Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 582 Just how amazing are you?

Regulus did not stay with Andromeda for long; the mother needed rest.

Lady Beaumont gave a long list of instructions, including when to take which medicine, the interval between which recovery spells, and dietary restrictions. Ted nodded vigorously beside her.

Nifadora hasn't eaten either.

As evening fell on Mufta Street, the streetlights were already on, casting warm yellow halos of light through their cast-iron shades onto the cobblestones.

Regulus and Alphad walked side by side down the street, with Gaston and Isabel following behind.

After walking for a while, Regulus looked up at the sky.

Alphad tilted his head to look at him: "Hungry?"

"A little."

"Let's find somewhere to eat." Alfard glanced at both sides of the street.

This section of Mufuta Street is lined with narrow storefronts. The bakeries and cheese shops are closed, and a few with lights on have signs for delicatessens.

Alfard's gaze lingered on a sign that read "Traiteur" for a moment, then shifted away, looking further into the distance.

Regulus stopped in his tracks: "Stop looking."

Alphad turned to look at him.

Regulus raised his hand and placed it on Alphad's shoulder, then turned to the two behind him and said in French: "Tour d'Argent, Quai de la Tournelle 15."

Silver Tower: Riverside Wharf No. 15

Isabel raised an eyebrow.

The Silver Tower, one of the oldest restaurants in Paris, opened in 1582 and is a three-Michelin-starred restaurant located on the Left Bank of the Seine.

Blake actually knew about a Muggle restaurant in Paris.

"Silver Tower?" Alphad blinked. "French cuisine? You've had it?"

"I've never eaten there, but I know where it is."

The air seemed to swirl slightly as the two figures disappeared from the cobblestone streets of Mufuta Street.

Anyway, I'll leave after this meal, so I don't want to cause any trouble for their work. I'll just have a good meal and then leave.

Before Apparating, he glanced at Isabel out of the corner of his eye.

As it happens, the head of the Pureblood Affairs Office of the French Ministry of Magic seems to have some other intentions towards Alphad.

Isabel and Gaston exchanged a glance, but without further ado, they both took a step forward and vanished upon landing.

The Silver Tower restaurant is located on the fifth floor of a building on the left bank of the Seine. Its stone facade is not high and blends into the surrounding old buildings. A dark signboard hangs above it, with the gilded name of the restaurant shining quietly under the streetlights.

As you enter through the foyer, a waiter in a dark suit leads the way up the stairs, which are covered with a dark red carpet.

The steps weren't wide, and the wooden structure made them very stable underfoot. The handrails were covered in old copper sheets, which gleamed with a warm, matte finish in the light from the crystal chandelier overhead.

The restaurant on the second floor is very large, with high ceilings and crystal chandeliers hanging from the dome, casting even light on each table covered with a white linen tablecloth.

Brass wall lamps are embedded in the dark wood paneling against the wall, spaced a few meters apart.

Outside the window is the Seine River, its surface bathed in a golden light at dusk. Notre Dame Cathedral stands on the opposite bank, its stone walls transforming from grayish-white to a warm gold in the sunset.

The spires of the flying buttresses and the outline of the rose windows were clearly visible in the twilight. A cruise ship slowly passed by on the river, and the figures on the deck became silhouettes in the golden light.

The restaurant was neither too many nor too few customers; well-dressed Parisians and tourists sat in their respective seats, talking quietly.

The waiters, dressed in black vests and white shirts, moved silently between the tables.

Regulus chose a seat by the window, Alphad sat opposite him, and Gaston and Isabel sat at the next table.

I took the drinks menu from the waiter, glanced at it, and ordered directly.

"A pressed duck, foie gras with fig sauce, an onion soup, a soufflé for dessert, and a bottle of wine from the Côte de Nuits in Burgundy, any vintage you can recommend."

Alfander flipped through the menu, his gray eyes scanning back and forth over the French dish names. After a long while, he still couldn't understand many of them. Finally, he closed the menu and said in English, "Same as him."

After the waiter finished writing down the menu, he gave a slight bow, took the drinks list, and headed towards the kitchen.

"Your French is better than mine," Alfard said after the waiter had walked away, his tone sounding somewhat unconvinced.

Regulus slowly unfolded the napkin on the table and placed it on his lap, then looked up: "Don't you know I also speak German, Norwegian, and Gargantua?"

"Giants?" Alfard rested an arm on the edge of the table and leaned forward. "Why would you learn that? And Norwegian, isn't that considered a less common language?"

Regulus shrugged: "Easy, easy to learn, you can pick it up in no time."

Alphad leaned back, looked at the sky over the river outside the window, then at Regulus, shook his head, and clicked his tongue.

At the next table, Isabelle was ordering food, tapping her finger on the menu a few times. The waiter obediently bent down to listen, his manner very practiced, suggesting it wasn't his first time there.

The distance between a pure-blood wizard in France and a high-class Muggle restaurant is much shorter than that between a pure-blood wizard in England.

In England, pure-blood families have always been disgusted by Muggle food, but in France, it's clearly different; at least when it comes to food, they don't have much prejudice.

The pressed duck was prepared at the table. A waiter pushed over a silver duck press, placed the whole duck on it, and operated it in front of them.

As the handle of the duck press rotates, the juices from the duck bones and innards flow out from the outlet at the bottom. The deep red liquid flows into a silver basin, mixes with brandy and Bordeaux wine, and the waiter stirs it with a small silver spoon, turning the sauce a deep amber color.

Heat it over a flame again, and the sauce will thicken as it boils over the fire. Finally, pour it over the sliced ​​duck breast.

The waiter pointed to the number embossed on the duck and said, "This is the tens of thousands of pressed ducks. The numbering has been ongoing since 1890, and each one has its own number."

Alphad stared at the silver duck press for a long time, muttering, "Muggles really know how to play."

The dishes were served one after another, and the sky outside the window grew a little darker.

The onion soup is served in a thick earthenware bowl, topped with a layer of browned cheese, with sliced ​​onions floating in the dark brown broth.

Regulus scooped a spoonful; the onions were thoroughly cooked, their sweetness blending with the richness of the beef broth, carrying a lingering brandy aftertaste.

The foie gras has a smooth cut and a slightly charred surface. The first bite brings out the rich, creamy texture of the fat spreading on the tongue, and the tartness of the fig jam perfectly balances the richness, creating a complete flavor arc in the mouth.

He put down his fork, swallowed, and cut off another small piece.

Across from him, Alphad was poking at the foie gras on his plate with his fork, his movements much more casual than Regulus'.

"This stuff is really delicious," he put a piece of foie gras in his mouth, chewed it, and nodded. "Muggles are much better cooks than wizards. Do you know what kind of food the Black family's old kitchen can make?"

Roast beef, roast potatoes, roast steak, roast lamb chops, roast fish fillets—that's it. It's all about roasting.

Regulus had a different opinion: "Kreacher's skills are not bad."

"Kreacher? That's different. I mean, Walbuga cooks."

Regulus's hand, holding the wine glass, paused in mid-air. He looked up: "She can cook?"

Alfard chuckled: "No, she's only been in the kitchen a handful of times in her life."

One Christmas, she wanted to do something, and our whole family stood in the kitchen doorway watching her busy herself; she almost burned the entire stove down.

Regulus stared intently at Alphad.

“Really, I still remember that scene,” Alfard said, waving his fork. “She carried that pot of stuff to the table, and you don’t know what it was, it was black, sticky, bubbling, and steaming.”

Regulus brought the glass to his lips and took a sip.

This is an absolute secret.

Alfard continued, recounting everything from what Walbuga looked like in his youth to the cellar at 12 Grimaud Place, saying that the wine stored there was better than all the wines he had ever tasted outside combined, and that the wine was the thing he would miss most when he left.

Regulus narrowed his eyes.

He really didn't know there was wine in the cellar. Did Orion think he could hide the wine just because he was a minor?

After eating for a while, the light outside the window had dimmed to a deep blue, and the golden ribbon on the river surface had narrowed into a thin shimmering light that barely touched the water.

Alphad swallowed what was in his mouth, looked at Regulus with his gray eyes, and said casually, "I have a question for you."

"Hmm?" Regulus was slicing duck meat, the tip of the knife cutting along the grain, the juices seeping out from the cut surface, leaving a small dark mark on the white porcelain plate.

Just how amazing are you?

Regulus looked up and glanced at him.

Alphad forked a piece of foie gras and stuffed it into his mouth, saying indistinctly, "I've read all the news in the newspapers and heard the gossip. The whole British magical community is talking about it. Your fame is now off the charts, it's incredible."

He chewed twice and swallowed, then gestured in the air with his fork: "In that battle on the wasteland, what did you throw from the sky to the ground that blew up people's houses? Some say it was an explosion, some say it was an earthquake. What was the spell called?"

Regulus continued cutting the duck, knowing that the two pairs of ears on the next table were perked up.

It doesn't matter. The magic ministries of various countries sent people that day, and they had already seen everything they needed to see. The spells he used in public on the wasteland were not a secret. What thousands of people witnessed could not be hidden.

But how he says it is his business.

"Found it in the family library."

Alphad stared at him for a few moments.

He had already explored the Black family's library; twenty years ago, he was also a young master Black.

The books inside were indeed numerous and varied, with several bookshelves piled high with dark magic, but after searching for several years, he had never found a spell that could blow up an entire manor, foundation and all.

He thought that since Regulus had used it in public, there was nothing he couldn't say, but since Regulus was lying, he knew what was going on.

Alphad put down his fork, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

Alright, I won't ask anymore. Maybe this kid figured it out on his own.

It doesn't seem unreasonable for someone like Black, who can fix Muggle radios, to invent a spell.

He changed the subject: "What you just said to Antia, about teaching Dora Transfiguration."

Alphad mimicked Regulus's tone in the bedroom, raised an eyebrow, and slowed his speech: "Of all the wizards you can find, I am the strongest in Transfiguration."

After finishing his lesson, he stared at Regulus: "You're this good at Transfiguration too?"

Regulus wiped his mouth with a napkin: "It's alright."

Alphad was displeased and leaned forward, lowering his voice, after all, they were in a high-end restaurant: "What do you mean by 'not bad'? You didn't sound like you were just saying 'not bad'."

Your expression and tone were so serious. Seriously, just how amazing are you?

Regulus cut a piece of duck meat, forked it, put it in his mouth, chewed it slowly, and swallowed it.

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged: "I'll show you later."

Alfard glared at him, then chuckled to himself, picked up his glass, and took a sip.

The Black family, Transfiguration... He thought about it and it seemed true; several generations of the Black family had members who were exceptionally skilled in Transfiguration.

Putting aside the past, let's talk about the present. Andromeda's Transfiguration skills were already quite good when she was at Hogwarts. Bellatrix's magic, although leaning towards dark magic, was also very solid in Transfiguration. And then there's Nymphadora, who just came out, a natural-born Disguise Magus.

Sirius Black also mentioned in his letter that he had been practicing Animagus recently and seemed to be making good progress; the kid sounded very confident.

Animagus, Disguise Magus, the shapeshifting talent in the Black family bloodline—it seems there's some truth to that.

At the table next to her, Isabelle held a wine glass, her gaze inadvertently drifting over from above the rim of the glass.