Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 464 Orion's Busy Day

In early April in London, the rain started falling in the morning, gradually drizzling and then pouring down, showing no sign of stopping.

The Ministry of Magic, being underground, was unaffected. The magical ceiling of the central courtyard reflected a gray-blue light, making it brighter than outside, but the air pressure was about the same.

The Magic Brothers Fountain was still spouting water as usual, with golden statues standing atop it.

Wizards and witches stood at the highest point, their wands pointing to the sky, while centaurs, goblins, and house-elves below looked up at them with pious expressions.

A jet of water shot from the tip of the wand, its arcs converging in mid-air before falling into a circular pool, splashing up fine droplets.

There's always someone waiting in front of the fountain. A young witch, clutching a briefcase, stood on tiptoe, peering anxiously towards the fireplace.

Two employees in dark blue uniforms walked by, one with a newspaper rolled up in his hand and the other with a breakfast paper bag tucked under his arm.

Over at the fireplace passage, green flames flickered, spitting out a wizard every few seconds. Some people jogged towards the elevator as soon as they landed, while others stood by the flames brushing the ash off their robes.

With the arrival of spring, there's a lot more work to do. Proposals, memoranda, and regulatory reports that have been piling up on the desks of various departments all winter are waiting for signatures.

Orion Black entered the courtyard from the fireplace passage, his crimson Wezengamo robe trailing across the stone floor, a silver W embroidered on his chest. His steps were slow and steady.

Several passing employees stepped aside to make way for him. Some nodded in greeting, to which he simply nodded slightly in response. Others remained silent, but their eyes followed his retreating figure for a long while.

The gazes of those people were mixed, with more envy, some awe, and a few other things mixed in.

Of the fifty or so Wizengamot members, very few had the effect of automatically making way for them when walking down the corridors of the Ministry of Magic.

In the Ministry of Magic, class is everywhere.

Only those above the director level are considered to be in the true decision-making level. The deputy directors are in charge of their own areas of responsibility. Below them are the directors of various departments, then senior staff, ordinary staff, and interns.

Each level has its own dignity and troubles, but the Wizengamots are not in this pyramid.

They do not participate in daily administration, have no subordinates, do not clock in, do not manage affairs, do not handle cases, do not approve fund allocations, do not report to superiors, and no one follows them with documents waiting for instructions.

They only appear when voting is required, cast their votes, and leave. The operation of the Ministry of Magic is not closely related to them, but at certain times they can determine the direction of the Ministry's operation.

Whether the bill passes, whether people are sentenced, and whether the budget is allocated all depend on those dozens of raised hands, and the Blake family has been raising their hands for generations.

Orion walked toward the elevator, just as a middle-aged witch in a dark blue uniform came out. She saw him, paused for a moment, and quickly moved aside.

Orion nodded to her, went inside, the iron gate closed behind him, and the elevator descended.

Ten underground levels, Wissengamo.

The walls on both sides of the corridor are adorned with portraits of past chief wizards, most of them dozing off, a few with their eyes open but too lazy to move.

At the end of the gate stood a heavy oak door. Two large brass rings, each the size of a head, hung on it.

Upon entering, you'll find the courtroom, with its circular dome, tiered seating, and stone walls inlaid with the emblem of the first Wizengamot from hundreds of years ago, crossed wands supporting a scale.

The central seat is where the secretary sits, with an open, thick-covered notebook in front of him, and a quill pen hovering above the paper, ready to be used at any moment.

At the very front was the chief mage's seat, but that high-backed chair was empty today.

Wizengamo is the highest judicial and legislative body in the British wizarding world, holding the functions of both the Supreme Court and Parliament.

The formulation, revision, and repeal of wizarding laws, the final judgments in major criminal cases, and the ratification of international treaties all originate from beneath this dome.

Fifty or so people sat in a courtroom that could hold three hundred people, which seemed spacious, but the decisions made by those few dozen people could rewrite the course of the entire British magical world.

To put it bluntly, all those thousands of people from the nine divisions of the Ministry of Magic outside the door have been busy for a year, and in the end, they all have to come back to this room to be pushed down by these few dozen people.

At 10 a.m., members arrived one after another, their crimson robes spread out on the seats, and the hum of their low conversations echoed under the dome.

Today is the deliberation day, and there is only one item on the agenda: the third reading and vote on the revised International Treaty of Magical Cooperation, with the core clause being the boundaries of cross-border magical law enforcement authority.

The French Ministry of Magic proposed expanding the scope of joint law enforcement, allowing Aurors from member states to execute arrest warrants on each other's territories, provided they give 24 hours' notice.

It sounds like a technical issue, but everyone knows it isn't.

The supporters put it bluntly: with the increase in transnational dark wizard activities, the Auror forces of a single country cannot cover them all, and cooperation is needed.

The French are particularly proactive; they've been entangled with several transnational black magic organizations in the Alps for years and have long wanted to extend their law enforcement authority into other countries.

There were also supporters in Britain, mainly a few officials from the International Department of Magical Cooperation and some mid-level managers from the Auror Office. They felt that it was better to avoid trouble and that having more helpers meant having more options.

The opposition insists on one point: sovereignty. Britain should manage its own affairs. The French have stepped in. Today they're chasing the black wizard, tomorrow who will they be chasing?

Both sides are only saying what's on the surface; there's another layer underneath that no one mentions, but everyone knows it.

Voldemort's influence has begun to extend outwards. The Death Eaters' activities are no longer limited to the British mainland. Last winter, several attacks occurred in the south of France, using methods identical to those of the Death Eaters.

The French were alarmed not only because there were more black wizards, but also because they discovered that there were a particularly large number of black wizards coming from England.

If this amendment passes, granting foreign Aurors legal entry rights will be a problem for the Death Eaters' development.

So, those present generally knew how many of the opponents genuinely cared about sovereignty and how many were simply blocking the door for Voldemort.

The discussion lasted for more than half an hour, with back-and-forth exchanges, and in the end, it boiled down to two opinions: cooperation or sovereignty.

Orion sat in the ancestral spot of the Black family, neither too far forward nor too far back, but rather in the middle, offering a good view.

The clerk cleared his throat and began to read the clauses, his voice drawn out and weak.

After reading it, it's time to vote. Raise your hand.

The votes in favor were raised sparsely, about twenty or so, while the votes against followed closely behind, numbering nearly half as many.

Orion voted against it.

Whether this amendment passes or not will have little impact on the Black family's current situation.

Even if the French Aurors could legally enter England, they wouldn't be able to interfere with the pure-blood families, and the Black family wasn't on the wanted list.

But the Black family's stance was clear: they openly sided with Voldemort and opposed foreign interference in British magical affairs. This was perfectly logical, and no one could find fault with it.

Twenty-three votes in favor, thirty-one votes against, and seven abstentions; the resolution was rejected.

The clerk finished drawing the last stroke in the notebook, closed it, and announced the adjournment of the meeting.

The old wizards stood up, nodded to each other, and walked towards the door, marking the end of their day's work.

Wisengamo doesn't have a fixed office schedule. You only need to come on election day; you don't need to spend time here at other times. Respectable people do respectable things, and respectable things don't take more than a few minutes.

Even though I don't work in the office, I still need an office. I need a place to sign documents, receive visitors, and occasionally handle matters that overlap with family business and official duties.

Orion's office was at the end of the sixth-floor corridor. It wasn't large, and the furniture was dark wood, similar in style to the study in Grimmauld Place, made by the same carpenter, only a size smaller.

The Black family crest hung on the wall, a shield-shaped base with two stars side by side, Sirius below, embroidered in silver thread, not very conspicuous in the dim light.

The windows face outwards, but in reality, they are still underground. The windows of the Ministry of Magic are enchanted with a spatial refraction spell, so you can see the changes in light on the ground, but you can't see the actual scene.

On the windowsill sat a half-dead magical plant, its leaves drooping and yellowing at the edges. As Orion passed by, he casually tapped it, and the leaves trembled and perked up slightly.

He sat down behind his desk and began working on several documents: the voting records from earlier needed to be signed, and a proposal to regulate the international magic trade.

There was a knock on the door.

Orion didn't look up, and simply said, "Come in."

The door opened, and a man in his early fifties entered. He had gray hair, a thin face, and wore the dark blue uniform of the Ministry of Magic, with the top button fastened.

Hector Fleet, a senior officer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Orion put down his quill: "Hector, sit down."

The teapot on the corner of the table automatically poured two cups of tea, one of which flew to the other side of the table.

Fleet sat down, picked up his teacup, and took a sip. "I heard the vote in Wissengamo today. It was a no-go?"

Orion nodded, his tone relaxed: "As expected, the French were a bit too hasty."

After a few casual words, the two changed the subject.

"Last week, someone accessed the International Department of Magical Cooperation's immigration records, specifically the Black family's immigration records for March."

Orion's eyebrows twitched slightly: "Who?"

Fleet said, "Glen Messway, a mid-level officer in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in the administrative rank, who doesn't handle cases but oversees file access and case file circulation."

Orion shook his head slightly; he had never heard of that name before.

Fleet continued, "This person himself is nothing special. He's worked in the Department of Law Enforcement for seven or eight years. His performance is mediocre. He can't get promoted or be removed from his post. He's stuck there."

However, he has personal relationships with several known Death Eater outlaws, they are close, have eaten together a few times, and attended two gatherings. He does not bear the Dark Mark, at least not yet.

After listening, Orion asked again, "Your judgment?"

“There’s no reason for Messerway to check the Black family’s immigration records himself,” Fleet said bluntly. “Even if he did, he wouldn’t find anything. At his level, even a request to access records requires a higher-up’s signature. He’s just doing someone else’s bidding.”

Orion nodded: "What else did you investigate?"

"They only checked the immigration records, nothing else," Fleet said. "I have someone keeping an eye on things, and if he accesses any more files related to the Blake family, I'll know immediately."

Orion was silent for a moment, then said, "Keep an eye on things, and let me know if there are any new developments."

Follie nodded, stood up, straightened his cuffs, gave Orion a slight bow, and turned to leave.

Orion sat in his chair, his fingers resting on the rim of his teacup, gently stroking it.

Regulus left the country for France through legal channels in early March. The registration information for the international port key is archived by the Ministry of Magic through a formal process, so it is not difficult to check, but not just anyone can check it.

Those who can investigate either have the authority, the courage, or both.

Masavi is on the Death Eaters' side, so that alone isn't a big deal.

It's common for people to inquire about the heirs of pure-blood families when they go abroad.

The Black family has been under scrutiny for quite some time now, from both sides, from friendly to hostile circles.

Regulus was quite famous, and after the Christmas dinner, even more people would want to inquire about him—curious, envious, eager to curry favor, or wanting to find out more about him; all sorts of people would come.

Being noticed isn't a big deal in itself, just remember it.