Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

The study door closed behind me, and the firelight from the fireplace cast a deep green glow on the entire wall of books.

Orion walked to a bookshelf, took out his wand, and tapped the letter 's' on the spine of a book.

A muffled sound came from the hidden compartment, and a long, rectangular wooden box slid out from the depths of the bookshelf and landed in his hand.

The box was made of black walnut wood, unpainted, with a polished surface. He placed the box on the desk, his fingers resting on the edge, and remained silent for a short while.

"Something from the Black family," he said with a touch of nostalgia, "this wand has no name; the Black family never calls it by name."

The box was opened, and inside lay a magic wand.

Regulus walked to the desk and looked down at it.

The staff was entirely black, so black that it didn't reflect any light in the green glow of the fireplace, as if all the light had been absorbed into it.

The wood grain is no longer the natural pattern of tree growth; it has an inorganic, regular feel. The wand is half a size thicker than a regular wand, and the handle is undecorated with a natural curve.

"Black yew, on the north coast of Scotland, an old tree struck by lightning that lived for over a hundred years before falling."

Regulus stood at the table, listening quietly.

Orion continued, "The core is the heart tendon of a Thestral. An old Thestral that had lived for hundreds of years died of natural causes, and its body was preserved by the Black family. The heart tendon was removed and used to make the core."

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

The materials used for Thestrals are not mainstream in Britain; the three items displayed in Ollivander's shop are the real deal: phoenix tail feathers, dragon heart tendon cords, and unicorn hair.

Even if someone does use it, they mostly take the tail hairs, which is already a very niche practice. The heart tendon cord is something that no one has ever touched.

Orion looked at Regulus, his voice neither heavy nor light: "After this wand was made, the progenitor of the Black family took a strand from his own soul, the part most compatible with dark magic, and sealed it into the wand core."

The price was that he died faster than normal, and his soul was incomplete, but from then on, the wand possessed something that shouldn't have been there—not quite consciousness, but not quite an inanimate object either.

He pushed the box toward Regulus: "For hundreds of years, this wand has been fed with dark magic by every head of the Black family. The soul of the wand is fused with the core and cannot be separated."

He looked up, his gray eyes meeting Regulus's, and said nothing more.

Regulus looked at the black wand in the box, a slight smile playing on his lips, but he didn't ask anything.

He had no idea that such a good thing was hidden in the house; his father hadn't brought it out.

He reached out and took the wand out of the box.

The moment my hand touched the staff, a deep, heavy chill seeped out from the wood and crept up my fingers.

Then his skin tightened, and he felt something move inside the staff, like a snake that had been sleeping for a long time, smelling a familiar scent, and slowly raising its head.

He flipped his wrist and gripped the wand entirely in his palm.

Deep within the core of the staff, the ancient fragment of the soul still moves, slowly wandering along the staff as if recognizing his bloodline.

After recognizing it as my own child, a sense of closeness seeped up from the staff and spread from my palm to my arm.

The next moment, the containment chamber deep within the mind suddenly stirred.

The virtual personality responsible for researching dark enlightenment, the little thing in the isolated space deep within his consciousness, suddenly raised its head and looked in the direction of the magic wand.

A look of greed and curiosity appeared on its face, along with an emotion that Regulus hadn't given it, much like something awakened by the smell of meat.

The concentration of darkness deposited in the wand was so high that it penetrated his isolation structure, hit the walls of the containment chamber, and even caused the filter layer to tremble.

The brain-blocking technique activated automatically at the same instant, and Regulus could feel his mental defenses tightening layer by layer.

He knew what this meant; the wand had triggered his defensive instincts, making his defense system feel the need to be on alert.

He didn't mind and let them move on their own. They were all his own things, so he should treat them well.

Regulus held the wand and felt it for a while. He understood its function after the magic came into contact with the core of the wand.

The dark magic it unleashes is different from other wands.

Other wands are just thrown and that's it; once the spell reaches its target, it explodes or rots as it's meant to, and that's it.

After this strike, a dark magical afterimage will remain at the point of impact.

The thing didn't have any light or smoke; it was just an unclosed wound created by the incantation burning in the air. The air around the wound would continue to rot and twitch, refusing to close.

Even if the enemy blocks it with the Ironclad Curse, the afterimage will not dissipate. It will remain at the blocked position, continuing to burn, continue to grind, and continue to drill deeper.

Blocking one attack doesn't mean the end; that place will continue to rot.

In other words, once you get hit by this thing, there's only a beginning, no end. You have to keep enduring it until it wears you down or you run far enough away.

It's like putting a negative status effect on the opponent that they can't shake off, and it deals continuous damage.

nice one.

Regulus also discovered something else: the wand was eating his emotions, eating the little bit of stuff seeping out of the containment chamber.

Anger, murderous intent, and the desire for domination—originally just fragments floating on the edge of consciousness—now have a place to go.

The wand was consuming them, and after consuming them, it turned into a very low hum, gently ringing near the core of the magic.

Regulus held it and slowly turned his wrist.

Of course, this thing has a threshold; it recognizes bloodlines. But bloodlines alone are not enough. If Sirius Black picks it up, it won't resist, but it won't give any response either. It's just a very expensive, ugly, and heavy piece of dead wood.

The only people it can truly respond to are those who have lived with darkness, accepted darkness, and stayed in darkness without being swallowed up.

That just happens to be him.

The darkness accumulated within him was already considerable; his magic and the wand resonated with each other, requiring neither to adapt to the other.

Regulus weighed the wand in his hand; it was quite heavy.

He looked up at Orion, a smirk playing on his lips, a glint of amusement in his eyes: "Any other good stuff in the house?"

Orion glanced at him sideways: "Yes, but I'm not giving it to you now."

"Fine," Regulus nodded, his tone completely matter-of-fact, "Then give it to me next time."

Orion closed the empty box, put it deep inside the bookshelf, and didn't bother to look back.

Regulus shrugged, securely fastened the black wand to his waist, and patted the inside of his robe where his everyday wand was kept.

From this day forward, he is now a man with two magic wands.

Orion turned around, saw his son's smiling face, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly.

"Let's go." He walked to the door and opened it.

Regulus followed him out.

Back in the restaurant, Walbuga was still sitting in her original seat. When she saw Regulus come in, she stood up, went over, and straightened his collar.

She pressed her finger against his shoulder: "Go to sleep."

Regulus smiled. "Goodnight, Mother."

He led Baruch upstairs.

Pushing open the bedroom door, Baruch jumped off his shoulder, bounced to the head of the bed, rolled around on the pillow twice, and finally curled up into a small ball, his eight eyes staring at the doorway, waiting for him to come in.

Regulus took off his robe, changed into his pajamas, and lay down.

Outside the window, the London nightscape unfolds. A car passes by in the distance, its headlights flashing briefly on the curtains before dimming again.

He turned over and closed his eyes.

......

On July 2nd, owls all over London were working overtime, with the Daily Prophet's coverage being everywhere.

The front page was filled with that magical photograph: Regulus stood on the white steps of Gringotts, wearing a black robe, his wand pointing to the sky, a golden beam of light piercing through the entire page, the background being a sky covered in gold-embossed Latin text.

Owls flew past the windows of Grimmauld Place, some carrying letters to the Bright family, many more passing by, and some simply flying in the wrong direction from Diagon Alley.

Kreacher ran to the door from morning till night, bringing back letters that he piled on the small table in the foyer, but Orion didn't even glance at them.

On July 3, responses from various countries began to arrive, and Orion spent his days in his study dealing with letters and intelligence, with parchment scrolls piled up like a small mountain on his desk.

Regulus didn't go anywhere; he stayed in his bedroom reading.

Orion collected alchemical academic materials from various countries, including journals of the Paracelsus school, internal communications of the Prague Alchemy Association, and the quarterly publication of the French Magic Society.

Some are handwritten manuscripts, some are mimeographed copies, and the binding is inconsistent, but the content is solid, all of them are genuine cutting-edge papers, far exceeding the level of textbooks.

He flipped through the pages one by one, marking key passages and copying them down with a shorthand quill pen, building up his knowledge base for future advancements in alchemy.

Baruch lay on the table, and every time Regulus turned a page, it would climb up on its two front legs, spread itself out on the page, and stare at the words on the parchment with its eight amber eyes.

After looking at it for a while, it tilted its head, climbed down, turned to the next page, and climbed up again.

Regulus didn't know what a spider could glean from alchemical treatises, but he was serious.

After looking at it for a while, its chelicerae touch a certain character, then it looks up at Regulus, as if it has understood.

July 4th, daytime.

Grimmauld Place was so quiet that the only sound was the clanging of silverware by Kreacher; everything that needed to be arranged had been arranged, and everything that needed to be confirmed had been confirmed.

Orion went through the intelligence one last time in his study: the movements of the Rolle family, the gathering locations of the vassals, and the terrain and weather in Yorkshire.

Regulus spent the afternoon in the training room, not practicing anything new, just getting himself into top form.

He sat cross-legged on the floor with his eyes closed.

The constellation Betelgeuse has been changing over these three days.

After the announcement was made, the influence spread automatically. He didn't have to do anything; the name Regulus Black spread on its own.

More and more people are discussing, commenting, relaying, recording, and speculating.

The news circulated among the pure-blood families of Europe, in the corridors of the Ministries of Magic in various countries, and in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, and every corner of Hogsmeade.

The soul is fully nourished, and the feeling is very clear, as if something is slowly crystallizing deep within the soul, becoming harder and heavier.

The feedback from Betelgeuse is becoming increasingly apparent. In the lower right corner of its orbit, it is collapsing inward, burning darker and heavier, becoming deeper and denser.

Approaching a critical point, but still one step away.

Regulus opened his eyes.

Late at night on July 4th, Regulus was changing clothes in his bedroom.

The dark black combat outfit, made of a thicker fabric than a formal suit, features the Black family crest embroidered in silver thread from the collar to the chest, and is one size larger than the everyday version.

The cuffs were gathered tight, and the hem reached mid-calf, allowing for unrestricted leg movements and turns. The everyday wand was tucked inside the robe, while the black wand was tucked behind the waist.

He went downstairs, where Walbuga and Orion were waiting in the foyer.

Walbuga stood at the top of the stairs, wearing a dark house robe with a thin shawl draped over it, his hands folded in front of him.

Orion stood slightly behind her, her hands hanging naturally at her sides, her gray eyes watching him walk down without saying a word.

Walbuga walked over, opened his arms, and pulled him into his embrace, his arms tighter than usual.

Regulus raised his hand and patted her back, resting his chin on his mother's shoulder, his voice light and relaxed with a smile: "Mother, prepare breakfast for me."

Walbuga didn't say anything, but hugged him even tighter.

He let her hug him.

After a long while, she finally let go, took a step back, and stared at his face. Her expression was not very telling, but the corners of her eyes were a little red.

Orion stepped forward, raised his hand and pressed it firmly on his shoulder, pausing for a moment before removing it: "Don't worry about things at home."

Regulus nodded to his father.

Kreacher was hunched over by the door, his long ears dragging on the floor; the door was already open.

The July night breeze carried the dampness of London's streets and the moisture from the distant Thames.

Regulus turned, stepped out the door, and into the night.

Then it disappeared.