Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

The door key started, turned it once and it was over. My foot landed on the hard ground, in a narrow alley on the west side of Plaça Greeneau.

A stone-paved road, two old brick walls, with a section of withered ivy sticking out from the top of the wall, and a street lamp at the entrance of the alley, the bulb of which is broken and no one has repaired it.

This dead-end alley is where the Black family's private key to their house in England is located; there's no other explanation than that it's close to their home.

The official channels follow the official procedures, registering and reporting as required, but the final destination is not the Portkey Office of the Ministry of Magic.

The existence of these private settlements is itself an ambiguous fact. There is an unwritten rule between pure-blood families and the magic ministries of various countries: I give you face, you give me convenience.

Door keys can be obtained through official channels, and the destination doesn't have to be an official address. This has been the practice for hundreds of years, and privileges are reflected in such a small matter.

Regulus emerged from the alley.

Late April in England is much colder than in France. Suddenly thrown from the dry, warm winds of Provence into the night fog of London, the skin feels the first chill and dampness, and even the nasal cavity is filled with moisture.

He was wearing the same robe he had left England, a dark gray, thin Italian wool blend.

I felt too hot wearing this outfit in France in early April, but it was just right for me in the UK at the end of April.

He took a few steps toward Grimmauld Place, then Apparated and landed on the steps of number 12.

It was late at night, and the streets were deserted. The streetlights cast long shadows on the iron railings at the entrance.

He raised his hand and knocked on the door twice.

The door opened from the inside, and Kreacher's face squeezed out from the crack, his two large ears flipped back, his bulbous eyes wide open, and his nose twitching rapidly in the air.

"Little master—" It bent down deeply, its nose touching its knees, the tips of its ears dragging on the floor, its voice trembling: "Kreacher thought little master would be gone for a long time—Kreacher didn't know—Kreacher cleans little master's room every day—Kreacher—"

"Alright." Regulus stepped across the threshold, and the door closed behind him.

Kreacher immediately shut up, remained bent over, and his ears twitched slightly on the floor.

A wall lamp was lit in the foyer, casting a dim light. The portraits of Blake's ancestors hanging on the wall were asleep. Two of them opened their eyes when they heard a noise, glanced at each other for a moment, and then closed them again.

Baruch jumped off his shoulder and landed on the hallway floor. With his eight legs on the ground, he turned his head to the left and then to the right, stretched out his chelicerae, and then started running towards the stairs.

The height of the stairs was equivalent to a wall for a spider the size of a palm. Baruch used its four front legs to grip the edge of the steps, pushed off twice with its four hind legs, and flipped up with a thud.

It turned back to look at Regulus, clicked its claws, then turned and launched itself into the air.

Jump up from the first step, land on the third step, then jump from the third step to the fifth step, skip the sixth step, land on the seventh step corner platform, and then continue jumping upwards.

The eight legs tapped softly on the stairs, rounded the handrail, and disappeared into the darkness of the second-floor corridor.

"Where is Father?"

"Master is waiting for the young master in the study," Kreacher bowed and gestured towards the stairs, "Kreacher, please pour the young master some tea—"

"No need," Regulus waved his hand and went upstairs.

The study door had to be closed, and green flames burned in the fireplace, casting a dim light on the entire wall of books.

Orion sat behind his desk, several documents spread out on it, and a half-eaten cup of tea on his left.

He looked up, his gray eyes lingering on Regulus's face for a moment as he looked over the documents.

After watching it, I found that I was in good spirits, physically unharmed, and my overall aura remained unchanged.

He put down his quill and leaned back: "Sit down."

Regulus sat down opposite the desk, relaxed and at ease.

Tell me about it.

Regulus recounted what had happened in France.

The smuggling gang raided the manor at night, and more than forty people were killed on the spot. Felix had made preparations in advance, and the manor suffered no major damage. Afterwards, there were negotiations with the French Ministry of Magic, which classified it as a local security incident and followed the French procedures.

Orion listened and nodded.

These were all within his expectations, and he had already been informed of them. The situation in France was arranged by him in London from the very beginning.

"What's behind the scenes?"

Regulus knew his father wasn't asking about Voldemort, and he curled his lip slightly: "Bellatrix."

Orion frowned for a moment, then quickly relaxed.

A Black woman who had married out of the family, carrying Black blood, was Voldemort's errand girl to target the Black family heir.

In his eyes, Bella was a minor character, lacking both ability and status; she was just a Lestrange family daughter-in-law with limited abilities, but she represented Voldemort.

Regulus's trip to France was to deal with Voldemort's routine surveillance, a fact the father and son had already confirmed.

But observation is one thing, and having Bella carry it out is another. It's hard to say whether Voldemort had other motives.

Perhaps it was a test of the Black family's bottom line, or perhaps it was to confirm the Black family's loyalty.

In short, it was unpleasant.

It can only be slow.

Regulus continued, "She's different now. She's more sophisticated, more patient. She must have been reformed or trained."

Orion frowned again.

He had heard that Bellatrix's channels with the Death Eaters had been taken over, modified, and reshaped by Voldemort himself after the Christmas dinner.

But news is news; it's a different story when your son has personally dealt with something and then sits down in front of you and tells you.

A woman from the Black family was transformed into someone else's tool.

The study was quiet for a moment. The flame in the fireplace flickered. He shook his head and said nothing.

Regulus didn't mention the unlucky thing again, and raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't always there," he reached into his robe's inner pocket, pulled out a resonator, and placed it on the table. "I made a little thing in France."

Orion reached out and took the copper plate, holding it under the lamp. He turned it over and examined it, his fingers gently tracing the patterns on the plate, feeling the magical structure within.

He wasn't skilled in alchemy, but he had a basic sense of magic. The circuitry was ingenious, with two nested layers that calibrated each other, resulting in high precision.

He placed the bronze plate on the table, looked at Regulus, and asked with a hint of curiosity, "What's it for?"

Regulus leaned back, crossed his left leg over his right, and said with a hint of smugness, "The resonant disc, the standardized measuring tool of alchemy."

Orion became interested and gestured for him to continue.

"All magical materials have natural magical patterns: metals are linear, plants are net-like, ores are fissured, and living things are complex and dynamic."

The basic operations of alchemy involve identifying patterns, drawing circuits, and guiding the transformation. The first two steps rely on the wizard's own perceptual precision, and most people will never reach the level required for advanced transformations even after a lifetime of practice.

Regulus smiled easily and pointed to the resonant disk on the table: "This standardizes the perception process. When you put something on the disk, the patterns are directly displayed as light patterns. You don't need talent or years of perception training. If you can see it, you can operate it."

He casually picked up a blank parchment from the table, ran his finger across the paper, and a very fine, silvery-white magic thread seeped from his fingertip, spreading along the texture of the parchment.

The two concentric circles, the position of the nodes, the order of connection, the marking of key parameters, are all formed in one piece, consistent with the texture structure of the bottom of the copper plate.

"We've discussed collaborating with the French Ministry of Magic and entering the French market," Regulus said, shrugging. "The alchemy industry in Britain is too weak. There's no market, and not enough workshops and workers to mass-produce these things. France has Beauxbatons' alchemy teaching and a ready-made industry chain."

He looked at Orion and said in a relaxed tone, "But the products ultimately have to be made in Britain. The cooperation in France is just a starting point. We can use French production capacity to distribute the products first, let the students at Beauxbatons learn how to use them, let the material suppliers along the Mediterranean coast adapt to this standard, and then transfer the technology and supply chain to Britain."

"This is actually quite simple," he said, pushing the parchment in front of Orion. "Just copy it, pay attention to the order of the connections between the nodes, and anyone with a little alchemy knowledge can do it."

Orion looked down at the spiral pattern on the parchment.

Regulus said it was simple, and judging from how he carved it with a single stroke of his finger, it was indeed simple.

Therefore, the barriers are not in technology, but in channels and standards.

Whoever develops it first, whoever rolls it out first, whose standard becomes the industry standard, then everyone else can only follow.

He understood Regulus's meaning: the cooperation in France was just a pretext; the real goal was to seize the low-to-mid-end alchemy industry from France and bring it to Britain.

The Black family had the established foundation, connections, channels, and political influence in Britain, making the conditions for doing this readily available.

We can bring a few companies on board. The Malfoys have deep ties with France and ample funds, and they can handle the interface for cooperation with France. The Rozier family has external business channels, can distribute goods quickly and cover a wide area. The Cuthbert family can provide manpower, as they have several small workshops under their umbrella.

The core technology is held by the Black family, while the partners handle distribution and production.

More people depend on the Blake family for their livelihood, and more resources converge on the Blake family, creating a network from one industry.

Who should be sent to liaise with the French side? How should production capacity be built in the UK? How should barriers be set up? Should we pursue exclusive licensing or standard certification? What else can we leverage by using the resonant disk as a stepping stone?

The gears in Orion's mind were already engaged and turning very quickly.

Then he looked up at Regulus.

This thing itself is not complicated, the principle is not profound, and it is not difficult to make. It is a standardized measuring tool that should be available on the market, but I have never seen it before. Others have not thought of it, but he has. He can also think of how to turn it into an industry while making it.

A victory in terms of mindset.

He looked at his son for a moment and noticed that the boy looked a little smug. After thinking for a moment, he decided not to praise him.

Orlean nodded, put the parchment aside, and placed it under the stack of documents: "Alright, I'll arrange for someone to handle things in France."

Regulus shrugged.

The study was quiet for a while, then he looked at his father and suddenly said, "I went to see Andromeda."

Orion wasn't surprised; he was the one who told Regulus that Andromeda was getting married, and the expulsion from the list was nothing to either father or son.

"She's pregnant, almost six months along, and it's a girl."

Orion raised an eyebrow.

Regulus continued, "Good talent, Disguise Magus."

Orion raised his eyebrows a little more; this time he was genuinely interested.

The Disguise Magus is one of the very few recorded in the entire European magical world; a natural shapeshifter, born with that ability.

Regulus's lips twitched to the side: "Our family bloodline is indeed powerful. Sirius has a talent for Transfiguration, and my Transfiguration is not bad either. Now we have another one yet to be born, the Disguise Magus. I haven't heard of any other family having any obvious bloodline talent that can be passed down from generation to generation."

At this point, a few names flashed through his mind.

The Gaunt family has Parsleyan speech, and talking to snakes isn't anything special in itself, but the Gaunt family produced Tom Riddle, whose individual achievements were indeed impressive. However, that's all the Gaunt family has left; the entire family is basically wiped out.

Then there's the Weasleys. The Weasleys' talent is probably mass-producing pure-blood wizards, one litter after another. This might also be considered a bloodline advantage.

As for Dumbledore, his family is not part of the aristocracy, so we won't discuss him.

Orion couldn't agree more with Regulus's statement; the Black family simply had good bloodlines.

He nodded in agreement, then casually asked, "What's the child's name?"

Regulus's expression was somewhat subtle: "Nifadora."

Orion's expression froze, and he asked in confusion, "nymphadora?"

Regulus tried to suppress a laugh and nodded.

Orion remained silent.

He was very familiar with the Blake family's naming traditions, using constellations, mythology, Latin, and aesthetics passed down from generation to generation, each with its own origin.

But the name nymphadora is really too much from the perspective of the Blake tradition.

Regulus chuckled and changed the subject: "I didn't see my mother when I came back."

"Your mother went to the Patersons' house," Orion breathed a sigh of relief. "The ladies' spring tea party starts today, and she'll stay for two days."

The father and son sat for a while longer, and after saying everything they needed to say, they had formally explained everything.

Orion said, "Go and rest. Go back to school tomorrow."

"I'm going back, Father." Regulus stood up, nodded to Orion, and turned to leave.

He returned to his bedroom and pushed open the door.

Baruch had already surveyed the room; there were several tiny spider footprints on the windowsill, extending from the windowsill to the bedside table.

There was a spider web in the furnace, stretching from the upper left to the lower right, its surface shimmering silvery-green in the firelight.

It huddled in the corner of the bed, its eight legs tucked in, its head buried in the pillow, its carapace rising and falling slightly with its breath.

Regulus took a bath, changed into his robe, and lay down on the bed.

Outside the window is the London nightscape, with the faint sound of distant bells.

He turned over, closed his eyes, and fell asleep.