Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 542 Born in the womb

At 12 Grimmauld Place, in Regulus's bedroom, the curtains were drawn tightly. It was a gloomy afternoon in early July in London.

The room was quiet, with the occasional sound of doors opening downstairs. After going up the stairs and turning several corners in the corridor, the second floor became stuffy.

Regulus lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

The wound on my left rib had long since healed, leaving no trace, and my skin was as smooth as ever.

After returning early on the first day, Magic took a nap and woke up in the evening with its power fully restored. Its core was full, its star orbit was running smoothly, and all six stars were in their proper positions without any abnormalities.

But I'm still mentally exhausted. My mind can work, I can think and make judgments, but I just don't want to think. I lack the drive to do things.

I'm fine with doing anything, but I don't want to do anything on my own initiative. Lying down is the most comfortable, sitting is okay too, and standing up and walking a few steps isn't impossible, but I'll wonder why I should stand up.

It was a pretty novel experience; I'd never had one before. He just lay there like that.

When it was time to eat, Kreacher brought out a silver tray with a variety of meats, eggs, dairy products, fruits, and vegetables, which were very nutritious.

Regulus ate slowly, his gaze drifting to the windowsill as he chewed. When he finished, he put the tray back as it was. When Kreacher came to collect it, he looked at the empty plates and bowls and his big ears twitched with satisfaction.

After finishing eating, I continued to lie down.

Walbuga had come many times. Each time, he would stand at the door for a moment, peek halfway in, see that he was lying there peacefully, and then leave without saying anything, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Orion hasn't been here much; he's been very busy these past few days.

Baruch lay on the bedside table, his eight legs tucked together, his amber eyes fixed on Regulus's face. Then he propped himself up, sticking out his buttocks, and sprayed a strand of spider silk that stuck to the ceiling light.

Its four front legs clung to the spider silk, and its entire body swayed slightly in mid-air, just above Regulus's face.

The dark red figure drew a small arc directly above his line of sight, swaying left and right like a small pendulum.

Regulus glanced at it but ignored it.

Baruch swayed for a while, then, realizing he wasn't watching it, it loosened its rear end, lowered the spider silk a little further, and stretched out a leg to probe downwards.

Just as the claw tip was about to touch his nose, Regulus raised his hand and slapped it away.

Baruch swayed twice in the air before regaining his balance, then swayed back down. The spider tilted its head, its chelicerae clicked, and its eight little eyes darted around before it continued to swing.

After a short while, it tried to probe downwards again, but was slapped away again.

The third time, Regulus ignored it and lay there with his eyes closed.

Baruch's claws lightly touched his brow bone, then withdrew, before the spider detached itself from the silk and floated lightly onto the blanket on his chest, its eight legs tucked in, and it lay still.

The light outside the window moved from afternoon to evening, and then from evening to nightfall. Kreacher brought in another meal, ate it, and then left.

The room went dark again.

Regulus lay there, doing nothing, his mind spontaneously starting to ponder the methods he had used that night, which ones had been exposed, which ones hadn't, and to what extent they had been exposed.

From the moment the Disintegration Curse was cast, the only trace it left was a huge crater and a fissure in the earth. Anyone who saw it could only conclude that this magic was extremely destructive.

However, the Disintegration Curse strips away the molecular binding forces, resulting in physical destruction, and the mechanism cannot be analyzed from the remaining traces.

At most, you can tell from the ripples of the ground vibration that this is a vibration-type spell, but what's so strange about the ground shaking when such a large external force hits the target?

Whose powerful spell could strike the ground without causing it to tremble?

It's just powerful; I can't see anything else about it.

The Disintegration Spell was even safer. Hundreds of spells flew around in all directions and colors on the chaotic battlefield. He fired a gray-green ray into the black mist while running, but it had no effect.

That thing had no effect on the black mist; the rays passed through without leaving any trace.

From the hills several miles away, no one would notice that one of the gray-green rays was anything special.

Starry Sky Kite remained completely hidden throughout, keeping its most secure trump card firmly in the dark.

There are traces of spatial network. If the analyst has good eyesight, they can see traces of spatial magic and a design for multi-directional coordinated attacks from the coordinate marks left by the seventeen anchor points.

However, spatial magic is a known category of magic, and the Black family also has a lineage of spatial anchors, which is not a secret in the pureblood community.

It's only natural that he would use it; what family doesn't have a few useful skills passed down through generations?

Spatial magic is just a technique; if you can use it, then use it. It's not a big deal.

What really made him think was that white line.

The mark left by the Fiery Blade was too clean; there was nothing left—no residual magic, no remnants of dark magic, no ashes, no heat. Even the background magic in the air was erased when it passed near that line.

A sufficiently skilled wizard can discern the presence of will within this attack, and can see that something beyond the scope of casting a spell has occurred.

But you can only see the result from the traces, not the process.

They know that there is a will, but they don't know what kind of will it is, what its source is, or how it does it.

The level of exposure is within an acceptable range, letting people know that he is strong, but not letting them know exactly where his strength lies, how he is strong, or what methods he uses to achieve it.

Regulus rolled over to face the wall, and Baruch slid down his chest, kicked his legs, and climbed back up.

There's another thing.

Before Old Luo sacrificed himself and became that cloud of black mist, there was a window of time that was not short.

Regulus could interrupt him, kill him completely with a spell before he completed the sacrifice, or leave immediately after the sacrifice was complete; the Starry Sky Kite was very useful.

The external effect of the Starry Sky Kite can be reduced; once the starlight is reduced, it looks no different from an ordinary bird.

In that case, he would just be a guardian spirit, which doesn't fit Voldemort's style. But so what if they don't fit? Voldemort can't stop him from having light in his heart.

But he didn't interrupt, nor did he leave.

There was no particular reason; I just encountered something I'd never seen before, and I was curious, excited, and wanted to try it out.

That's always been his way; when he encounters something beyond his experience, his first reaction is to go and try it out.

This tendency is probably something you're born with, though it's hard to say which mother you were born with, but you definitely have it.

Just as Betelgeuse had been lit, and just as he needed an opportunity to verify what a doomed end point could do, Old Raoul just happened to transform himself into something that could be ended.

Everything just happened to come together, so he did it.

I got hit, it cut me, and I bled a little, but it healed after a good night's sleep. It turned out fine.

He nodded to himself, that's how it is.

Baruch had somehow climbed onto his shoulder again, and his chelicerae gently touched his earlobe, making a soft clicking sound.

Regulus glanced at it and flicked its carapace with a finger.

Baruch tucked his legs in, then the spider rolled over, belly up, with its eight legs curled up in front of its chest, and remained comfortably still.

Occasionally, noises could be heard coming up from downstairs.

The green flames of Floo Powder burned in the fireplace, rising through the floor with a muffled sound, crackling every now and then.

Orion's voice occasionally drifted up from below, his tone very formal, probably as if he were greeting guests.

Regulus didn't listen carefully to what was being said; his ears caught the sounds, but he didn't bother to think about them.

The content isn't really important; it's just the same old greetings, compliments, probing, and attempts to get close.

Orion was dealing with everything: taking over the Roll family's assets, hunting down the remaining members outside, various political engagements, visits from pure-blood families, and the Ministry of Magic's maneuvering.

Regulus was in charge of the fight, and after that he just lay down.

Three groups came on the first day, and even more on the second day. They were all people who felt they could be invited to the Black family’s door, people of a certain status and class. On the contrary, those who were actually close to the Black family were not in such a hurry.

If the relationship is that good, there's no need to squeeze in a visit on the first two days.

By the third day, the owl's letters had piled up like a small mountain, and Kreacher was running back and forth in the hallway, the flapping of his wings and the scratching of his claws on the windowsill audible even through the walls.

Walbuga helped to block some people in the living room; her manners were impeccable, and a few words were enough to make people take their leave.

By the fifth day, Grimmauld Place was finally quiet.

The sparse noises on the street outside the window disappeared, and the green flames of the Flying Network stopped burning; they all vanished in an instant.

Regulus, lying in bed, felt a slight sense of spatial contraction. The concealment magic of the old house was fully activated, and the entire house sank into the two worlds.

The house number 12 jumped directly from 11 to 13, and the middle position is automatically ignored when the human eye scans it.

The wizard couldn't find it either. He knew the place existed, but he just couldn't find the exact location. Even the owls flew around it, unable to find the delivery point.

It was quiet. There was no sound outside the window. The light coming through the gaps in the curtains became even and steady, and the whole old house was in a completely enclosed space.

Regulus lay with his eyes closed, breathing steadily. Baruch lay on the pillow beside him, his eight legs tucked together, his spider head buried between his legs.

Both remained quiet and still on this quietest day at Place Grimmauld, 12.

Regulus opened his eyes and glanced at the ceiling. Just then, Baruch raised his spider head, and his eight amber eyes slowly blinked at his face.

Regulus was certain that spiders don't blink, but Baruch did indeed close and open a row of compound eyes in sequence.

He chuckled, rolled over, and buried his face in the pillow.

Baruch climbed onto the back of his neck, sprawling out like a small, dark red blanket, his eight thin legs draped loosely over his shoulder blades, looking languid.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place fell completely silent, sleeping peacefully in the July London sun, nowhere to be found.