Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 426 Believe in the Power of Belief

Sirius Black had a sour look on his face, his lips were downturned, his nose was wrinkled, and he didn't say anything, just stared at him.

Regulus ignored him and walked straight ahead.

Sirius Black smacked his lips behind him, paused for a moment, then challenged himself for a while before catching up.

"Finished chatting?" His voice drifted from behind, drawing out, "You got along quite well with Professor McGonagall."

Regulus ignored him.

"You didn't carry me during the last spatial transformation, but you're carrying someone this time?"

Sirius quickened his pace, circled around to his left, and tilted his head to look at him: "You two have been whispering in there for ages, were you discussing how to get me expelled from Gryffindor?"

Regulus continued walking.

"You're really something," Sirius said, walking backwards and facing Regulus, his tone sarcastic. "You're going in and out of McGonagall's office all the time. Don't you think that's a bit outrageous?"

Regulus looked down into the corridor ahead.

"If someone else did that, I'd immediately lose my temper!"

Sirius Black pulled his hand out of his pocket, gestured wildly, and said arrogantly, "You know what I mean? I'll turn on you right here and now!"

The echoes were clear in the corridor, but Regulus walked on without even glancing at him.

Sirius stomped his foot hard, almost tripping over himself.

"Fine, if you don't want to talk, then forget it." He stumbled and steadied himself, muttering to himself as he walked.

"Anyway, I don't really want to hear it. Transfiguration, the principles behind it, all that stuff makes me want to sleep."

Regulus walked past him, and Sirius turned around and followed behind, chattering incessantly.

When we arrived at the entrance of the auditorium, it was already bustling with activity. Food was being poured out of the long tables, and the sweet aroma of pumpkin juice and the smoky fragrance of roasted meat wafted out.

Sirius finally stopped talking.

He looked at Regulus, wrinkled his nose, pursed his lips, and felt a tightness in his chest, unable to breathe.

That's just how Regulus is.

When someone doesn't want to talk to you, nothing you say matters; they'll just walk past you like you're invisible.

You can't even get into an argument with him because he doesn't engage at all. He's just putting on a one-man show, and in the end, you feel like a complete idiot.

He was even angrier when he recalled how Regulus had been so gentle and patient in the office, telling him to leave.

How did they develop such an annoying attitude?

How can someone like that have friends?

Then he paused for a moment.

In a place like Slytherin, it's good to have no friends.

He dismissed the thought, quickened his pace to catch up with Regulus, and, standing shoulder to shoulder with him, casually asked, "Want to chat?"

Regulus's lips twitched slightly, and he turned and walked towards the castle gate.

Sirius grinned at him, made a funny face, and followed him.

Around five o'clock, it was dinnertime. The entrance to the hall was bustling with activity, filled with young wizards rushing to dinner, chatting and laughing in twos and threes.

Some people saw the Blake brothers walking side by side down the corridor and glanced at them a couple of times, but no one came up to say hello.

A Slytherin Black was already infamous in his second year, with all sorts of rumors circulating about him. Upperclassmen avoided him and would steer clear of him whenever they saw him.

Black, a Gryffindor student, wasn't exactly well-liked either. He was always getting into trouble with Potter and was called to the professor's office more often than anyone else in the entire college.

Both of them are more formidable than the other.

After exiting the castle gate, I walked along the wall for a while, and then the person disappeared.

In early March, at five o'clock in the evening, the sky in the Scottish Highlands was still a little bright.

The sun hung on the western ridgeline, not yet set. The sky spread out from overhead to the west, gradually changing from pale blue to orange, layer by layer. The clouds were thin, stretching into long strips that clung to the horizon.

The evening wind swept in, carrying the dry chill that winter hadn't quite left behind.

Regulus leaned against the stone wall and looked at the lawn in the distance, which was dyed red by the setting sun.

He thought Sirius would bring up the matter of the cemetery.

Sirius saw him standing with Lucius that day, and that sight must have been a shock to him.

Then he ran off without a word.

It can't be said that it was completely silent. The Phantom Shift technique wasn't up to par, so it made quite a commotion, exploding with a sound like a whip.

Regulus's gaze was somewhat unfocused.

Sirius, on the other hand, was quiet at this moment. He stood next to him, his playful smile gone, his brows slightly furrowed, and his lips pursed.

"You told me last year," he finally spoke, his tone much lower than before, "that with power comes choice, and with choice comes the consequences."

He stared at the grassy slope ahead: "I've been practicing, but it's not enough."

Regulus turned his head to look at him.

Sirius's profile was sharply defined in the evening light, and his gray eyes, which had been restless, now looked serious.

Surprisingly, he wasn't asked the question he expected; he was asking about strength.

"I asked you how you did it," Sirius continued, his voice muffled. "You said, 'Think,' and I thought about it."

He turned to look at Regulus, a competitive glint in his eyes: "And now?"

Regulus looked at him for a moment, a slight smile playing on his lips, and said in a relaxed tone, "Still thinking."

Sirius's face instantly fell.

He ground his back teeth, as if he wanted to bite something, his nose wrinkled up, and his eyes turned fierce.

Why are you still thinking?

He thought about it, and then what?

Seeing that he was about to explode, Regulus didn't rush to continue.

Last year he said that thinking was to help this guy find his direction.

The direction has been found: shape intuition, shapeshifting—his talent.

If we ask about strength again now, the answer is still thought, and it's not just a perfunctory response.

The same word can have a higher level of meaning at a higher stage.

With the direction in mind, the next step is to determine the path.

The direction is what you are good at, the path is why you are good at it, and how to turn talent into power.

Thinking must never stop.

Sirius saw that he remained silent for a long time, and the anger on his face slowly subsided a little.

He gradually realized that Regulus wouldn't try to fool him on such a matter.

He leaned against the wall, frowning as he began to think, his lips pressed tightly together, his gray eyes darting around, and the lines on his forehead growing deeper.

After thinking for a while, I became more and more confused.

Regulus's lips curled up slightly. Watching this guy rack his brains was quite entertaining, after all, it was a rare treat.

Sirius doesn't use his brain much, and he has even fewer things that he can think about on his own initiative.

But judging from this situation, if he continues to think about it on his own, he'll probably be furious.

Regulus asked, "What is your relationship with magic?"

Sirius paused for a moment.

"How do you understand magic? What is the relationship between magic, you, and the world?"

Regulus looked at him, his tone relaxed: "Have you thought about it?"

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"If you haven't thought about it, you can start thinking about it now."

Sirius's expression became even more confused.

He came to ask how to gain power, but Regulus turned the question around and asked him about his relationship with magic—

Isn't magic just magic?

Waving the wand and chanting the spell, magic is unleashed.

If you're happy, you can set off fireworks; if you're angry, you can throw a curse. What does it matter?

He tried to follow Regulus's train of thought and figure out what it had to do with magic—

He uses magic?

No, that sounds like he has nothing to do with magic.

Is magic part of him?

That's not right either; he clearly only saw results after using it.

What is the relationship between magic and the world? Is the world created by magic? Or is magic something that has always existed in the world?

The more he thought about it, the more confused he became. His brows furrowed, and he raised his hand to scratch the back of his head.

What is all this about?

Sirius stood there, staring up at the sky, his face shifting between frowns and pursed lips, his mind clearly racing, but it was a creaking, groaning process.

Seeing his expression, Regulus didn't ask any further questions.

Sirius Black is an intuitive wizard who always deals with magic directly; he has a thought in his mind, and the spell comes out.

Without dismantling the structure, without considering the principles, without calculating the parameters, magic comes from the heart to the hand, without figuring out this step in the middle.

Intuition is a complete cognitive system that runs parallel to rationality. It is neither a simplified nor a lower-end version of anything else.

He himself is not like that; he prioritizes reason.

When you encounter a problem, analyze it first, break it down, find the underlying logic, and only take action after confirming that it is self-consistent.

Rationality is about seeing the path clearly before you take it, while intuition is about taking the first step and the path will appear under your feet as you walk.

Both can reach the destination, but the paths are completely different.

Sirius's path may be the most primal path for wizards.

Magic itself is idealistic.

The most fundamental difference between wizards and Muggles is that wizards can influence the external world with their inner thoughts.

If there is a fire in your heart, fire will appear in your palm; if there is a barrier in your heart, a shield will stand before you; whatever you believe, magic will respond to.

The Guardian Charm is the most typical example. It doesn't rely on skills or magical reserves, but on the emotions condensed in a memory. If the emotions are genuine, strong, and clear enough, the silver light will be bright enough.

Intuition is the most natural channel between wizards and magic, more direct than analysis and deduction. Magic responds to intuition faster, deeper, and more primitively than to reason.

Sirius Black is clearly following this path.

He doesn't need to know why, he just needs to believe.

This belief itself may be the magic.

If he can figure out his relationship with magic and the world, and let magic blossom on its own through feeling and with some kind of belief and certainty, he will go further than most wizards.

The limit of intuition lies not in how much you can perceive, but in how much you can believe.

The stronger the belief, the wider the boundaries of intuition. Willpower and belief themselves are power; this is the operating rule of the magical world.

What Sirius Black needs to do is to make his beliefs clearer and firmer, to believe in something wholeheartedly, and then let the magic grow on its own.

This may be the underlying logic of the path Dumbledore took.

Dumbledore always got the world to help him, as if the heavens and earth were conspiring with him when the time was right.

He believed in love, in choice, and in the light within people, and the entire magical world responded to his belief.

That's roughly it, Regulus wasn't sure. He hadn't discussed this with Dumbledore, but judging from the old man's nonchalant manner, it was probably true.

But he himself is not good at it; he's too rational.

To take this path, we must first study the rituals, dismantle the mechanisms, and turn belief into an actionable plan.

Is that still called believing?

He wasn't sure; intuition, for him, wasn't the way to go.

He can understand it, analyze it, and even help others find it, but he himself can't reach it.

Sirius doesn't need that; he was born to stand on that path, but he hasn't realized what he's standing on yet.