Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 583 Sirius Black's Fun Time

Isabel, of course, did not hear what Regulus said in the bedroom, but Alphad imitated it very well.

Combined with that newborn baby with a head of ever-changing blue hair, what exactly is in the bloodline of the Black family?

Her gaze slid from Regulus's profile to Alphad across from her, whose grey eyes gleamed beautifully in the warm yellow light of the restaurant.

Gaston sat opposite her, head down, cutting the food on his plate, and shook his head slightly.

Isabelle is acting a little strange today.

Regulus finished the last piece of duck, put down his knife and fork, wiped his mouth clean with a napkin, folded it, and placed it next to his plate.

Alphad ate faster than him; his plate was already empty, and his wine glass was emptied.

He leaned against the windowsill, one arm draped behind his back, his eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation: "So? Let me see?"

Regulus stood up and straightened his collar. "I'll be going now."

Alphad was about to get up when Regulus waved him down, telling him to stay seated.

"When I have time, I'll go to your bar to hear a live performance."

Alfard blinked and grinned. "That's settled then, you can come anytime."

Regulus turned his head and nodded slightly to Gaston and Isabel.

The next moment, he vanished without a sound, without any distortion of the air, without any folds in space, and without any perceptible magical fluctuations.

One second the person is here, the next second they're gone. There's no transition, no process, not even the slightest movement of air when Apparition is activated—they're just gone.

Gaston frowned, a look of surprise and seriousness flashing in his eyes.

He was the Deputy Director of International Security Affairs at the Enforcement Division of the French Ministry of Magic, and had been an Auror for thirty years, having seen all sorts of ways of moving.

Apparition produces a squeezing and popping sound, Portkey produces a spatial rotation and dragging sensation, Floo Powder produces flames, and Distortion Charm can at best only obscure visual rather than magical signs.

Every method leaves a trace; it is perceptible, traceable, and traceable.

His senses scanned the restaurant interior and the surrounding area for dozens of meters immediately, but there was nothing there.

He picked up his glass and took a sip.

If Black's method of disappearing just now were to repeat itself, then the anti-Apparition and Portkey interference protection system that the French Ministry of Magic had spent decades building would be completely useless to him.

He had to write a report, the contents of which he himself was unsure how to describe.

Alphad tried to stand up; he should go home, but he couldn't.

His body lifted up slightly, his buttocks about two centimeters off the chair, before something pulled him back down.

He glanced down and saw that the fabric of his jeans had grown together with the seat of the chair.

The denim fibers and the wood grain of the chair interpenetrate where they meet; the fabric threads get stuck in the wood grain, and the wood fibers emerge from the grain and get tangled into the fabric's weave.

The same was true of the back of his leather jacket, which blended completely with the wooden back of the chair. The studded leather and the dark wood became the same thing at the contact surface, with no seam and no boundary in sight.

He knew what it was: a transmedia fusion transformation, where two fundamentally different substances were fused into one at a deep structural level.

This level of transformation magic actually achieved fusion without changing the appearance or feel, and it was done silently and without a staff, without the recipient even noticing.

When was it done? How was it done?

Regulus spent the entire time eating, chatting, cutting duck, drinking, and eating soufflés, always holding a knife and fork, without even touching his wand.

He was taken aback for a moment, then his gray eyes lit up, and he grinned, muttering, "That little rascal."

So that's how I showed him.

He reached into his pocket for his wand, ready to undo the transfiguration spell.

You can't exactly wear the chairs from the Silver Tower restaurant and take them with you, much less take your pants off in the best restaurant in France in front of a room full of Muggles.

Just as my hand awkwardly touched the wand, someone sat down in the chair opposite me.

She wore a light blue formal suit, a chestnut-colored low bun, and mauve lipstick. She sat upright with her legs together and slightly turned to the side, her hands folded on her knees.

The French have a uniquely elegant demeanor—sophisticated and poised.

Isabel sat in the empty chair Regulus had left behind, a gentle smile on her lips. She looked at Alphad, who was barely maintaining his dignity, and her gaze shifted from the line where his jeans met the chair to his face.

Grey eyes, slightly messy black curly hair, silver earrings—tsk, kind of sexy.

She extended her hand: "Mr. Black."

Alphad sat down again, extended his hand to shake hands with the person opposite him, his expression somewhat stiff: "What is your name, ma'am?"

"Isabel de Lavigne, Director of the Pureblood Affairs Office of the International Magical Cooperation Division of the French Ministry of Magic."

"Forty-two years old."

At number 12 Grimmauld Place, in Regulus's bedroom, the curtains were half-drawn, and it was mostly dark outside.

A roll of parchment lay open on the table. Regulus sat at the table, dipped his quill in ink, and wrote a few lines.

It was for Lucius, accepting the invitation, setting a date, and including the salutation and signature, it contained only a few words.

After finishing the main text, I paused for a moment, the pen tip hovering above the paper, when a picture suddenly popped into my mind.

A deep cave, a black lake, a stone basin filled with glowing green liquid, a locket lying at the bottom, and a corpse in the lake.

He bent down and added a signature in the lower right corner of the parchment.

R·A·B.

After finishing writing, he glanced at it and twitched the corner of his mouth to the side.

"Kreacher".

A house-elf appeared by the desk, hunched over, its big ears fluttering, and its lightbulb-sized eyes blinking.

"The little master's name is Kreacher."

Regulus handed over the parchment: "Deliver it to Malfoy Manor and give it to Lucius Malfoy."

Kreacher extended his withered fingers, carefully took the parchment scroll, and bowed: "Yes, young master."

It disappeared with a snap, and the room fell silent.

Regulus leaned back, the chair making a slight creak, his gaze fixed on the sky outside the window.

In the distance, factory chimneys were spewing dark red smoke into the sky. Occasionally, a car would drive by on the street, its headlights flashing between the streetlights. Several Muggle children were playing football in Grimmauld Place.

He looked out the window for a while, then turned his gaze back to the alchemy journal spread out on the table.

On the tapestry, Alphad's position was to the right of Walbuga's name. There should have been a line connecting them, but the line was broken, and only a blackened scorch mark remained where the portrait and name should have been. I saw the real person today.

I spent less than a day with this uncle, and it was quite relaxing.

Speaking of uncles, there is another one, Segnus III, Volbuga's older brother, who is not very popular.

If Alphad is the amplified version of the free spirit in the Black family bloodline, then Segnus is probably the other extreme.

And then there's Nifadora, the little one who was just born; the echo of blood ties when I held her in my arms is still fresh in my mind.

Following these Blacks, it's natural to think of Sirius Black, who's currently in Portgaard.

Charles Potter hid the entire house before the family war began, so cleverly that the men he sent back couldn't even remember the exact location of the Potter house.

Regulus had thought at the time that the method was most likely related to the invisibility cloak passed down through generations of the Potter family.

The Deathly Hallows, something that can fool Death, are truly a game-changer for hiding a house.

However, the war was long over, the Rohr family was gone, the revenge contract was history, and all the heads that needed to be chopped off had been chopped off.

Sirius Black is probably having a blast right now; the whole Godric's Hollow probably knows him.

I wonder if this kid has made any progress, grown taller, or started causing trouble at home.

There are still a few days before school starts, so I'll go see him and see if the Potter family has left any traces after dispelling their hidden methods.

The mornings in Godric's Valley are much quieter than in London, the air is more humid, and a thin layer of dew clings to the grass.

The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but a warm glow was already spreading across the eastern hills.

The landing point was on a stone-paved road on the edge of the village, with low stone walls and old stone houses on both sides. Several chimneys on the roofs were emitting smoke, and the gray smoke dissipated slowly in the blue sky.

Vines climbed the garden fence, their leaves curled slightly in the late August sun, and a few unidentified little white flowers bloomed through the gaps in the fence.

A narrow road stretched ahead, then disappeared around a bend.

Regulus was wearing a black hooded cloak, the hood covering his head.

In the Muggle neighborhood, it doesn't matter whether he hides or not. People only see him because he's good-looking. This is a wizarding community, and far too many people know him. He's not here to become famous today, so he should keep a low profile.

He pulled his hood down further and walked along the stone path.

Godric's Valley has such a long history that most wizards are no longer sure whose name it was named after.

The official account states that Godric Gryffindor was born here, but some say he was an older local saint, others say he was an earlier Celtic lord, and still others say he was a wizard who lived during Gryffindor's time but was confused by later generations.

The history of magic textbook states that Gryffindor was born there, but many things in the textbook are not necessarily accurate.

Whatever it's called, this place has been inhabited for thousands of years. Later, wizards came, and Muggles came too. The two groups lived side by side across the fence for hundreds of years, and neither drove the other away.

Regulus wasn't particularly attached to this history, but Godric Valley was indeed a magical place where many things had happened in the past and many things would happen in the future.

He started to stroll, stepped across a puddle, and turned into a narrower alley. At the end of the alley was a vacant lot overgrown with weeds, with several tombstones standing crookedly in the middle.

He found one, Ignotus Peverell.

The monument is engraved with a symbol, a triangle, inside which is a circle, with a vertical line running through the center of the circle.

There is a line of text engraved below the symbol.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

The last enemy to be eliminated is death.

He stood in front of the monument for a while.

Dumbledore and Grindelwald walked past this monument together that summer of 1899. The two young men stood before the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, their minds filled with thoughts of the greater good.

They probably stood there for a long time, discussing a lot about death, conquest, and changing the world.

Young Gellert Grindelwald probably touched that triangular symbol on the monument, his eyes burning with the fire to change the world.

Young Albus Dumbledore probably stood nearby, his blue eyes looking at Grindelwald and the symbols on the monument, thinking the same thing.

Later, one became the headmaster of Hogwarts, and the other became a prisoner in Nurmengard.

Regulus withdrew his gaze, turned and left the cemetery.

Walking along the stone-paved road deeper into the village, after turning two or three corners, a dilapidated stone house appeared on the left side of the road.

Most of the courtyard wall had collapsed, and the rest was covered by vines and weeds. The main gate was sealed off, with several wooden strips nailed horizontally to the door frame. The windows were also boarded up, leaving only a few narrow gaps.

The yard was overgrown with grass, the tallest of which was already waist-high. This house had been abandoned for a long time, and compared to the stone houses around it that had been inhabited, it seemed to have been left here alone by time.

The Dumbledore family's old house.

That same summer, a fourteen-year-old girl died in her own yard.

If Ariana hadn't died that summer, if that three-way battle hadn't happened, Dumbledore and Grindelwald might have stayed on the same path, and everything would have been different.

Grindelwald may not have gone to extremes, may not have established a muscular party on the European continent, and may not have taken up a seat in Nurmagomedov.

The tallest chair in Germany.

Dumbledore may not return to Hogwarts, may not become the headmaster, may not become the white-bearded old man he later became, and may never touch power again.

The death of a young girl changed a person's life, and that person then changed the course of an era.

Is history inevitable or accidental?

Regulus felt there was no answer to this question; every choice was at a crossroads, and once you crossed that point, there was no going back.

Some moving figures appeared in the sky ahead.

Several people rode brooms back and forth in the valley at a considerable speed. Two of them were chasing each other, while one was following closely behind the other, trying to intercept him.

One figure stood out, his broom moving much faster than the others, turning at an extremely aggressive angle, almost his entire body pressed against the broom handle.

Sometimes, they don't even squeeze their legs together. One hand grips the broom handle, while the other wavees wildly in the air, as if greeting someone, or perhaps showing off, or simply letting loose.

A loud howl came from its mouth, still clear and resonant even hundreds of meters in the air.

—Aww!

Regulus looked up at the figure.

This guy has incredible energy; the Black family probably didn't consider how much space he needed to move around when they had him.

If we look at this from the perspective of dog ownership standards, Sirius Black needs at least an entire valley to roam.

I really don't know how a large dog that needs such a large area to expend its energy survived twelve years in a tiny stone cell of just a few square meters in Azkaban, which was its original fate.

Just thinking about it makes me uncomfortable.