Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

As dawn broke, the first rays of sunlight rolled over the mountain ridge from the east and shone into the second-floor window of the master bedroom.

Regulus turned from the window: "Mr. DuPont, have everyone rest this morning. Take good care of those who were injured last night. Those who need to go to Saint-Michel don't need to wait."

We'll have a get-together in the square in front of the main house this afternoon; everyone can attend. No work today.

DuPont nodded, a slight upturn to his lips beneath his beard. "Shall we open the vintage wines in the cellar?"

"Open a few good bottles."

DuPont pulled a notebook from his robe pocket and tapped it twice with his wand: "Then take the 1964 batch, enough to drink, not expensive."

After saying that, he glanced at Regulus, and seeing that he had no other plans, he turned and walked out.

Regulus looked at Felix: "Mr. Laval, go and coordinate with the Ministry of Magic."

They said they'd have a draft report by morning. Go get it and take a look. Make sure everyone signs what needs to be signed, and also keep an eye on the prisoner transfer paperwork.

"Understood." Felix nodded and went out as well.

DuPont didn't go far; he stopped in front of a window at the corner of the corridor and leaned against the window frame.

Felix came out of the living room and walked down the corridor toward the stairwell. As he turned the corner, he saw DuPont.

DuPont approached, his gaze fixed intently on Felix, and asked directly, "Young Master from before, the one who went out on business—was that you?"

Felix walked straight ahead, tilted his head slightly as he passed DuPont, shrugged, and said nothing.

DuPont watched his retreating figure disappear at the top of the stairs and muttered, "évidemment."

The living room was empty, and Regulus stood by the window for a while longer.

Baruch rolled over on his shoulder, belly up, eight legs curled up in front of his chest. He reached out and scratched its belly twice, then spoke to the empty room, "Want to chat?"

The air rippled slightly, and a person stepped out from it.

The middle-aged witch was of medium build, with short, dark brown hair that reached her ears, and a few strands of gray hair at the ends.

She has a round face, well-maintained skin, fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and naturally slightly upturned lips, making her look like she's always smiling, like an ordinary witch who might chat with the shopkeeper of a corner store about the weather for half an hour.

She stood a few steps behind Regulus, her hands clasped in front of her.

Regulus turned around and nodded. "What's your name?"

"Francis Whitmore, sir," her voice was softer than Regulus had expected, with a South London accent and drawn-out vowels, "just call me Fran."

Regulus gestured with his hand: "Please sit, Fran."

She sat down in the chair that Isabel had sat in, relaxed, with her hands resting on her lower abdomen, and looked at Regulus with a smile.

Regulus sat down opposite her.

Baruch flipped himself over on his shoulder, pushed off with his eight legs, jumped onto the table, and ran to Francis. His eight eyes looked up at her, and his chelipeds opened and closed twice, making a clicking sound.

Francis glanced down at the palm-sized spider and smiled, "It's huge."

Baruch was overjoyed to hear someone praise it. It wiggled its short legs back and forth, its chelipeds spread wide, making a series of clicking sounds.

Regulus ignored it and looked at Francis: "You had a tough night."

“Young Master is right,” Francis smiled, the lines around his eyes deepening. “Master is right.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. This sounded like something an elder would say: "Your father told me about you."

Francis continued, "The master told us that all we had to do here was cooperate with the young master. We weren't much of a help; it was mainly the young master's own ability that mattered."

Regulus thought about it and realized that his skills were indeed quite good, so he nodded.

Francis looked at his "you're right" expression, his smile widening, and said, "My husband is at Hogwarts too, and he always mentions you."

Regulus waited a moment, but she didn't say who she was, which college she was from, or what year she was in; she just said that.

He didn't press further, simply replying, "If there's anything you need help with at Hogwarts, just let me know."

Francis smiled and nodded, then stood up: "We'll be leaving now, young master. It's not appropriate for us to stay here as a tourist attraction for the French Aurors after we've finished our business. Let's go back and wait for the master's arrangements."

After saying that, he turned and left. When he reached the door, he pushed it open and walked into the corridor. His footsteps echoed outside the door a few times before disappearing.

......

No one worked in the morning, and no one slept either.

The battlefield on the western slope still looks the same as it did last night: deep trenches in the ground, shattered rocks, and charred remnants of bushes.

A group of people went to see it together, and they became quite talkative after they came back.

The news spread throughout the manor that the young master of the Black family had single-handedly taken down more than forty adult wizards.

A young employee squatted in the corner of the corridor, gesturing and talking loudly enough to be heard through two walls.

"Did you see that crater? The entire ground has been overturned! And that rock, it's taller than me! Cracks run from top to bottom, and steam is still rising from it! Steam! It hasn't cooled down all night!"

Another voice cracked with excitement, speaking rapidly: "He just walked out by himself. I saw him leave, all alone, with a spider on his shoulder, walking towards the west slope. I thought to myself, 'Has he gone mad?'"

"and then?"

"Then it got light!" The man turned his head to look around, his tone mysterious. "Let me tell you, it didn't get light at all! The sky was on fire! Blue and white flames, covering the entire sky, from one end to the other, it was all fire!"

A young female employee looked up at the corridor ceiling. She had spent the night squatting in the main room and had indeed seen it from the window: "I thought it was the Auror who put it there."

"It wasn't an Auror, it was him from beginning to end!"

Madeline sat on the stone steps outside the brewery, a cigarette dangling from her lips. The smoke rose in the morning sunlight, then dissipated in the wind, and her expression returned to its usual sullenness.

A young man ran up to her and asked about last night. She glared at him and blew a puff of smoke from her nostrils: "Get lost."

......

Around noon, Felix returned and found Regulus in the living room.

Regulus was leaning against the window, flipping through a sixth-grade textbook from Beauxbatons, on the section about the magical refraction and conduction of minerals.

Felix closed the door and stood in front of the table.

"Everything has been coordinated. The draft report has been confirmed, and the characterization is consistent with what we discussed last night. The prisoner transfer procedures have also been completed. The efficiency over there is acceptable."

Regulus closed the book and hummed in agreement.

Felix took two items out of the inner pocket of his robe and placed them on the table.

An old key and a small silver ball about the size of a thumb.

Felix said, "These two items were given to me by Ms. de Lavigne."

"Regarding the port key, her exact words were," he pushed the key toward Regulus, changing his tone, "that, given the special nature of Mr. Black's recent travels, the French Ministry of Magic has provided an officially certified cross-border port key to ensure that Mr. Black can return to England through the safest and most convenient official channels. This is standard courtesy from the French side to important partners, without any obligations attached, and Mr. Black can use it whenever it is convenient for him."

Regulus picked up the key and flipped it over.

It's made of copper, like it was dug out of a garbage dump. Half of it is black, and the other half is covered in verdigris. A small, faded blue ribbon is tied to the end, with loose ends.

Standard courtesy, with no obligations attached, at any convenient time.

The French authorities must have checked his entry records.

Orion arranged all the necessary legal entry and exit documents in France, including door keys, activation dates, port registration, and visitor records for the estate—everything was compliant.

But if the French really wanted to investigate, they could find loopholes by comparing the statements of the archivists with the dates on the records.

They did find out, and the meaning of giving them the door key was very clear: we know you didn't come in through the front door, so we're giving you a key to the front door so you can use the front door next time.

Or to put it more bluntly, stop causing trouble and go back.

That's very polite.

"Regarding this, her exact words were," Felix pointed to the silver sphere and continued, "During the process of clearing evidence related to the Delacroix gang, an alchemical artifact suspected to be involved in the private affairs of the Black family was discovered. Preliminary testing revealed that the item contained remnants of a curse that required professional handling. The French side believed that, given the nature of the item, returning it to the parties involved was the most appropriate course of action. The French side did not attempt to decipher or extract it in any way and has no relevant information about it."

Regulus looked at the alchemical sphere, spread his magical senses over it, and instantly discovered its alchemical circuit.

It's a very simple function: recording sound.

He had a rough idea of ​​what was being recorded inside. Delacroix had kept a secret when he met Bella, recording their entire conversation.

It's just a matter of waiting for Bella to turn against us someday; then this will be the evidence, and we can hand it over to the right person.

The evidence hadn't even been used yet when the person died.

As for the curse mentioned above, it's no surprise that it was Bella's doing again.

Bella is definitely different now. After being modified by Voldemort, she has become quiet, sickly, and uses her brain.

Fanaticism will certainly not decrease, but when it is hijacked by intelligence, it becomes something even more dangerous.

It's impossible for the French to be unable to break the curse. No matter how clever Bella's methods are, they're no match for the Ministry of Magic of a country.

As for whether the French touched the ball or not, whether they saw it or not, since they say they didn't see it, then he believes them.

You'll understand once you see it; once you understand, you have to take a stance; having a stance means you have to deal with it; and dealing with it is troublesome.

So their choice not to watch is because they don't want to have an opinion, and not wanting to have an opinion is itself an attitude.

The meaning of handing it back is equally clear: you deal with your own mess, we won't interfere.

By comparing the two things together, the French had done a lot of work in that short morning and perhaps pieced together the whole picture.

Here's the key to the door, here's the evidence, and now you can leave.

Regulus's lips twitched slightly.

The French are generally quite meticulous in their work, but why should we kick him out?

"Anything else?"

Felix shook his head: "That's all."

"Okay," Regulus reopened the book. "You'll come to the afternoon dinner too."

......

The afternoon sun made the square in front of the main house shine. Several long tables were casually placed, covered with light beige tablecloths, the edges of which were gently turned by the wind.

Seven or eight grills were set up in the center of the square, each with a whole leg of lamb and several skewers of French sausages on it. The grease dripped onto the charcoal fire and sizzled, while smoke rose into the air.

The table was laden with food: a whole roasted salmon with its skin baked to a golden brown, a mountain of baguettes, sliced ​​Brie cheese laid out on a wooden board with a small dish of fig jam next to it, and several large bowls of Provençal stew, with tomatoes, eggplants and zucchini stewed until soft and glistening with oil.

The bottles were lined up in a row. DuPont opened six bottles, all dated 1964, and there were also several pitchers of lemonade with ice for those who didn't drink.

The employees filed out of the bamboo house, with the young people rushing to the long table first. Some tore off a piece of bread and stuffed it into their mouths, some ran towards DuPont with their liquor, and some stood around the grill watching the heat.

After regaining his large size, Baruch couldn't stay still at all. His dark red figure, about two meters long, ran around the square. His eight long legs moved incredibly fast, running from the base of the main house wall to the pergola and back again. Every time he passed the long table, the cups and saucers on the table would tremble.

Regulus had DuPont prepare a large earthenware bowl for him, which was placed under an old olive tree in the corner of the square. Inside was the Swedish short-nosed dinosaur neck meat that Felix had brought from Marseille, cut into thick strips.

After running around for a while, Baruch spotted the large basin. He shoved his spider head into it, grabbed a piece of dragon meat with his pincers, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Its mouthparts quickly ground the meat, breaking it in half. Half of the meat fell outside the basin. It lowered its head and used its chelicerae to pick up the fallen meat and put it back into its mouth.

The spider's head was buried in the basin, its rear end sticking out. Claire walked over from the long table with a glass of lemonade, stopped a few meters away from Baruch, and curled the corners of her mouth upwards.

She placed the lemonade on the stone platform next to her, crouched down, went around behind Baruch, and gently leaned forward.

Baruch was focused on dealing with another piece of dragon meat, his chelicerae gripping it and bringing it to his mouth, while the spider's head tilted slightly.

Claire took another step forward, reaching her fingers towards the bristles standing up on Baruch's carapace.

Baruch suddenly stuck out his buttocks, and a tuft of silvery-white spider silk, as thick as a little finger, shot out from his web-spinner and precisely stuck to Claire's outstretched hand.

It twisted its rear end to the side, and the spider silk pulled Claire's hand slightly toward its side.

Claire staggered forward, instinctively reaching for the ground with her other hand, when Baruch's second swarm of spider silk shot towards her, this time at her ankle.

It then pulled its head out of the basin, trotted around Claire, and the spider silk wrapped around her arms, shoulders, waist, and legs.

In less than two seconds, Claire was wrapped into a silvery-white human-shaped cocoon, with only her head and a pair of wide-open eyes showing.

Several young employees around him burst out laughing at the same time; some clapped, some spat out their drinks, and some slammed their fists on the table.

Baruch stopped, looked down to admire his work, stretched out one of his front legs, and gently poked it with the tip of his claw.

Then it raised its spider head, its chelicerae extended to their maximum size, and made a long series of clicking sounds.

He was extremely pleased with himself.

"Help me!" Claire cried, writhing on the ground, the spider silk tightening around her. "Someone help me get this off—"

Regulus sat at the other end of the long table watching this scene, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He snapped his fingers, and the spider silk on Claire's body snapped and fell to the ground.

Claire got up from the ground, dusted off her pants, and glared at Baruch.

Baruch had already shoved the spider's head back into the large basin and continued eating, his backside turned to her, completely ignoring her.

Claire's face flushed instantly, while people around her were laughing.

The sun shifted westward from its zenith, the afternoon heat began to subside, and the smell of barbecue in the air dissipated considerably.

The young employees were still making a ruckus around the long table. Some were recounting the details of last night, while others, tired from talking, were dozing off on the edge of the table.

Regulus stood up, still holding a glass of lemonade in his hand.

The surrounding noise gradually subsided.

"You worked hard last night," Regulus said gently, his voice carrying far. The person who was still speaking stopped, and the person leaning on the edge of the table looked up. "The manor's affairs have been taken care of, so don't worry. Just continue as usual."

"Mr. DuPont will arrange the bonus, which will be equivalent to one year's salary for each person."

DuPont nodded across the long table and picked up his notebook to draw something on it.

The square was quiet for a moment, then cheers erupted from all directions. Some whistled, some raised their glasses to the sky, and someone shouted, "Vive Monsieur Black!"

This was followed by a string of whistles and applause.

"DuPont! Mr. DuPont! Is it true?"

"For one year?"

When will it be released?

Regulus sat back down and put the lemonade on the table.

As the sun continued westward, the shadows grew longer, stretching from the center of the square towards the stone wall, transforming the scorching afternoon sunlight into a soft, golden hue of evening.

Most of the food on the long table was eaten, and several wine bottles were empty.

The young people were still making a ruckus, and some were singing some kind of folk song from the south of France. They were completely off-key, but they were all very loud.

Baruch's spider head had been pulled out of the empty basin, its front legs resting on the rim, looking quite satisfied with its meal.

Dusk spread from east to west, the sky changed from gold to orange to deep blue and then to grayish-purple, and the first star lit up in the west.

Regulus found Felix: "I'll leave the rest to you: liaising with the Ministry of Magic, restoring the manor, and reinstating security."

Felix nodded: "Bonne chance, young master."

Regulus's lips twitched slightly: "Merci."

Then he turned and walked into the main house.

Baruch ran over from under the olive tree, his eight legs moving swiftly, and stopped at his feet. Then he lay down, his spider head tilted back, his eight eyes staring at him.

He snapped his fingers, and Baruch shrank, jumped onto his shoulder, nuzzled against his neck, and lay still.

As Regulus reached the entrance of the main house, he glanced back at the square.

There was half a bottle of wine, a few pieces of bread, scattered plates, and bones left on the long table.

In the twilight, these everyday things remained quiet, separated from the battlefield beneath the curtain of fire from last night by a whole day.

He pushed open the door and went inside.