Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

After the ceremony, guests rushed forward to congratulate the newlyweds, and the garden became lively again.

Regulus noticed a few more people in the foyer. They had arrived during the ceremony, but hadn't disturbed the proceedings. They had stood quietly in the back row and watched the whole thing, and were now walking inside.

Harold Minchum, Minister for Magic.

He was of medium build, with a ruddy complexion, and wore the dark purple suit that Baruch had initially praised in the newspaper, only to correct him and then change his mind and say it wasn't good-looking. He also wore the Minister of Magic's badge on his chest.

He was accompanied by several attendants dressed in the Ministry of Magic's official robes; their faces frequently appeared on the front page of the Daily Prophet—all people from the Minister's office.

Minchum walked up to Abraxas, and the two shook hands.

"Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy." Mingche's voice was loud and clear, the standard volume for a public setting, and everyone present could hear it.

"It is a great honor for the Malfoy family to have you here despite your busy schedule, Minister." Abraxas's polite remarks were quite fluent.

"The Ministry of Magic has always valued its good relations with the pure-blood families," Mother Mingche said with a warm smile. "The stability of the magical world is in the common interest of every family, and today's joyous occasion is also a good thing for the entire magical world."

“The Minister is right,” Abraxas replied smoothly. “The Malfoy family has always been the maintainers of order. We greatly admire the work of the Ministry of Magic and look forward to deeper cooperation in the future.”

The two smiled, shook hands, and both seemed quite satisfied.

Everyone knew about the Malfoy family's relationship with Voldemort. Mintham arrived, appeared at this occasion, and shook hands and exchanged pleasantries with Abraxas.

The mere presence of the Ministry of Magic is a statement; it indicates that the Ministry intends to align itself with the pure-blood faction and, at least for the time being, will not turn against them.

A pure political animal, with a keen sense of smell, a flexible body, and a knack for knowing which way the wind is blowing.

Minchum briefly congratulated Lucius and Narcissa: "Happy marriage, young man."

Then he and his entourage vanished in phantom form.

They arrived, showed their faces, shook hands, spoke, and then left.

The time is accurate to the minute; not a second more will be allowed.

......

The newlyweds temporarily left the venue, and the guests moved from the garden back to the main building.

The hall had been rearranged for the ceremony, with a dozen long tables lined up along the wall, covered with dark silver tablecloths, and silverware from spoons to forks lined up in a row, with crystal glasses stacked in three layers.

The crystal ball floating overhead changed from white gold to warm gold, softening the light and casting a gentle halo on the silverware and crystal glasses.

The central table was the longest, with Lucius and Narcissa sitting in the middle, flanked by key figures from both families. Abraxas and Orion sat at opposite ends, while Volbuga sat next to Narcissa.

The main table was surrounded by the heads of the twenty-eight sacred clans, holding wine glasses with relaxed postures.

Regulus didn't go over there. He took a plate, picked up a few slices of smoked salmon and a piece of roasted lamb chop, and then casually grabbed a glass of Abraxas's privately held fairy distilled spirit from the table.

This is a good thing. It was brewed by the goblins of Gringotts using a special process deep in their underground vaults. The liquid is a deep amber color, and each bottle has a goblin-engraved number on it. It is said that less than thirty bottles are produced each year.

Baruch shifted in his inner pocket, his two amber eyes peeking out from the edge of his collar, staring at the roasted lamb chop, his claws clicking softly.

Regulus glanced down at it, took a fork, cut off a small piece of mutton, and, when no one was looking, tossed it into his chest.

Baruch's two front legs stretched out of the bag, grabbed the piece of meat, and then quickly retracted.

A soft gnawing sound came from inside the pouch, and the chelicerae occasionally peeked out from the pouch opening before quickly retracting.

Slughorn floated over from the other end of the corridor, carrying a glass of the same fairy distilled spirit and a strawberry dipped in chocolate sauce in his other hand, his round face full of satisfaction.

Upon seeing Regulus, his eyes lit up immediately: "Regulus! Come, come, there are a few people you need to know."

He strode over and, without a word, put one hand on Regulus's shoulder while holding a wine glass in the other, the strawberry chocolate sauce almost smearing onto Regulus's collar.

Regulus placed the plate on the table beside him, a hint of helplessness flashing in his eyes, and let him drag him into the crowd.

The first person stopped was a French wizard, dressed in a dark blue robe with silver collar buttons. He was in his forties, with short brown hair and a meticulously groomed face. He was using a fork to pickily pierce a piece of caramel pudding.

Slughorn switched the wine glass to the hand that was resting on Regulus's shoulder, freeing his right hand to gesture as he introduced the name, his face beaming with pride.

"Pierre! You absolutely must meet this man, Regulus Black, heir to the Black family, one of the most talented students I've ever taught, exceptionally skilled in potions and transfiguration—"

"Regulus, this is Mr. Pierre de Montmorency, a direct descendant of the Montmorency family, a prestigious family in the French pureblood world, a potion master, and he runs the best potion ingredient supplier in all of Europe in Paris."

He finished speaking in one breath, took a breath, and wiped the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief.

Montmorency glanced at Regulus, his demeanor a polite reserve typical of the French. He clearly didn't recognize the name, but the surname Black was sufficient everywhere. Coupled with Slughorn's attitude and the gazes of the two British wizards beside him, he nodded and extended his hand.

The accent is the standard for English learners in French-speaking areas, with each vowel pronounced fully: "Mr. Black."

It wasn't arrogance, nor did it take him too seriously; it was more of a gesture of respect for Slughorn.

Regulus didn't mind; he was only giving Slughorn face. He extended his hand and shook it politely: "Mr. Montmorency."

Slughorn chimed in with a smile, "Pierre, don't underestimate this kid. His potion-making skills are more solid than most Newt candidates, even though he doesn't seem to care much about it."

Montmorency raised an eyebrow, and this time his gaze toward Regulus became slightly more serious.

He put down his fork and casually asked, "Since Horace praises you so much, Mr. Black, what do you think of the dung stone antidote? For example, in cases of poisoning from a mixture of basilisk venom and dragon blood, how should the order of dung stone administration be adjusted?"

This is a very tricky question, far exceeding the standard question type in the textbook. It involves prioritizing two high-threat toxins and the adsorption saturation limit of fecal impaction.

After asking the question, Montmorency's lips curled up in a smug smile, waiting to see how this incredibly talented young man would respond.

Regulus was speechless. What was going on?

He glanced at the old man and saw Slughorn looking at him expectantly.

Regulus shrugged and said casually, "The dung bead prioritizes treating the basilisk venom. The dragon's blood toxin works more slowly, and the window of opportunity is enough for a second dose. However, the dung bead must be replaced immediately after it absorbs the basilisk venom. The same bead cannot be reused if the dragon's blood toxin has not been treated. The dung bead will form crystals on its surface after absorbing the venom, which will block its subsequent absorption capacity."

Montmorency's lips curled back slightly.

The answer was flawless, even detailing the adsorption and crystallization of fecal matter. The direction was correct, the terminology was accurate, and the logic was sound.

But his tone was too flat, like reading from a textbook, without excitement or curiosity to ask further questions. This child was smart enough and had enough knowledge, but there was no fervor in his eyes like that of a potion master.

He turned to look at Slughorn, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement: "Horace, you have a very solid foundation of knowledge, student."

Slughorn laughed heartily, a knowing look on his face, and shrugged: "This kid's mind isn't on potions at all. I can't do anything with him. He's definitely talented, but he just won't put in the effort—"

Then he sighed, feigning distress, "Sigh, all kids who are too talented are like this."

He patted Montmorency on the shoulder and winked at Regulus.

If we work well together, we'll have another match.

Regulus smiled, picked up his wine glass, and followed the old man.

The second was an old wizard from Eastern Europe, Vladimir Petkov, a Bulgarian from the main branch of the Petkov family. He was not tall, had very broad shoulders, and a white beard that ran from his ears to his chin.

Slughorn explained that the Petkov family held a monopoly in the dragon trade. Old Petkov grinned, revealing his teeth, yellowed from smoke, and shook hands with Regulus with a grip so strong it could crush an ordinary person's bones.

"The Black family, I know them," he said in a heavy accent, his "r" plucked with particular force. "Orion Black, Wissengamo, very impressive."

Then came the middle-aged witch from Ireland, with red hair tied in a thick braid that hung over her shoulder, and freckles on her face. Slughorn introduced her as one of the best amulet engravers in Europe.

She waved her hand, her voice sharp but with a warm and friendly tone: "Horace, you're too kind."

After saying that, she turned to Regulus and extended her hand: "Deirdre O'Brien, your surname is Black. I know about the Black family's amulet tradition. Your family has a few heirlooms with engraving techniques that no one can replicate nowadays."

Regulus raised an eyebrow; he knew nothing about the Black family's amulet tradition.

But that didn't stop him from spouting nonsense, humbly stating, "That's a craft from my great-grandfather's generation; there aren't many people in the family who can do engraving now."

The last one to be stopped was a British wizard wearing a flashy orange vest, Barnabas Caff, senior editor of The Daily Prophet.

The vest was so brightly colored that it was still eye-catching under the warm golden light, and it was paired with a dark purple tie. The tie clip was a miniature printing press model that could rotate on its own.

He and Slughorn were clearly old friends; upon meeting, they patted each other on the shoulder, one saying, "You've gotten fatter," and the other saying, "That vest of yours is really damaging to my eyes."

After the two laughed for a while, Slughorn introduced Regulus to the outside world: "Regulus Black, heir to the Black family, one of my most outstanding students, with a limitless future."

Kraft's eyes were sharper than the previous ones; after all, he worked in journalism.

"Mr. Black, it's an honor to meet you. I originally wanted to report on the Christmas dinner last time, but it was suppressed by the higher-ups. You know, some things are not convenient to be published in the newspaper."

Regulus's expression was unreadable for a moment.

This guy is really bold. Do you want me to tell you what Voldemort's Horcruxes are?

"Mr. Kraft, today's wedding is more newsworthy."

Kraft paused for a moment, then burst out laughing: "Right, right, you know how to talk, kid."

For each student he introduced, Slughorn would add, "My most outstanding student, with amazing talent and limitless potential."

The old man's lips never left his mouth; he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

The foreign wizards didn't know who Regulus was, but they could see that the British wizards around them were at least looking at the boy at eye level.

Some people bowed slightly in greeting, some raised their wine glasses in a gesture of salutation in his direction, and some slowed their pace as they passed by, making sure he had seen them before continuing on their way.

It's not normal for a thirteen-year-old to be treated like this in a social setting of this level; there's a story behind it.

Slughorn saw everything and chuckled the whole time, while Regulus followed behind the old man, cooperating fully.

Before moving on to the next goal, Regulus said regretfully, "Professor, Avery is calling me."

The old man followed Regulus's gaze and saw Avery standing not far from his father, waving excitedly in their direction.

Slughorn patted Regulus on the shoulder and graciously let him go: "Go on, go on, you young people chat. There's an old acquaintance over there, you can go say hello."

Regulus politely bid farewell to the professor and walked toward Avery.

Avery didn't actually see him, but that's how convenient magic is.