Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 577 was all made up by you.

Alfard blinked twice, his gray eyes making him appear even younger against the backdrop of his studded leather jacket and silver earrings.

The surprise came quickly and went quickly.

His gaze swept over Gaston, who wore a dark blue wizard's robe over a Muggle overcoat, and exuded an air of civil servant about his posture, eyes, and overall demeanor.

Looking further ahead, there's a middle-aged woman in a light blue suit, with chestnut-colored hair styled in a low French bun and wearing mauve lipstick—a more senior civil servant.

The two were from the French Ministry of Magic; they were of high rank.

The therapist at the back had already started observing the direction of the bedroom and wasn't looking this way anymore.

Alphad's gaze returned to Regulus's face, then he glanced at the man in the trench coat, then at Regulus again, and then the corners of his mouth twitched up again.

I roughly know what happened.

He had read all the news in the British newspapers and heard about it. The old Rolle family affair was making headlines, so it was hard not to know about it.

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his fingers spread, casually took two steps back, and grinned at Gaston, showing no hostility.

Gaston glanced at Regulus, who shook his head slightly, and Gaston stepped back.

Alphad noticed this detail and his gaze lingered on Regulus's face for a moment longer.

Then she spoke, her voice relaxed, without any air of an elder: "I thought Andy would only be having some friends come to serve tea and water today."

His gaze swept over Gaston and Isabel again, and he grinned, "You've got quite the entourage."

Regulus looked at him, and no matter how he looked at the man in front of him, he seemed to have absolutely no connection with the respectable elders of the Blake family.

He didn't put on airs, there was no need for it. Although Alphad had been expelled for fourteen years and his presence in the wizarding world was practically zero, he was still his uncle and had no ill intentions towards him.

On the contrary, after only a short time inside, Alphad had already developed a certain liking for him.

And given the connection to that radio, he was happy to chat for a bit.

“It’s not my style,” Regulus said casually. “It was arranged by the French.”

"Face is important to the French," Alfred nodded, looking completely understanding. "I get it."

"You came from England?" Regulus asked.

"The door key from this morning," Alphad gestured behind him towards the sofa, "Anti gave me the key last week from the owl."

I wrote a letter saying I was about to give birth and asked him to come over.

He casually put his hands in his leather jacket pockets: "And you? Did Andi send you too?"

"She didn't know I was coming," Regulus shook his head. "I had promised her I would come to see her when she gave birth."

"The door key?"

"Door key".

Alphad's smile deepened in his gray eyes. He turned and walked toward the sofa, gesturing for Regulus to follow.

At this moment, Madame Beaumont bypassed everyone in the living room, went straight to the bedroom door, and knocked twice.

The therapist inside asked a question in French through the door.

Madame Beaumont's gentle voice carried an air of confidence that she would know who she was as soon as she said it: "Colette Beaumont, Department of Maternity, Saint-Geneviève Hospital."

The door opened a crack, revealing the therapist's face. He stared in astonishment at the silver badge on Madame Beaumont's chest.

The door opened wide, and Madame Beaumont walked in carrying her suitcase.

The two French witches by the window heard Colette Beaumont; the blonde one's eyes widened, and she nudged him with her elbow.

The two of them whispered something in French to each other.

Saint-Genevier Hospital has a prestigious reputation in the French wizarding world. Colette Beaumont is the head of the obstetrics department. Those who have given birth speak highly of her, and those who haven't have heard a lot about her. More than once, it's been said that if you're going to give birth, she's the one who will handle it.

As the story spread, it became a kind of tacit consensus: children delivered by Madame Beaumont were born more steadily than those delivered by others.

Madame Beaumont personally delivered the baby—a level of prestige they had never even dreamed of.

The witches from England weren't quite sure about Madame Beaumont's rank, but they could guess it from their French friends' reactions.

The bedroom door opened and closed, Mrs. Beaumont went in, and a few seconds later the door opened again, and Ted came out.

His light brown hair was messy, his sleeves were uneven, and his face showed the frustration of being kicked out but not daring to argue. He stood at the door for a moment, stunned, and saw the scene in the living room.

His expression instantly changed from embarrassment to genuine joy: "Regulus, you've come."

Regulus nodded: "Ted."

Ted's gaze fell on Gaston and Isabel behind him. He opened his mouth, probably with a belly full of questions, but after glancing at Regulus, he swallowed them back.

He glanced at the closed bedroom door, then began pacing back and forth in the doorway.

There's no need to panic; a wizard giving birth is just another case. But tension and worry are inevitable, and fathers should be nervous.

The others in the living room watched Regulus from a distance, and no one moved closer.

Alphad walked back to the sofa, grabbed a cup from the kitchen stove, and poured Regulus a cup of tea, his movements as practiced as if he were at home.

Regulus walked over, sat down, and took the cup.

Alphad slumped down in the chair opposite him, stretching out his legs. The rivets on his leather jacket scraped against the fabric of the chair back, quite carelessly.

The two people sat apart, separated by a coffee table.

Baruch jumped off Regulus's shoulder, climbed up the fabric to the sofa armrest, tucked his eight legs in, and fixed his eight eyes on Alphad.

Alphad glanced down at it and asked with interest, "You raised it? What breed is it?"

Regulus thought for a moment: "Mixed-race."

Alphad chuckled, finding the idea quite amusing. If spiders can produce hybrids, why can't wizards?

"Those things you left in Grimmauld Place," Regulus said, glancing casually at Alphad as he held up his glass, "I fixed the radio; it's been working for two days."

A glint flashed in Alphad's gray eyes, and he moved closer to Regulus: "You fixed that?"

Before Regulus could answer, the radio became his safe word, and he launched into a long, rambling monologue.

"I bought that radio from a secondhand shop in Camden. The casing was cracked, and the shopkeeper said it had static when it was plugged in but couldn't receive any stations. I bought it for three pounds, and it's still not fixed."

His gaze held a hint of curiosity: "How did you fix it?"

Regulus's tone was extremely relaxed: "I fixed a vacuum tube and resoldered two connectors."

Alphad continued, "What did you hear?"

"I heard about the Apollo moon landing," a hint of reminiscence flashed in Regulus's eyes. In the blink of an eye, five years had passed: "The whole world heard Armstrong's words when he stepped onto the lunar surface."

Alphad paused for a moment, then said, "I was in a bar, in a corner, watching it on a Muggle TV."

A group of people huddled together, staring at the screen. A Muggle in a white spacesuit descended a ladder, and everyone was stunned. Some in the bar applauded, while others, unsure what to do, simply stood there.

He asked Regulus, "How do you feel?"

Regulus thought for a moment: "The sound is coming from an old radio, intermittently, but it's coming from the moon. Wizards can do many things, but they can't do this."

Alphad's mouth opened and closed, then he slapped his thigh, tilted his head back, and cackled for a while: "Merlin's shorts, are you sure you were born of Volbuga?"

Regulus shrugged.

Alfard burst into laughter again, then started talking about himself, gesturing as he spoke, his whole being very lively: "I own a bar in Camden called The Black Sheep."

It's really small; it's so cramped you can barely stand. I formed a band with a few Muggle friends, playing punk. We're not exactly professionals; the bassist takes half an hour to tune his instruments, and the drummer has to down two beers before going on stage for courage.

He tapped his fingers twice on his knee, as if counting beats: "The London underground music scene is buzzing right now, all sorts of new things are popping up."

Do you know about the Sex Pistols? They haven't officially come out yet, but the hype is already in the air. A bunch of teenagers who haven't even mastered their instruments dare to go on stage and start a fight.

I put on shows at bars, hiring all sorts of random bands. Some of them come on stage and start playing without even setting a tune, and the audience still dances along.

Regulus listened to him while holding his teacup, his expression relaxed.

"Do you listen to music?" Alphad suddenly stopped and looked at him, asking.

Regulus smirked: "Pink Floyd, last year's 'The Dark Side of the Moon'."

Alphad stopped counting the beats in his hand, stared at Regulus for a long time, his expression gradually changing from curiosity to astonishment, and finally to an incredulous admiration.

"Do you listen to Pink Floyd?"

Regulus immediately said, "The whole album runs on one concept, from the sound of a heartbeat to the sound of a heartbeat."

Time, death, money, madness—all crammed into forty-three minutes, with almost seamless transitions between segments. The sound layers are incredibly deep, and the spatial mixing makes the sound seem to grow directly from the brain. It's meticulously designed and ambitiously ambitious.

Alfard was stunned. He blinked, then blinked again, his gray eyes revealing genuine agreement. Then he asked again, just as sincerely, "Are you sure you were born to Walbuga?"

Regulus smirked. "You're going to ask her?"

Alphad slapped his thigh and laughed, making the zipper of his leather jacket rattle loudly.

He realized that Regulus was truly different, different from what he had thought, and even different from what everyone else had thought.

The conversation naturally turned to Muggle technology.

"Television is becoming more and more common," he said, resting one foot on the knee of the other and tapping his fingers on his boots to a rhythm. "Airplanes are getting faster and faster, and the Americans are working on a space shuttle program, saying that it will be possible to travel to and from space like taking a bus."

Recording technology is evolving from magnetic tape in new directions; some people are working on digital recording, but I'm not entirely sure.

His eyes shone as he spoke, his tone filled with excitement: "The Muggle world is developing so fast, it's like a museum to the wizarding world."

Regulus put down his teacup and said with certainty, "Muggles will eventually create something that connects all the information in the world, so that anyone, anywhere, can access any information."

Alphad raised an eyebrow.

“From now on, everyone will have a little box,” Regulus continued, his gaze falling on the rooftops of the old town of Paris outside the window. “It’s so much more convenient than an owl, not even comparable to a two-way mirror. You can open it and talk to someone on the other side of the world, and even see their face instantly, without any delay.”

Alphad opened his mouth.

"Concerts have gone from physical to virtual, requiring no tapes, no records, no physical media. With a click, you can listen to millions of songs from all over the world, and choose whatever you like."

Alphad closed his mouth, lowered his eyebrows, stared at Regulus, and suddenly laughed so hard he leaned back.

After laughing for a while, he finally blurted out, "You made all of this up."