Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 430 Harmony in the Family Brings Prosperity in All Things

The door to the Room of Requirement closed behind him, and Regulus didn't go straight back to his dormitory. Instead, he walked west along the corridor.

There weren't many people in the corridor at this hour; the torches burned quietly, casting his shadow on the stone wall.

The owl hut is located on the top of the west tower. After going around three spiral staircases and pushing open the crooked wooden door, a strange stench mixed with dead rats and bird droppings hits you.

At 9:30 p.m., owls are at their noisiest.

Dozens or even hundreds of them huddled in the crevices of the wooden beams and stone walls. Some had just returned from hunting, with field mice still clinging to their paws, while others were darting out of the windows, their wings flapping loudly.

Two barn owls were flapping their wings at each other over the position of a wooden beam, while several owls perched on the top beam watching the commotion, their round faces turning back and forth, making monotonous cooing sounds.

In the corner, a hawk-owl was dozing when it was woken up by a wing flap of a scops owl's wing next to it. It stared with its big orange eyes, turned its head left and right, looked around, but couldn't find the one that had hit it, so it closed its eyes again.

Regulus walked to the stone table by the window of the shed, took out a parchment from the inner pocket of his robe, and then picked up a feather to turn it into a quill pen.

There was an ink bottle embedded in the wall on the stone table. It was communal ink, grayish in color, but usable.

The letter to Orion was brief, written with just a couple of dips in ink, in a few lines.

"Father:

We discussed this at home before, and I'm planning to leave this Saturday. I need to take some time off work, so please help me arrange the travel documents.

Regulus

After writing, he blew the ink dry, folded the letter, stuffed it into the envelope, took out a small copper stamp from the inner pocket, and stamped it on the sealing wax.

The family owl has already stretched out its claws and is waiting.

A European eagle owl, dark brown all over, with a wingspan twice as wide as that of an ordinary owl, thick and fluffy breast feathers, and ear tufts standing tall.

It crouched on the stone platform, its posture upright, its head slightly tilted, its two large amber eyes fixed on Regulus without moving, its eyes not turning, its head following the slight movement of his hand.

The owls around it were still making a ruckus, but it was completely unaffected, remaining calm and composed, clearly not on the same level as the other owls.

Regulus tied the letter to the eagle owl's leg, and the eagle owl spread its wings and darted out the window, disappearing into the night in the blink of an eye.

He turned and walked out, went out of the shed, walked down the stairs, went down half a flight of stairs, stopped, thought for a moment, and then turned back.

On the stone table, spread out the parchment again and write another letter.

This letter to Wolbuja is not about the important matters.

"Mother:

Mother is well. The weather has warmed up recently, and the ice on the lake at Hogwarts has mostly melted, while the trees along the Forbidden Forest are beginning to sprout.

Last week in Transfiguration class, Professor McGonagall praised me, saying that my theoretical derivation was more complete than that of most sixth-grade students. Those were her exact words.

Potions class was alright. Professor Slughorn always said I had talent, and he would stuff candied pineapple into my hand every time get out of class ended. I had refused many times, but the professor never stopped.

I usually eat well and sleep well, but I get a bit tired of drinking too much pumpkin juice. The house-elves at Hogwarts aren't as good at cooking as Kreacher.

Mother, please take good care of yourself. Don't take off your clothes too quickly as the weather gets warmer.

Regulus

After finishing writing it, I read it over. It reads like a letter a proper little wizard would write home—daily, trivial, and lighthearted.

Regulus folded the paper, but did not stamp it with the seal of the heir; he simply sealed it with ordinary wax.

Another family owl flew over, with the same temperament as the previous one. It was a long-eared owl, slightly smaller in size, with light gray and pale brown plumage, and its ear tufts stood upright. It was a female bird.

Its golden eyes gleamed with intelligence. It crouched on the edge of the stone platform, its paws resting on the edge, waiting quietly.

He tied the letter securely, and the long-eared owl silently spread its wings, flew through the window, and disappeared into the night.

My mother has changed; she has been changing ever since the Christmas dinner.

She used to treat him like a medal, always talking about him and showing off to other pure-blood ladies. She would mention my little thing to everyone she met, her eyes full of fanaticism.

But that fanaticism had nothing to do with him as a person; she only cared about the beliefs she held.

Now she's not like that anymore; she's starting to carefully learn how to be a normal mother.

Regulus could see that she was trying, clumsy, and awkward, but she had begun, and that was good.

Transformation requires positive feedback.

The basic principle of behavioral psychology is that to make a behavior continue, you should give it a positive response when it occurs.

When a mother begins to act like a mother, he begins to act like a son.

Every time she tried to be a normal mother, he would only give her a little response.

Write a letter, talk about everyday life, let her know that her son is eating and sleeping well at school, carefree, just like any ordinary child in a family writes a letter to their mother.

A harmonious family brings prosperity; this principle applies everywhere.

The next morning, at Place Grimaud 12.

The fireplace in the restaurant burned with green flames, the long table was covered with a dark green tablecloth, and the candles on the silver candlesticks had been lit since early morning.

At opposite ends of the long table, Walbuga and Orion sat, with a whole table of breakfast in between.

Smoked salmon is sliced ​​thinly and arranged on a white porcelain plate. Fried eggs and bacon on a silver plate are still steaming. The toast rack is neatly arranged, jam jars are lined up, and a wisp of white steam floats above the teapot.

The restaurant was extremely quiet, with only the sounds of knives and forks lightly touching the porcelain plates and the crackling of the flames.

Orion had today's Daily Prophet spread out beside him, with the headline on the front page: "New Director of Justice at the Ministry of Magic Proposes Expanding Dementor Patrol Areas."

The accompanying photo was blurry, showing a middle-aged male wizard in a striped suit forcing a stiff smile in front of the camera.

He glanced at the headline, uninterested, flipped to the international version, picked up his teacup, and took a sip.

Wolbuja was quietly spreading orange marmalade on his toast across from him.

She wore a dark gray loungewear today, and her movements were as elegant as usual.

Kreacher appeared silently beside Orion, holding a silver platter high in his hands, his body bent over, his nose almost touching the floor.

Its voice trembled with excitement: "Master, a letter from the young master."

On the plate lay a letter, in a dark envelope, sealed with Regulus's personal seal.

Walbuga paused for a moment, the back of his knife striking the edge of the porcelain plate.

Her gaze drifted from the plate to the letter, lingered for a moment, then returned to her work, continuing to spread marmalade on her toast as if nothing had happened.

Orion noticed, but said nothing, picked up the letter and opened it.

The letter contained only a few lines and looked ordinary, but he understood it at a glance.

Regulus had spoken with him in the study after returning from the Malfoys' house, following the incident at the werewolf camp.

We need to find Dumbledore, about werewolves, about souls, about the new things he encountered on his journey.

Three weeks passed, and there was still no news. He assumed his son was still considering it.

The letter has arrived; I need to prepare to leave and arrange for leave.

He put the letter aside, picked up the newspaper, and opened it again.

Regulus's absence from school for a short period is fine, but if it lasts a week or two, someone will definitely notice.

There were quite a few people in Slytherin keeping an eye on him. Several of the older students had Dark Marks on their arms; he knew of at least four or five of them.

Other houses aren't necessarily clean either. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff also have pure-blood families, and it's hard to say about Gryffindor, but news travels faster than an owl among the houses.

Someone will inquire, and it's highly likely they're from the Death Eaters' side.

Those who were marked wouldn't show up directly, but there were always some who weren't quite right in the head, eager to show their loyalty, wishing they could pass on Regulus's whereabouts to their superiors, and would run to ask their classmates, or the people around Regulus.

The Cuthberts, the Moorselbers, and the kids who followed him into the Room of Requirement.

He wasn't worried about these people. Regulus had managed to gather them around him for almost two years now. Keeping their mouths shut was the bare minimum; anyone who couldn't do that would have been weeded out long ago.

If you can't get the answer by asking, the next step is to find a professor.

Slughorn is the headmaster of Slytherin; if anyone wants to inquire, they'll eventually reach him.

Then let him have something to say.

Write a leave of absence letter to Slughorn, with the reason readily available: family matters, location: France.

The Blake family owns vineyards in the south of France, in the heart of Provence, occupying half a hillside, and their magical wines are exclusively supplied to several pure-blood families in Europe.

Grapevines are also a material for wands. Those old vines have been growing for hundreds of years and have a high affinity for magic. They are the raw materials that Ollivander has been purchasing for a long time.

The protective magic has been tampered with; someone is sabotaging the project, and several batches of grapevines have been contaminated. The local employees are unable to handle the situation, and a core member of the family needs to be present in person.

In the rules of pure-blood families, it is normal for the heir to be present when the property is infringed upon. This is a gesture to assert sovereignty, something every family has done, and everyone understands it.

The timing is also right, mid-March, a crucial period for the vineyards in spring. The protective magic itself needs maintenance, so it's not surprising that problems occur during this season.

France was chosen after careful consideration.

To get there from England, one must cross the English Channel; the Floo Network does not extend into France; and the Portkeys must be registered with the Ministry of Magic in advance. For those who wish to secretly investigate, every step leaves a trace.

France's geographical location naturally serves as a buffer, unlike Germany and Northern Europe which are adjacent to Britain and can be easily bypassed.

The Black family's French vineyards have an independent management system and employ local wizards on a long-term basis. Arranging for Regulus to come and go normally there would be too easy.

The French Ministry of Magic's business registry also has complete records, and public records show that the manor is undergoing spring maintenance and protective magic repairs.

Anyone can find out what he wants people to see, but what they find is only what he wants people to see.

As for the others, the magical animal breeding farm in Ireland is too small to be worth the heirs making a special trip for.

The Cornish plantations are in England, too close to Hogwarts, so it's hard to explain why people don't go back to the school.

As for India...

Regulus is too young; no matter how capable he is, he shouldn't go to such a place.

France offers a reasonable timeframe, a geographical buffer, readily available cover for identity, and a plausible industrial logic.

All of this will be clearly written in the letter to Slughorn, in such detail that it can be directly repeated to anyone who asks.

This is only the first layer.