Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

On the last night of the school year, the auditorium was brightly lit, with four long tables filled with people, and hundreds of candles hanging in the air, their flames swaying gently in the breeze.

The ceiling reflected the sky outside, half golden red and half dark blue, with high clouds and a few stars already visible.

The Great Hall was filled with silver-green decorations, flags hung from the ceiling, the Slytherin serpent emblem was coiled on silver silk, and green ribbons wrapped around the walls and window frames.

Slytherin came in first in the House Cup, marking their seventh consecutive year in the competition. The prefects had already created a festive atmosphere.

Regulus's gaze swept over the silver-green decorations and landed on the professor's table, where Dumbledore sat in the center.

He wore a deep purple robe embroidered with silver stars and crescent moons, half-moon spectacles perched on his nose, and a neatly combed white beard that reached below his belt. He was talking to Professor Flitwick with his head turned to the side.

You can't tell how many places this old man has traveled to, how many people he's met, or how many doors he's been turned away from in the past few months. The way he sits there is like an old principal who hasn't gone anywhere in the entire semester.

Regulus, holding a glass of pumpkin juice, looked at Dumbledore across most of the Great Hall.

Dumbledore's blue eyes turned just then, meeting his gaze across the candlelight and the clamor of the four long tables.

The old man raised his wine glass and tilted it slightly in his direction.

Regulus raised the pumpkin juice in his hand and returned the gesture.

Dumbledore's gaze fell on the orange-yellow liquid in his glass, a sly smile flashing in his blue eyes as he winked at him.

Children should drink pumpkin juice.

Regulus put down the cup and gave a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

With the food on the plate almost gone and dessert served, Dumbledore stood up from the professor's seat and gently tapped his wine glass with a silver spoon.

A loud clang echoed throughout the room, instantly silencing all conversations as hundreds of eyes turned to the professors' panel.

"Another school year has come to an end," Dumbledore's clear voice said, his blue eyes sweeping across each long table. "At this time every year, I stand here and watch some of you leave this castle for the last time, some prepare for the new term, and some regret having eaten too much dessert."

A few scattered laughs broke out.

"Before announcing the final results of the College Cup, I want to say that no matter which college wins this year's cup, it represents all of your hard work throughout the year. Every step forward in class and every small act of kindness in helping your classmates counts."

He picked up a piece of parchment: "This year's College Cup, fourth place, Gryffindor, 312 points."

At the Gryffindor table, some people sighed, while others looked at each other.

James Potter slammed his head on the table with a loud thud, while Sirius Black rolled his eyes beside him.

"If you hadn't been caught by McGonagall three times—"

"You've been arrested twice!"

Lupin sighed beside him.

"Third place, Hufflepuff, 387 points."

Hufflepuff clapped their hands, and someone shrugged, showing little reaction.

"Second place, Ravenclaw, 421 points."

The applause at the Ravenclaw table was uniform and calm.

"First place, Slytherin, 456 points."

Dumbledore put down the parchment in his hand and led the applause: "Congratulations to Slytherin for winning the House Cup for the seventh consecutive year."

The applause at the Slytherin table was restrained and dignified. The upperclassmen raised their glasses to each other, Pollius nodded slightly in Regulus's direction, and Veronica raised her chin high.

Regulus clapped his hands twice, then put them down.

As the applause subsided, Dumbledore rested his hands on the edge of the professor's table, his blue eyes scanning the four long tables.

His tone remained gentle, but his smile faded slightly, and he became more serious.

"You have learned a lot at Hogwarts—spells, knowledge, rules—but when you leave this castle and return to your homes, your families, and your friends, you will find that some voices are different from what you heard here."

His gaze didn't linger on any of the long tables, but slowly swept across them.

"Some people will tell you that there are only two kinds of people in the world, some people will tell you that some people are born more deserving of magic than others, and some people will tell you in a very certain tone which side you should stand on."

The hall fell completely silent, and all the young wizards stopped what they were doing.

"The world outside is changing, and many of you have already felt it. Some are afraid, some are angry, and some are hesitant about what to believe. These are all normal, but also dangerous."

Because when a voice is loud enough, certain enough, and makes you feel that following it means you no longer need to think for yourself, you'll really want to surrender yourself to it.

His blue eyes flashed behind his glasses, and his voice echoed throughout the auditorium: "Don't give yourself away."

"Your fears are your own; do not entrust them to others to hold on your behalf. Your anger is your own; do not entrust it to others to use on your behalf. Your loyalty is your own; do not entrust it to anyone you truly believe is not worthy."

The auditorium was so quiet that you could hear the faint crackling of the candles burning.

"I won't tell you what's right or wrong, but I want you to remember one thing—"

Over the past few years, the kinds of people you've eaten with, the kinds of people you've taken classes with, the kinds of people you've argued with, forgiven, competed with, and helped—these experiences are your own, and no one can remember them for you.

"When you need to make judgments, answer with your own experience, not with answers that others give you."

He paused here, a slight smile curving his lips and a twitch in his white beard, his tone becoming cheerful again.

Have a safe holiday, see you in the fall.

Dumbledore raised his glass, and the hall was silent for a moment before applause broke out.

The loudest clapping came from Gryffindor's side, with Sirius clapping especially hard. He probably didn't understand every word, but he did understand the phrase "don't hand yourself over."

The applause from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff was even and earnest.

At the Slytherin table, some of the applause was genuine, some was polite, and a few hands didn't move at all.

The expressions on the faces of the seventh graders shifted slightly. They understood: after returning home for summer vacation, some of them would have to make a choice, while others had already made their choices.

Regulus lowered his head and took a sip of pumpkin juice, the rim of the glass obscuring half his face, his expression blank.

The banquet ended, and the young wizards began to leave in an orderly fashion. The hall was bustling with people, with the prefects of each grade leading the way.

Regulus followed the Slytherin group outside, with Avery and Alex around him, Hermes walking behind, and Lena and Samuel bringing up the rear.

Suddenly, a voice entered his ears, relaxed and with a hint of mischievous laughter.

"Regulus, if you're not in a rush to sleep tonight, I just bought a new box of cockroach swarms. Maybe you'd like to try some."

Regulus's eye twitched very slightly.

A pile of cockroaches.

He continued forward, following the procession down the stairs, through the cellar corridor, and into the Slytherin common room.

Back in the dorm, Hermes lay stiffly on the bed, Avery was rummaging through his luggage to pack, and Alex looked worried, wanting to say something, but no one paid him any attention, so he also started packing his own luggage.

Regulus sat by the bed for a while, and Baruch crawled out from under the pillow, lay on his lap, and tilted his spider head to look at him.

He patted its shell, scooped it up, threw it into the fireplace, then stood up and went outside.

......

The stone beast had already moved aside at the entrance to the spiral staircase to the principal's office. It always made way for him whenever he came, without needing a password.

Regulus stepped up, and the spiral staircase slowly ascended, leading him to the oak door of the principal's office.

This is my first time here this semester, and probably the last, since I'm going home tomorrow.

Pushing open the door, the circular office remained the same as always.

The walls are covered with portraits of past principals, most of them dozing with their eyes closed, while one or two have their eyes open as they watch him come in and then close them again.

The silver instruments hummed and spun on the shelf, emitting wisps of smoke. The Sorting Hat sat atop a high cabinet, its brim drooping, dirty and filthy.

Fox's perch was by the door, and Regulus walked straight in and stopped in front of it.

A golden-red phoenix stood there, its head buried in its wings, a single tail feather dangling outside the perch, swaying gently in the breeze blowing in through the crack in the door.

Regulus watched for a while, then stretched out his finger and gestured towards it vaguely.

Fox's head emerged from its wing, and a bright black eye glanced at him, its gaze clearly saying, "Stay away from me."

After taking a look, it stuck its head back into its wing and ignored everyone.

Regulus shrugged.

It's just a bird, isn't it?

So what if it allows one to be reborn from the ashes? So what if the phoenix's tears can heal all wounds? So what if it allows one to carry objects many times their own weight through space? So what if it allows one to ignore all defensive magic and anti-apparition spells and teleport directly to any place one wants to go? So what if it allows one to see souls?

What's so great about it?

Does he care?

He didn't care, of course. Fox always had this attitude; he'd seen it before.

He stood there for a moment, then couldn't resist reaching out and gently stroking the tail feather that Fox was resting on the outside of the railing.

The feathers felt warm to the touch, carrying a scent that was hard to distinguish—whether it was from sunlight or ashes—and contained a rich vitality, along with a subtle, magical vibration. It was very comfortable.

Fox pulled its head out from under its wing again and let out a short, sharp, clear, and extremely penetrating cry.

The tone rose slightly before falling back down, conveying a very clear meaning.

That's enough. Don't think I won't peck you.

"He just went through a rebirth last month, and he's in a bad mood," Dumbledore's gentle voice came from behind his desk, tinged with a smile.

"When has he ever been in a good mood?" Regulus walked back from the perch and sat down in the chair in front of the desk.

Dumbledore sat behind the table with a stack of documents in front of him and a steaming cup of honey lemon tea beside him.

The teapot and teacup on the corner of the table flew over by themselves and poured a cup for Regulus as well.

In front of the old man was a copper dish containing dozens of brown cockroaches piled high.

"Want one?" Dumbledore pushed the plate toward him.

Regulus politely but firmly declined: "No, thank you, Professor."

Dumbledore took one and popped it into his mouth, chewing it noisily. After finishing, he smacked his lips, a look of pleasure flashing in his blue eyes.

"Young people should try more new things."

"A pile of cockroaches is nothing new, professor; live cockroaches are."

Dumbledore's hand was just reaching for the next swarm of cockroaches in the dish when he heard this, and his finger paused on the rim of the dish.

Then, without hesitation, he grabbed the pile of cockroaches and threw it into his mouth, chewing it with a crunching sound.

Blue eyes blinked behind half-moon shaped lenses, her tone recklessly calm: "You're right—but this tastes better."