Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 444 Geralt Goes Shopping

Regulus was awakened in the middle of the night by a rustling sound.

The sound of claws scratching wood came from the corner of the wall, a soft, fragmented sound.

He opened his eyes and saw several small, grayish creatures scurrying along the wall towards the bed in the darkness.

Having lived two lives, this is the first time I've lived with a mouse.

It's not in Grimmauld Place, it's not in Hogwarts, but it is in the Hog's Head.

He lay motionless in bed, flicking his finger lightly under the covers.

The second form of the Disintegration Curse is silent and lightless, with the infrasound waves expanding and contracting once within a very small range.

The room fell silent.

In the shadows of the corner, a few clumps of ash, a few mice, a gecko, two spiders, and several unidentified insects were all reduced to ashes.

Having solved the roommate issue, I might as well deal with the bed as well.

He remained lying still, pointing his finger at the bed frame.

The bed frame was changed from iron to oak, the thin parts were thickened, and the recessed areas were filled in.

The collapsed springs were rearranged, the uncomfortable steel wires were flattened, and the concave curve was adjusted to fit the spine perfectly.

The sheets were still old, but the lint balls had been plucked off one by one, leaving them smooth and dry.

The filling in the pillow was changed from something unknown to goose down, and it changed from being flat in the middle and bulging on both sides to being fluffy in the middle and flat on both sides.

The Constant Temperature Spell adjusted the room temperature to his preferred level, and the Silent Spell cast on the four walls, blocking out Aberforth's cursing downstairs and the bleating of the goats in the backyard.

Even the cold wind that seeped in through the cracks in the window was blocked by an invisible barrier.

Even if you're out there running around, you should use the resources available; there's no reason to compromise yourself.

He turned over, buried his face in the newly softened pillow, and fell asleep two minutes later.

......

When Regulus woke up in the morning, he was surprised to find that the Pig's Head Bar was serving breakfast, but what Aberforth brought out left him speechless for a long time.

A plate of grayish-white paste, with a texture between oatmeal and starch, with a thick skin on the surface, which jiggles when touched with a spoon.

Next to it were two pieces of burnt toast, shiny black, which made a crisp sound when cut, but were cold inside.

There was also a glass of liquid of a suspicious color, which Aberforth said was tea.

Regulus scooped up a spoonful of the paste and put it in his mouth.

It was too salty, and had a sour taste that was hard to pinpoint, with a bitter aftertaste.

But since it was already in my mouth, it wouldn't be dignified to spit it out, so I chewed it a couple of times and swallowed it.

It was surprising that Pighead Bar served breakfast, but the awfulness of the food was to be expected.

He put down his spoon, pushed the toast aside, picked up the cup of tea, smelled it, and then put it down again.

Aberforth stood behind the bar, with an air of "take it or leave it."

Dumbledore was munching on a piece of hard toast, looking calm, probably because he'd been eating it for so many years and was used to it.

Looking at the old man's expressionless face, Regulus thought that this might be the root of his love for sweets.

He picked up a piece of toast, took a bite, and then decided to eat out for lunch.

There's not much to do during the day, but it happens to be Hogsmeade weekend, and the young wizards flock to the village.

Dumbledore has no plans to go out. The old man is keeping a low profile in the public eye, and the affairs of the Order of the Phoenix cannot be exposed in public.

If the headmaster suddenly appears in Hogsmeade, the students will spread the word, and it will reach the ears of those who shouldn't hear it. It's better to avoid trouble.

He was happy to stay in the bar, probably because he had a lot to talk about with Aberforth, or maybe he just wanted to sit and keep him company.

This is probably how the two brothers get along: Aberforth scolds, Dumbledore talks back, and then they both fall silent. After the silence, Aberforth scolds again, and Dumbledore talks back again.

Regulus didn't care; he simply went outside.

He was certainly familiar with Hogsmeade Village, having visited it several times before, but each time it was for business; this was the first time he had ever seriously explored it.

In mid-March, Hogsmeade was warmer than in winter. Sunlight could shine through the clouds, and most of the snow on the streets had melted, leaving the cobblestone streets wet.

Hogwarts students were everywhere, in twos and threes, in groups, shouting and laughing, their faces beaming with the excitement that seemed to have been unleashed from the castle.

A bunch of little wizards crowded in front of Honeydukes' window, their noses pressed against the glass, staring at the new Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans gift box inside.

There was a queue outside the Joko Widodo joke shop. Two Gryffindor boys were chasing each other and trying to shove a fake toad down each other's necks. A few other boys were throwing rotten eggs at each other. It was hard to say which was more disgusting.

In the shop window of Devis and Bance's store, a newly arrived magic radio was displayed, blasting loud sound, with a high-pitched wizard broadcasting a obviously fake international news report.

Regulus walked down the main street, his long silver hair draped over his shoulders, his amber pupils gleaming in the midday sun, the heat emanating from his body distorting subtly in the cold March air.

The short vest and narrow-sleeved shirt outlined the contours of his shoulders and back. He walked with a relaxed and casual posture. Standing at 1.8 meters tall, he was completely different from the little wizards on the street who were wrapped in black robes.

This image stands out in the crowds at Hogsmeade on weekends, attracting a lot of attention.

It's mainly about little witches.

They started pointing and laughing from a distance, three or four heads huddled together chattering, their eyes following him. Then, when he turned his head to look at them, they all turned their faces away, pretending they hadn't seen anything.

Several Ravenclaw girls emerged from Honeyduke, carrying paper bags, and one of them spotted him first.

She tugged at her companion's sleeve, and several heads turned around at the same time.

A shrill, excited voice drifted over from half a street away.

"Who's that?" "Never seen him before!" "SO HOT!" "His hair is white!" "His eyes—did you see his eyes?"

They thought they were speaking in a low voice, but they could be heard from a great distance.

Regulus heard it, but didn't look in that direction and continued strolling.

In contrast, the little wizard's expression was not so friendly.

There was something unsettling in his eyes, not exactly hostility, but more like an instinctive displeasure at having one's territory violated.

The girl you were about to strike up a conversation with suddenly stopped looking at you and started staring at a stranger passing by. Anyone would be unhappy in that situation.

A group of Hufflepuff boys emerged from Devis and Bance, carrying newly purchased magic radios.

One of them glanced in his direction, then nudged his companion with his elbow and whispered something.

His companion glanced up, then quickly looked away.

Regulus's lips curled up slightly.

Geralt's face is indeed very useful; it can cause fights in taverns and attract the attention of young witches on the street—it's multi-functional.

Ultimately, it's because he has a good foundation; his image and temperament are both on point. If someone with a poor foundation were to change, they simply wouldn't be able to achieve the same effect.

Of course, he had no interest in playing with the little witch; she was too young, and they couldn't play together.

We had lunch at Three Brooms, and Mrs. Rosmerta herself brought the tray over.

Her blond hair was loosely tied back, with a few stray strands falling beside her ears. Her deep green eyes were smiling. Her apron was tied just right, accentuating her full figure. She exuded the warm scent of butterbeer and spices.

She placed the tray on the table, touched the edge of the tray with her finger, and didn't leave immediately.

Those green eyes lingered on Regulus's face for a moment, then swept over the lines of his shoulders and back, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly.

"I've never seen you before," she said, her voice slightly husky and sweet. "Are you new here?"

Regulus raised his amber vertical pupils, glanced at her, and nodded.

"Where did you come from?"

She tilted her head slightly, resting one hand on the edge of the table, her posture casual yet exuding a sense of familiarity.

"North," Regulus replied casually, picking up his fork.

Mrs. Rosmerta raised one eyebrow.

This answer was essentially meaningless, but she had been running the shop for several years and knew which customers she should follow up with and which she shouldn't.

She tucked the tray into her arm, took a half step back, and glanced at him again: "Not many people come from the north, but you have good eyesight. I'll definitely remember you next time you come."

"I'll come again next time." Regulus smirked.

She smiled gently, turned around and walked back, the apron straps swaying gently behind her waist, her blonde hair swaying slightly over her shoulders with each step.

Regulus watched her retreating figure, forked a piece of beef, put it in his mouth, and chewed slowly.

She is indeed good-looking, but her skills are not that great.

Twenty years from now, she will be completely controlled by Lucius's son's Imperius Curse in the women's restroom.

He swallowed the beef and then forked another piece.

The roast beef was cut into thick slices and was very juicy; the Yorkshire pudding was fluffy and crispy; the mashed potatoes were mixed with butter; and the steamed vegetables were sprinkled with a pinch of sea salt.

Compared to the breakfast at Pighead Bar, this meal was a salvation.

So, to put it another way, for those who run a restaurant, culinary skills and service are the most important things.

Aberforth is indeed formidable, possessing strong magic and formidable combat power, but his cooking skills are terrible and his service is appalling.

Mrs. Rosmerta is better than him in at least these two aspects, so compared to her, her level is not bad.

He scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth and thought of Dumbledore.

The old man is probably still sitting in the Pig's Head Bar, with the gravy Aberforth had served him in front of him. He'll likely finish the plate without batting an eye and then say that it has a unique flavor.

Regulus's lips twitched slightly.

It was completely dark.

In mid-March, the moon rose from behind the hills in the southeast of the Scottish Highlands, hanging large and bright on the edge of the low clouds, almost a full moon.

The silvery light spread across the stone pavement, clearly outlining the crooked chimneys and rooftops.

Inside the Pighead Bar, Aberforth was stuffing the last stack of glasses into the cabinet under the bar counter.

The fire in the stove was almost out, with only a few pieces of charcoal flickering in the ashes.

The goat in the corner had already curled up in the haystack and fallen asleep, its belly rising and falling rhythmically.

Dumbledore stood by the door, his blue eyes gleaming slightly in the dim light, looking at his younger brother behind the bar, the one he had been arguing with all day.

Aberforth didn't even look up, his voice rough as he asked, "What are you looking at?"

Dumbledore shook his head: "It's nothing."

Regulus stood on the dirty floor, looked at the old man, and stretched out his arm.

Dumbledore walked in from the doorway, a smile on his lips, and reached out to touch her.

Regulus turned to Aberforth and grinned. "Thank you for the hospitality, Mr. Dumbledore."

Aberforth paused, looked up, narrowed his blue eyes, and stared at Regulus, trying to determine whether the statement was genuine politeness or a sarcastic remark.

The polite words, spoken from that face, sounded like sarcasm.

His bar was infamously dirty, his breakfasts were so bad that even goats wouldn't eat them, every room had rats, and the beds were as hard as slabs of stone.

He chose the latter.

Abu Fusi said gruffly, "Don't come again next time."

Then his gaze shifted from this guy whose name he still didn't know to the hand Dumbledore was using to support his arm, his expression subtle, and he added, "Follow him, and you'll avoid walking alone at night."

Regulus raised an eyebrow. It was clearly the old man following me.

Dumbledore's white beard twitched, and his blue eyes crinkled into a smile. "Goodnight, Aberforth."

Aberforth snorted.

With a snap, the air twisted, and the two disappeared.

Only Aberforth and the snoring goat in the corner remained in the bar.

He stood there, staring at the empty porch for a while, then exhaled a breath through his nose and turned to go back into the back room.