Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 473 The Real and Fake Regulus

The air silently cracked open, without the squeaking and popping of a phantom teleportation, or the twisting and deformation of air being violently torn apart.

The crack appeared quietly in the center of the room, its edges smooth, like water that had been cut open by a finger but hadn't completely closed.

Regulus walked out, and the crack behind him closed on its own, the air returned to normal, and no trace was left.

He raised his hand and straightened the collar of his robe.

The first feeling was heat. Exposed skin felt instantly dry, warm, and cozy under the sunlight, a season away from the damp chill of London.

The room is the living room on the second floor of a manor house in Provence.

The walls are made of pale gold limestone, the roof is covered with reddish-brown round tiles, and the window frames are made of old wood that has been there for who knows how many years.

The blinds were half-open, and sunlight streamed in through the gaps, cutting golden lines across the stone floor.

The room was large, with a long dark walnut table and several matching chairs. The embroidery on the chair cushions had faded. The fireplace was built in the center of the north wall, and the hearth was clean.

The floor was covered with a woven carpet with a pattern of grapevines and olive branches intertwined.

A moving landscape painting hangs on the wall, depicting the vineyards on the south slope of the estate changing with the seasons: tender buds in spring, lush green in summer, deep purple in autumn, and grayish brown in winter.

A brass thermometer was nailed next to the picture frame, its pointer trembling slightly between dry and extremely dry. A rough-glazed vase sat on the corner of the table, holding a few sprigs of dried lavender.

On a low cabinet by the window sits a small, palm-sized copper astrolabe. The pointer slowly rotates, and the constellation it points to changes over time.

There was also a small bronze lizard that blinked every time the blinds were moved by the wind.

Regulus glanced around the room and saw a person sitting at the table eating breakfast.

A croissant was torn in half and placed on a plate, a jar of jam was open, a half-cup of coffee was on the right, and next to it was a small dish of smoked ham slices, a few pieces of Brie cheese cut into triangles, and half a baguette.

A proper French breakfast? Regulus shook his head slightly inwardly.

That's too vegetarian, not enough meat. Breakfast should consist of fried eggs and bacon, with toast and black tea. Coffee is also fine, but with milk.

Then he saw the man's face.

Gray eyes, black hair, the curve of the jawline, the thickness of the lips, the height of the nose bridge—exactly the same as his.

Even his posture while sitting in the chair was similar to how he usually ate, with his left hand resting on the edge of the table and his right hand holding the food at the same angle that he was used to.

The two Regulus Blacks' gazes collided in mid-air.

The croissant in the other person's hand was suspended in mid-air, with a mouthful of bread still in their mouth, and their eyes were slightly wide open.

He glanced at the vanished spatial rift behind Regulus for a second, then looked away.

Regulus looked at the face opposite him that was exactly the same as his own, and the corners of his mouth slowly curved up.

He had imagined this scenario; his father had arranged everything, and there was definitely someone in France taking his place.

I've also wondered how I would react if I saw someone outside who was exactly like me.

No matter where he is, if a stranger were to appear with his face, the moment the image popped into his mind, he would know the answer.

No question, just kill him.

But seeing it in this room, I just found it fun and a bit novel.

He raised his hand, palm down, gesturing for the other person to sit, and then said in French, "Assieds-toi, Finis d'abord."

The person opposite them obviously couldn't continue sitting and eating.

He swallowed the bread in his mouth, put down the croissant in his hand, wiped his fingertips on the napkin twice, stood up from his chair, and then looked up at Regulus.

It was the same face, with the same Regulus-esque expression: chin slightly tucked in, gaze calm. Even Regulus himself couldn't find fault with it.

The fake Regulus pulled a wand from his robe, pointed the tip at himself, and silently chanted a spell, causing the human transformation to begin to dissipate.

Visually, there was no change; his facial features, hair color, and body shape remained the same, and his face was still Regulus's face.

The compound decoction is still in effect, maintaining all its outward appearance, but the changes in its magical properties are quite obvious.

Regulus's magical perception captured the entire process.

The magical shell covering the body is melting away, and the texture is changing from calm and restrained to inward, becoming steady, solid, accumulated, and mellow.

He can control the situation, but he lacks sharpness, which is completely different from his own personality.

Achieving a simulation that's 70-80% accurate is already quite impressive.

Felix Laval, the head of security, is a retired Auror from the French Ministry of Magic who has worked in the Auror Office for over ten years.

Later, he was recruited by the Black family to manage the security of their overseas properties. He was in charge of the security systems of several estates in southern France, from Marseille to Lyon to Bordeaux.

I've been doing this for almost twenty years, and shapeshifting is my forte.

He had never met Felix in person before, and he was certain that Felix had never met him.

For someone you've never met to be able to simulate his magic to this extent suggests that the information his father provided was detailed enough, or that Felix's Transfiguration skills were indeed exceptionally strong; it's probably a combination of both.

Felix put away his wand and bowed slightly, a small gesture just enough for a senior employee to show respect to the heir of the family.

It was still Regulus's voice: "Young Master, Felix Laval, the compound decoction will be ready in about forty minutes."

Regulus nodded and switched back to English: "Good morning, thank you for your hard work."

Felix straightened up and said calmly, "Good morning, young master."

It still feels weird to see your own face making expressions on the other side.

Felix walked to the sideboard against the wall: "Coffee?"

"Add milk, please."

Regulus sat down at the table, and Felix brought him a cup of coffee and placed it in front of him. He then poured himself a refill and sat down opposite him.

Baruch poked his head out of his inner pocket, his eight amber eyes scanning the entire living room.

I glanced at the breakfast scraps on the table, then at the golden light streaming through the window cracks, and finally stared at the blurry green hillside outside the louvers in the distance.

Its chelicerae opened and closed rapidly twice, making a clicking sound, and it raised its head slightly, its eight thin legs climbing onto Regulus's shoulder.

Felix's gaze lingered on the palm-sized spider for a moment, but he didn't look at it much or ask any questions.

Then he began his report.

The voice was still Regulus's, but the rhythm was different. It had the nasal tone typical of French people speaking English, and each word had a slightly rising tone at the end.

"The estate covers a total of four hundred acres, with the entire south-facing slope and half of the west-facing slope extending up to the ridge and down to the stone wall beside the road."

He drew a terrain diagram on the table with his finger: "The core vine area occupies two-thirds of the area. The middle section of the south slope receives the best sunlight, and the oldest vines are concentrated in that area, with an age of over three hundred years."

Regulus listened, and began to form a mental model.

Four hundred acres, south-facing hillside, Mediterranean climate, plenty of sunshine, ideal for growing grapes.

Felix continued, "The wood from the old vine is a material for wands. Ollivander sends people to collect a batch every autumn, which is one of the manor's stable sources of income."

The remaining third consists of auxiliary facilities, residential areas, breweries, and a semi-wild reserve in the northeast corner, which will remain undeveloped and left for magical creatures to inhabit.

Regulus nodded. "Where are they?"

"There are about twenty local employees, most of whom are French sorcerers from nearby villages and towns, who do the daily work of pruning, maintenance, and brewing."

There are three people in the Black family: me, who is in charge of security; Mathieu Dupont, a local who has been here for thirty years, who manages the daily operations of the estate; and the accountant, who lives in town and doesn't usually reside on the estate.

"While playing the role of the young master, I reduced my contact with outsiders, telling them that I needed to quietly process the repair of the protective spell. Two groups of people came to greet me."

Felix looked at Regulus, his tone unchanged: "One group was the Latour family from Bordeaux, pure-blooded Frenchmen. It was a routine visit; they exchanged a few polite words and left without staying long."

Another group came three days ago from the French Ministry of Magic's Commercial Registry to verify the spring maintenance registration. I received them; their documents and procedures were all normal. They didn't stay long, just looked at a few documents and left.

"Do people from the Business Registry come here often?"

Felix, with Regulus's face on his head, smirked: "Never. They're used to sending letters, stamped with a red seal, in triplicate, requiring the manor to submit written materials within thirty working days."

"I haven't seen anyone come in person in the past twenty years."

Regulus picked up his coffee and took a sip.

Three days ago, he followed Dumbledore along the coast of Durham County, chasing Voldemort's tail.

While Voldemort was investigating his whereabouts, an unusual visit from the French Ministry of Magic occurred at the same time. The timing was right; whether they were Death Eaters or not didn't matter, as long as they were there for him.

"Your judgment?"

"Someone is trying to confirm if the young master is really here. I managed to handle it, but if they come a second or third time, or try a different method, it's hard to say what will happen if it goes on for too long."

Regulus nodded: "It's good that you've handled it. I'll take care of the rest."

Felix nodded slightly.

During the presentation, the effects of the compound decoction gradually subsided, and Felix's face began to change.

Her hairline receded, revealing her forehead; her jawline changed from delicate to square; her nose bridge widened from narrow and straight to the sides and became a little shorter; and the color of her eyes changed from gray to gray-blue, and then to dark blue.

His cheekbones arched, his forehead widened, his shoulders broadened, his chest thickened, his limbs became thicker, and his skin tone changed from the cool white of the Blake family to the light brown common for outdoor work in the south of France.

The robe he was wearing no longer fit properly; the collar was stretched tight, the shoulder line was pulled up, and the cuffs were pulled up to his wrists.

Felix took out his wand and tapped it on himself, causing his robes to widen and expand, eventually fitting him perfectly again.

Regulus watched the process from a strange perspective, as if he were watching himself fast-forward twenty years and then change his nationality.

Felix had changed. He was in his early forties, with a square face, slightly wide cheekbones, deep blue eyes, short brown hair, and an old scar on the left side of his jaw. He was two sizes wider and one and a half sizes thicker than Regulus.

The aloof young man disappeared, replaced by a composed middle-aged wizard.

He straightened his robe, which had been fitted again: "From now on, I will serve as your assistant. Everyone in the manor knows me. I wasn't here before, but I'm back now. No further explanation is needed."

Regulus nodded: "Okay, is there anything I need to pay special attention to?"

"DuPont asked me several times about the progress of the protective charm repair. He's a local and very sensitive to changes in the old vine's magic."

I told him the story, that the protective spell was damaged, and that the young master had come to handle it personally. He accepted it, and the other employees didn't ask many questions, but the Frenchman—”

Felix, looking at his face, gave another slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, less pronounced than before, almost like he pursed his lips: "—I don't pay much attention to the main family's affairs."

Regulus stood up: "That's good."

He walked to the window and pushed open the blinds.

Sunlight streamed in, filling the room with heat. The limestone walls reflected a golden light, illuminating the faded patterns on the carpet.

The hillside stretches out from the foot of the main house into the distance, with rows of old vines casting straight lines in the sunlight, extending from the foot of the mountain to the middle of the mountain, and then beyond that, with no end in sight.

The tender leaves had just unfurled, their edges shimmering with a silvery light, stretching across the entire hillside and sparkling in the sunlight.

The sky was a clear, almost unrealistic blue, and the clouds, torn into thin veils by the wind, clung to the sky, barely moving.

A dry, sun-warming breeze swept across the hillside, carrying the essence of spring from Provence.

Baruch's eight legs were draped over his shoulders, his spider head facing the golden and green hillside outside the window. His chelicerae were spread wide, making a long series of clicking sounds, which grew louder and faster.

The white spots around the eyes lit up at the same time, and the pure white halo shone through from under the carapace, which was very obvious in the sunlight.

It sensed the plants, so many plants, covering the entire hillside. The magic was settled in the soil, flowing through the roots, spreading from the ground into the air, so dense it was overwhelming.

The plants here are open and exposed to the sun, warm and shiny, with leaves stretching out and roots breathing; the whole hillside is alive.

It tried to reach out and sense its surroundings, and the tendrils of natural magic touched the nearest vine.

Baruch paused for a moment, then touched it again.

The clattering sound suddenly rose, and eight legs stomped back and forth on Regulus's shoulders, their chelicerae opening and closing rapidly, as if they wanted to jump down immediately.

The spider's head turned from left to right, and from right to left, its eight eyes unsure which hillside to look at first.

Felix stood a few steps away, his gaze sweeping back and forth between the palm-sized spider and the hillside outside the window.

It's quite a novel sight to see a spider so excited about a vineyard.