Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

The first school year is coming to an end, with only one day left until the Christmas holidays.

Regulus closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into the depths.

Star-guided meditation has become the foundation of his daily routine, as natural as breathing.

This growth over the past six months has all revolved around this meditation technique, with the body and soul undergoing synchronous tempering as they move through the star orbits.

Magic is no longer simply flowing energy, but a whole deeply bound to muscles, bones, flesh, and spirit.

The magical circulation that used to require deliberate guidance has now become instinctive. Every breath is accompanied by the nourishment of magic on the body, and the bone density and muscle fibers have become stronger invisibly.

Even without the Ironclad Spell, ordinary spells would hardly harm him at his core. This is the natural result of his body serving as a vessel, resonating with magic and soul.

The transformation at the level of the soul becomes more significant.

The three-layered barrier of the brain-sealing technique no longer needs to be deliberately maintained; the star orbit model itself has become the most robust protection.

The Orion model, with its four stars in sync, features the dark red of Betelgeuse and the silvery white of the three stars in its belt, operating steadily in the mind like a miniature landscape of the universe.

It not only strengthens one's will but also tempers one's spirit, making it difficult for external disturbances or the emotional fluctuations of others to shake one's mind.

With the physical body as the foundation, the soul as the core, and magic as the bridge, the three evolve towards a more perfect state under the guidance of the star orbit.

However, the attempt to light up the fifth star failed.

The target was Betelgeuse in Orion, but the failure was not due to complex mathematical deductions or massive calculations, but purely due to a magical barrier.

When attempting to merge, the star orbit model in my consciousness trembled violently, the stable balance of the four stars was broken, and the reverse flow of magic caused a throbbing pain in my temples, forcing me to stop meditating.

But failure isn't all bad; the process of trying is itself a form of refinement.

In order to adapt to the integration of Betelgeuse, he was forced to raise the precision of his control over his magic to another level, and his mental resilience also became stronger through repeated collapses and reconstructions.

The four-star model becomes increasingly stable in this process, and the compatibility between magic and soul also deepens quietly. This growth, which is testing the limits, is extremely remarkable.

Regulus opened his eyes, and a squid swam by outside the window, its huge shadow briefly lingering on his face.

He stood up and walked toward the corridor leading to the Gryffindor Tower.

The agreed meeting place was next to the statue of the One-Eyed Witch on the third floor, a place rarely visited. When Regulus arrived, Sirius was already there.

He leaned against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans, his Gryffindor gold and red robes casually draped over his shoulders, revealing a dark Muggle shirt underneath.

Without James and Remus by his side, his flamboyant and unrestrained aura subsided considerably, and his gray eyes lost some of their rebelliousness, gaining instead a complex melancholy.

Seeing Regulus approach, he straightened up slightly, his gaze falling on the cracks in the stone on the ground, his fingertips unconsciously digging into the patterns on the wall.

"A letter has arrived from home," Regulus said first, his voice calm and devoid of any extra emotion.

Sirius's shoulders twitched almost imperceptibly, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

He had certainly received letters from home, those thick parchment letters filled with his mother Walbuga's anger and accusations.

The text questions why he betrayed his family, why he chose Gryffindor, and why he associated with Muggle-borns.

There were also letters from his father, Orion, which, while lacking strong language, subtly touched upon the family's future and the responsibilities of the Black family. Those heavy expectations only made him more resistant.

He didn't reply to a single letter; at Hogwarts, he found his own circle.

James's enthusiasm, Remus's gentleness, and Peter's obedience made him feel as if he had escaped the oppressive atmosphere of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Sirius Black thrived in Gryffindor, finding friends, adventure, and freedom.

But the sensitivity and stubbornness of the Black family that were ingrained in him never disappeared.

The word "family" remains a corner of his heart he is unwilling to touch, like a tiny thorn that occasionally causes a dull ache.

"They want you to come home for Christmas," Regulus added, his gaze lingering on Sirius's face.

Sirius remained silent for a long time, picking at the dust in the cracks in the rocks until it fell away in a flurry.

He looked up, his gray eyes meeting Regulus's, filled with resistance and confusion, and a hint of wavering that even he himself didn't realize.

He wanted to say "I'm not going back," but the words came out as a low question, his voice trembling slightly: "Go back? Do you mean with those people?"

Lestrange, Malfoy, Nott, Carroll...those Voldemort henchmen?

His brows furrowed tightly, his nostrils twitched, and a clear look of disgust appeared on his face.

"You're going, right?" Sirius stared at him, his eyes filled with anger, disappointment, and perhaps a little bit of worry.

"You'll be wearing a tuxedo, raising a glass, and chatting and laughing with those Death Eaters, right?"

He had also received letters from his cousin Bella, and the fervent words, the praise for Voldemort, and the obsession with pure-blood honor made him feel suffocated.

He knew that the Black family would have to make a choice sooner or later, and that choice was the path he despised most: to divide people by bloodline and to maintain order through violence.

That's not glory at all, it's just a rotten shackle!

Regulus was silent for a moment, the winter sun shining through the high windows of the corridor and casting a long shadow on the ground.

Looking at the undisguised resistance in Sirius's eyes, he knew in his heart that Sirius was destined not to turn back.

But he doesn't need to be persuaded, nor does he want to. Some paths must be walked alone, and some stances must be upheld by oneself.

His very existence is a signpost propelling Sirius down a different path. Only by completely severing ties with the Black family's old ways can Sirius protect himself from future storms.

"Yes." Regulus nodded in confirmation, without the slightest ambiguity.

Sirius seemed to have expected this, yet it also seemed as if those words stung him.

His breath hitched, and the sarcastic smile on his lips vanished completely, replaced by an almost weary, numb expression.

He took a half step back, leaned back against the wall, lowered his head slightly, and let his black hair fall down to cover his eyes.

"I'm not going back; that's not my home."

"I know," Regulus said flatly. "I'm just relaying what my family says."

"Regulus," Sirius suddenly looked up at him, his tone intense, "Are you really going to go down that path? Stand with those lunatics? Put on that damned black robe and that damned mask?"

You're so smart, you're so unlike them, you clearly see what they're doing: killing, persecuting, ruling everything with fear!

Regulus looked at Sirius, the boy who was a year and a half older than him, who had shed all his flamboyant exterior and revealed the not-yet-fully-developed angularity inside.

"I'm following the Black family's path," Regulus said, avoiding the core issue, his tone remaining flat. "Just as you're following the Gryffindor path, we've simply made different choices."

"That's not the Black family's road, it's the road to destruction!" Sirius's voice rose slightly, filled with urgency, as he stepped forward.

"You think those people will tolerate the Blake family? They only want obedient dogs! Once you're no longer of use, they'll discard you like trash!"

Regulus looked at his excited expression but did not respond.

He knew Sirius was telling the truth, but so be it; this was the best arrangement.

Regulus reached out and gently patted Sirius's shoulder: "Take care of yourself."

After saying that, he turned and left, his dark green robe leaving a lingering shadow in the corridor, without ever looking back.

Behind him, Sirius stood frozen in place, his brow furrowed, his anger inexplicably mixed with a chaotic sense of confusion.

Why? Regulus clearly understands everything, clearly sees the madness of those people, so why does he still rush headlong into it?

Regulus was not stupid; on the contrary, he was intelligent, even shrewd, from a young age, which made it even more difficult for him to understand now.

Can't he see that the Blake family is jumping into a fire pit?

Can't you see that those so-called pure-blood glory are just a smokescreen Voldemort uses to win people over?

Is it for the sake of family inheritance rights?

Regulus was never one to care about such things.

Was she brainwashed by her mother's pure-blood theory?

Even as a child, he dared to question his mother's views.

Sirius suddenly realized that his understanding of Regulus had always been limited to superficial labels such as intelligent, eccentric, and quiet.

He didn't know what Regulus was thinking in the dead of night, what he was looking at when he stared at the stars, or what his purpose was in choosing this path.

All he knew was that from this moment on, he and Regulus had truly embarked on two paths that would never intersect again.