles: "Summoning? Vanish? Polymorph?"

Regulus's lips twitched slightly.

This guy is quite good at guessing; it's all high-level content that you only formally encounter in the NEWT stage, taught in sixth or seventh grade.

The fact that someone can use these words so often indicates that they have at least looked up relevant information, or have even started to explore them.

No matter how hard he racked his brains, he couldn't guess what the man was really asking. If he could guess even a little bit, it would be considered that his transformation skills were up to par.

Just guess.

Sirius tilted his head and stared at his face from the side, trying to find something in his expression.

Regulus looked away, glanced at him, and gave him a look that said it was good enough.

Sirius snorted and pouted, "Fine, don't tell me then."

After about ten minutes, Professor McGonagall looked up and pushed the parchment aside.

Sirius immediately straightened up, put his hands back on his knees, sat properly, and then quickly turned his head to glance at Regulus.

His eyes were full of things; the corners of his mouth turned up, his eyebrows arched, and his gray eyes were filled with smugness and anticipation, his face radiating an aura of "I'll show you how awesome you are."

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

Sirius grinned, then looked away and turned to the professor.

Professor McGonagall was looking at him and asked directly, "Where are you in your training?"

Sirius was waiting for this very line.

His eyes darted towards Regulus again, then quickly returned to his gaze. He cleared his throat, his expression shifting from smug to serious.

He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm, revealing a section of his forearm, held the wand in his right hand, raised it, and pointed it at his skin.

His lips moved silently as he chanted a spell, and with a slight turn of his wrist, the tip of his staff drew a very short arc.

The next moment, the skin color began to change from the elbow towards the wrist.

A layer of light gray seeped up from under the skin, covering that section of forearm.

Then the gray tone deepens, turning from light gray to iron gray, and then from iron gray to even darker, with a touch of cool-toned dark silver at the edges.

Then the texture also changed.

The once smooth skin began to bulge, spreading in patches from the elbow towards the wrist.

The bumps appear slowly, emerging layer by layer from under the skin. Each bump is roughly the same size, about the size of a fingernail.

The bottom edge of each piece overlaps the bottom edge of the previous piece, with rounded edges and a slight bulge in the middle, layer upon layer, arranged in sequence.

Dozens of pieces were densely packed on an area the size of a palm, their color gradually turning from dark gray to black, and finally almost pure black.

Dark scales cover the forearm, arranged in an orderly, overlapping manner.

The patterns radiate outwards from the center of each scale, fine and even, with a consistent direction, natural and smooth, and a cool, hard luster.

Regulus recognized the color, texture, arrangement, and direction of the patterns as the scales of the Hebrides Black Dragon.

The visual effect is quite good; this move alone is considered a human body deformation.

With his magical senses following his gaze, he swept over the scales and immediately understood the situation.

Scales are simply a change in the shape of the skin. The keratin structure of the epidermis has been rearranged, and the texture and density have been deformed and arranged into a scale-like pattern.

Its hardness increased accordingly, becoming much harder than normal human skin.

But that's it.

The muscle tissue, bone density, and fascia toughness remain unchanged, and the distribution of blood vessels and nerves is still the same as the structure of the human forearm.

The magical aspect is clearer; there are no magical characteristics of any dragon-like creatures.

Sirius's scales are a shell without a core; they achieve the form, but their magical properties are completely lacking.

It has physical hardness. The fire dragon scales are known for their defense. Even without magical enhancement, the arrangement of that keratinous structure alone would probably make a clanging sound if you hit it. It should be able to withstand ordinary blunt force or not-too-strong sharp stabs.

But magical attacks are out of the question. Without magic, the barrier's effect is zero. In other words, this layer of scales can't block a proper spell.

It looks good and it's sturdy, but it's not enough.

However, Sirius is only fifteen years old.

For a third-year wizard to be able to achieve such precise local deformation of the human body's surface tissues is already quite outstanding; there are probably only a handful of such wizards in the entire Hogwarts.

Transfiguration is part of the NEWT curriculum, and most wizards, even by the seventh year, can only lengthen or shorten their noses or change the color of their hair.

Sirius Black has already achieved form replacement at the level of human body material and texture, although it only stops at the surface, but it is a very high starting point.

The talent had already emerged; it was an intuition about form.

Form is form. What the skin looks like, how the scales are arranged, what the patterns are—just having a picture in your mind is enough. Magic follows the picture; no additional deduction or modeling is needed.

Regulus could certainly perform this level of shape transformation as well; for him, it was merely a lower-level application of essential transformation.

But when he's working on a transformation, the first things that pop into his mind are always the structure, principles, and parameters.

Why does this thing look like this? What is its function? What does this change mean on an existential level? How can it be changed at its root?

Once you've thought it through and confirmed that the logic is consistent, then you take action. Once you understand the essential things, changes in form are just a side effect.

Sirius doesn't go through this process. He sees it, he has a picture in his mind, and the magic comes naturally. There are no steps between magic and the mind.

Talent is talent; it can't be trained. But talent is not kung fu.

For most wizards, skill cannot catch up with talent; however, without skill, talent cannot go far either.

Talent can open the door, but you still have to walk the path inside yourself. No matter how good your talent is, if you don't put in the effort, you'll just stay at the door.

This guy is now putting effort into both ends; his talent has found its direction, and his skills are catching up.

That's good.

Sirius Black held on for a while, but the scales on its forearms began to become unstable.

The edges began to loosen, the color faded from black to gray, the texture became blurred, and then one by one they shrank back and sank back under the skin.

The color faded, the iron gray turned into light gray, and the light gray faded back to skin color. In just a few seconds, the forearm returned to its original appearance.

Sirius took a breath, twisted his wrist, swung his arm, and immediately turned to look at Regulus.

Regulus was looking at him, his gaze fixed on that patch of skin, not yet looking away.

Sirius's mouth couldn't stop twitching, his teeth were showing, and his gray eyes were shining.

His whole face was full of smugness. He tried to be reserved and pulled the corners of his mouth back, but he couldn't. So he just left it at that and stared at Regulus with a wide grin.

Regulus glanced at McGonagall first, and a look of satisfaction flashed in the professor's eyes, his brow relaxing.

That means there has been progress, and significant progress at that.

Regulus turned back to look at Sirius, nodded, and said gently and patiently, "Not bad."

Sirius couldn't hold back any longer; his lips shot up, revealing all his teeth, and his chin was raised to the sky.

He was trying to convey a meaning through his eyes.

Who asked you?

I didn't ask you, but if you want to watch it, then go ahead.

He took a few breaths, his eyebrows raised again, his energy even greater than before: "It's not over yet!"

Regulus's lips twitched slightly, and he responded cooperatively, "Oh?"

McGonagall flicked her finger across the table, and the cork of the ink bottle floated up on its own, slowly drifting across the desk and landing in Sirius's outstretched palm.

Sirius grabbed the cork, grinned at McGonagall, nodded, and said, "Thank you, Professor."

He placed the cork in his palm and pointed his wand at it.