Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Andromeda then brought up the matter of the child in her womb, putting down her teacup and placing her hand on her belly: "This child is restless in there."

Regulus looked over.

Andromeda's tone was tinged with a hint of smugness and a touch of amusement: "Sometimes when I look down, the color of my belly is a little off. Sometimes it's more pink, sometimes more blue. Sometimes I can feel the hair inside changing color through the skin, from black to red, and then back to red."

She looked up at Regulus, a smile playing on her lips. "Isn't it strange? Will it be a little chameleon when it's born?"

Regulus's gaze softened as he watched Regulus stroke his belly.

Disguise Magus, a natural master of human transformation.

There are very few recorded cases of shapeshifting Magus in the entire European magical world. This ability cannot be acquired through learning, nor can it be replicated with potions or spells. It is purely innate, something that comes from one's bloodline. One can change shape whenever one wants; it is a natural ability.

No matter how much other wizards practice their Transfiguration, they still need a wand, a spell, and a concept. This child can transform while still in the womb.

"That's a talent," Regulus said with admiration. "A very rare talent. The ability to transform into a shapeshifter while still in the womb will only make her more powerful after she's born. Your daughter is lucky."

Andromeda lowered her head again, gently circling her fingers on her belly. The little thing inside her seemed to sense something.

The skin on the right side of her abdomen suddenly lit up; through her skirt, you could see that it had changed from its normal skin tone to a light pinkish hue before slowly returning to normal.

"Then when she goes to school, her teachers and classmates—" She suddenly stopped, thought of something, and laughed: "Nymphadora Tonks, the shapeshifter Magus, a natural shapeshifter, just that name and talent together are probably enough to write a report in the Daily Prophet."

"The Daily Prophet probably won't report on a Tonks-named Metamorphosis Magus," Regulus shrugged. "But the Black family bloodline is something else. Sirius's talent for shapeshifting has already emerged—human shapeshifting, elemental shapeshifting. The professor said his shapeshifting intuition is innate, and my shapeshifting is pretty good too. Now we have another Metamorphosis Magus who hasn't even been born yet."

"Judging from your tone," Andromeda picked up his chamomile tea, took a sip, and looked down at him over the rim of the cup, "the Black family bloodline is good, mainly because you and Sirius are good."

Talent and bloodline are things that cannot be hidden. Even though she has now taken her husband's surname and is Mrs. Tonks, it cannot be denied that the child has the blood of the Black family.

Nymphadora's talent was ultimately due to the Black family.

Regulus leaned back and shrugged. "I didn't say that."

Andromeda narrowed his eyes: "That's what you mean."

Regulus raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

With your big belly, whatever you say goes.

There was a moment of silence by the window, then the second hand of the wall clock continued ticking.

An elderly couple walked by under the streetlights outside the window. The old man was supporting the old woman's arm as they walked slowly. When they passed the window of the café, the old woman glanced inside and saw Andromeda and a boy sitting by the window. She smiled and continued walking.

It was completely dark when the streetlights illuminated Mufta Street, and several customers came in one after another.

Regulus removed the soundproofing spell.

The copper bell on the door rang once, and an old lady who lived upstairs came in. Her gray hair was permed into small curls, she wore lipstick, and she was wearing a dark purple wool scarf.

Andromeda got up to greet them, speaking fluent French and exchanging familiar pleasantries with the regulars.

The old woman asked in French, "How's the baby in your belly?"

Andromeda chuckled and gestured with her hand on her stomach: "The little guy kicked again."

The old lady, with a kind face, ordered a hot chocolate, sat on a stool next to the bar, and took out a magazine with the Eiffel Tower on the cover from her bag.

Andromeda turned and went behind the bar, taking out a jar of cocoa powder from the cabinet.

Another young man, who looked like a college student, came in carrying a canvas bag and had messy hair. He pushed open the door and called out, "Bonsoir, Madame Tonks!"

Then he took a few coins out of his pocket, placed them on the bar, and ordered a takeaway coffee.

While Andromeda was making hot chocolate, she poured him coffee. When she gave him change, she gave him an extra franc, which he pointed to on the counter and pushed back.

Andromeda smiled and took it back, saying thank you in French.

A middle-aged man in a trench coat was the last to come in. He sat down at a table against the wall and took out a neatly folded copy of Le Monde from his pocket.

Without ordering, he first spread out the newspaper, turned to the third page, and Andromeda brought over a cup of double espresso and placed it next to him.

The middle-aged man didn't even look up, turned a page of the newspaper, and casually said, "Merci, madame."

After a while, she looked up and saw Andromeda's belly, her glasses sliding down slightly: "It's getting bigger and bigger. What's the due date?"

“August,” Andromeda replied with a smile, “Mr. Jean, your coffee is getting cold.”

The middle-aged man lowered his head, took a sip, nodded, and buried himself back in his newspaper.

Regulus held the cup of coffee that would never get cold in his hand and sipped it slowly.

This little coffee shop only had a few customers in the evening: an elderly woman, a college student, and a middle-aged man reading a newspaper.

There was no social pressure from pure-blood families, no undercurrents in the Ministry of Magic, no shadow of Voldemort, only the steam of hot chocolate and the aroma of brewing coffee.

Andromeda has settled down here, with returning customers, acquaintances, pleasantries, and daily routines.

About half an hour later, the middle-aged man with glasses closed his newspaper, stood up, placed his change next to the cup, nodded to the bar, and went out.

After finishing the last sip of her hot chocolate, the old lady took a banknote out of her bag, placed it under the cup, and slowly walked out.

Andromeda collected the cups, wiped the bar with a rag, and flipped over the wooden sign by the door.

Fermé is closed.

The street outside had quieted down, and the streetlights cast warm yellow light on the stone pavement. The bakery had closed long ago, and the potted plant on the second-floor balcony of the apartment across the street had been moved inside. The curtains were half-drawn.

The doorbell rang again, and Ted poked half his body in from outside, carrying a bulging cloth bag in his hand.

"I've bought the groceries," he smiled at Andromeda, then looked at Regulus. "Come on up, we're making beef stew in Burgundy tonight."

Andromeda turned off the coffee machine, walked around from behind the bar, glanced at Regulus, and Regulus stood up.

Ted waited for her at the door, switched the bag to his left hand, and reached out with his right hand to support her waist.

Andromeda patted his arm lightly, telling him not to exaggerate.

The two exchanged a few words, as was their custom, with Ted saying, "The steps are slippery."

Andromeda smiled broadly, glanced back at Regulus, then turned back and whispered, "You always say that."

The two were so affectionate that Regulus couldn't bear to watch; his lips twitched, and he followed behind.

Next to the coffee shop is a narrow door that leads to an apartment staircase. The wooden stairs creak and groan with every step, some high and some low.

The walls were covered with faded light yellow wallpaper, the pattern of which was popular decades ago, with a few corners that had curled up and been re-attached with transparent tape.

The paint on the stair railing was worn smooth, revealing the dark wood underneath.

The smell of stewed onions wafted through the hallway, seeping out from behind a door upstairs.

Ted walked in front, the bag swaying in his hand, while Andromeda followed behind, one hand holding onto the stair railing and the other supporting her lower back.

Regulus walked behind her, and Baruch, perched on his shoulder, turned the spider's head from left to right, his amber eyes scanning the cracks in each step and the spiderwebs in the corners of the wall.

It stared at it for a long time, its chelipeds opening and closing slightly, probably deciding whether to greet its kind, before giving up.

On the third floor, Ted stopped in front of a white wooden door, took out his key from his pocket, and the lock clicked open with a dull metallic clang.

He pushed open the door and stepped aside to let Andromeda go in first.

The apartment wasn't large; the living room connected to the kitchen, and a faded Persian rug covered the wooden floor with a geometric pattern of deep red and dark blue.

A round dining table is placed in the middle, with four mismatched chairs: two made of wood, one made of rattan, and one made of iron, each with a different pattern on the cushions.

The sofa is a dark brown fabric style, with a folded wool blanket draped over the armrest.

The window is not wide, facing the street, and you can see the balcony of the building opposite and the streetlights below.

The flames in the fireplace had an odd bluish-green rim around the edge. A potted plant on the windowsill was facing out the window, but once the lights were turned on inside, its leaves slowly turned back to the outside.

On the bookshelf against the wall, Muggle paperback novels and magic textbooks were mixed together.

Next to the Paris Guidebook was a copy of Standard Spells: Advanced; between the French Cookbook and The Wizard, stood an English version of Pride and Prejudice; and there was also a thin copy of the Practical Handbook of Household Spells, its spine worn from repeated readings.

In the corner of the kitchen, a stirring spoon stood in the pot, slowly rotating. One end of the spoon handle was suspended in the air, while the other end was stuck in the pot, which was bubbling and steaming, smelling of tomatoes and basil.

A row of photos hangs on the wall, some animated and some static.

The animated photo is from their wedding. Andromeda is wearing a white wedding dress, and Ted is wearing a dark blue suit. The two of them keep repeating the same hug in the photo, letting go and then hugging again.

The photos next to it are still, showing Ted with some friends, all of them smiling, in a bar in the background.

The photo was taken on the day the café opened; the "le coin fleuri" sign had just been hung up, and the paint was still fresh.

A view of a Parisian street scene, taken from a railing along the Seine. Notre Dame Cathedral in the distance is still standing intact.

Wizarding and Muggle stuff just mix together, and no one bothers the other.

Regulus stood at the doorway, looked around, and then came in.

Baruch sprang from his shoulder, landed on the round table, tumbled around on his eight legs, jumped from the wicker chair to the windowsill, and approached the plant that could spin on its own.

The spider tilted its head to one side, stretched out a front leg, and poked the edge of the flowerpot. The plant paused for a moment, then turned towards Baruch.

Baruch pulled back, his front legs dangling in mid-air, then slowly stretched them out and poked again.

Andromeda watched the spider making diplomatic relations with the plant, shook his head, and went to the kitchen to check on the soup in the pot.

Ted placed the bag on the stove and began taking things out of it.

Carrots, onions, a piece of cheese, a bag of bread, a small packet of some kind of spice, a packet of beef chunks wrapped in brown paper, and a small bottle of red wine.

"Ted learned his cooking methods from his grandmother." Andromeda walked over and sat on the sofa, taking her feet out of her flat cloth shoes and stepping on the carpet, looking at Regulus with a mocking tone.

"British foundation, French seasoning, mixed together, it's a hodgepodge."

"You said it was delicious last time," Ted's voice came from the stove.

"Last time was last time."

"You said it was delicious yesterday too."

"The salt was just right yesterday," Andromeda said, leaning back on the sofa armrest, threatening with a clear conscience, "If you add any more salt today, I'm going to eat out by myself."

Ted chuckled, took the cutting board off the hook, and began chopping carrots.

His cutting technique wasn't very skillful; it wasn't the rhythm of a master chef. He had to aim carefully before the knife went down, resulting in slices that weren't very even in thickness.

Regulus sat down in the wicker chair and put his arm around the edge of the table.

Watching Ted chop vegetables, watching Andromeda curled up on the sofa rubbing his stomach, watching Baruch on the windowsill carefully touching the leaves of the plant with his front paws.

His lips unconsciously curled into a smile.