Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 585 performed well.

Regulus looked down at Sirius on the ground. He had only come to check on him, but this visit had led to this whole mess.

They were incredibly bold, but completely lacked common sense. They pulled out a disarming spell and thought they could end the situation.

Since we've already knocked them down, we can't waste them.

Sirius will probably never live in Azkaban again; his fate has changed a lot. But since he can't live there anymore, it's not a bad idea to give him a lesson now and let him experience it.

Regulus stood still, and the ground beneath his feet began to change.

The turf sank down from the center, the soil rolled outwards, and the edges collapsed neatly into a square pit.

Sirius's body sank down with him, a few blades of grass stuck to his face, but he didn't react at all.

Regulus followed, the surrounding earth closing in above him, the light narrowing into a thin line from above before completely closing off.

Above us was a solid layer of soil, and nothing could get through.

At a depth of three or four meters underground, the surrounding soil begins to change, its color changing from brownish-black to bluish-gray, and its texture from soft to firm.

The stone bricks grow out of the earth, piece by piece, forming a tight joint, with a damp texture on the surface.

The gradually closing layers of soil overhead transformed into a flat dome, with stone bricks covering the entire ceiling. The walls extended and narrowed, forming a space approximately two meters wide and three meters long.

A blackened, old wooden shelf appeared in the corner, with glass jars of various sizes arranged in a row on it.

The liquids in the jars were of various colors, some were cloudy yellowish-green, and others were dark red or black.

The largest bottle contained a heart, which was slowly contracting in the murky liquid, beating every few seconds and squeezing out a small ripple in the liquid.

There was an eyeball in the bottle next to it, with a yellow iris, rolling back and forth on the bottle wall. It would roll to one side, hit the glass, and bounce back, then roll to the other side and hit the glass again, as if it were searching for something.

On the other side of the wall hung several iron tools: hooks, pliers, and clips. They were irregularly shaped and covered with dark brown residue that looked like long-dried liquid remnants.

There was also a human skeleton with half a rib, a skull missing its jaw, a complete skeleton hanging from the wall with an iron hook through its shoulder blade, and moldy stuffing in the empty eye sockets. In the corner, there were also several complete organ specimens hanging on iron hooks, their origins unknown.

There was a narrow window embedded deep in the stone bricks, about head-high and less than a foot wide.

The window frame was made of cast iron bars, rusty, rough and black, through which a faint green light shone in from outside.

Faintly, one could hear the sound of water droplets falling on the water's surface, intermittent and accompanied by a lower, more muffled slapping sound as liquid splashed against the stone walls.

It sways back and forth.

A stone platform occupied half of the room, with a shallow, human-shaped trough in the middle. Sirius lay on it, his limbs secured by rings made of iron and stone, the surface of which was rough.

Regulus stood in front of the control panel, his back to the stone platform.

Several items were spread out on the table: an open iron mortar with brown powder residue inside, a thin-bladed knife, and a test tube-shaped glass tube containing a few drops of dark red liquid.

Sirius's eyelids began to twitch, his mouth twitched, and then the muscles in his entire face slowly tightened.

His breathing became heavy, his chest heaved more, and a muffled sound came from his throat.

His eyes snapped open, his gray pupils contracting rapidly in the eerie green light, his eyeballs swirling quickly around in their sockets.

With all four limbs exerting force simultaneously, the connection between the iron ring and the stone platform produced a dull metallic friction sound.

He arched his back slightly, and the fasteners on his shoulders and hips tightened simultaneously, pressing him back onto the stone platform.

He turned his head and first saw the pale green light outside the window and the narrow window with iron bars, then the stone walls and the shelf in the corner.

The contents of the jars were vaguely visible in the dim light. In the largest jar, a heart was slowly floating, and the eyeball next to it turned in the liquid, facing his direction.

Sirius let out a short, sharp sound.

He quickly turned his head to scan the entire room: the ironware hanging on the wall, the skeleton against the wall, the control panel, and the black figure with its back to him.

His breathing became deep and rapid, and his eyes gradually cleared as he observed intently.

He sniffed; the smell wafting from the direction of the iron bars carried the scent of salt and seaweed. It wasn't fresh water; the air was heavy with moisture, the temperature was low, there was no wind, and the air wasn't circulating.

Just a moment ago we were in a wasteland, the sky was high, the grass was long, and the sun was strong. Here, the sky is wrong, the smell is wrong, and the sounds are wrong.

He may have been moved, perhaps to some underground structure near water.

The black-clad figure had its back to him, busy with something at the control panel, without even turning its head.

He glanced down at the restraints on his limbs; the iron rings were on his wrists and ankles, rough on the inside, and fastened tightly, but not embedded in his skin.

His range of movement was confined to within a few inches of the stone platform; lifting his waist and retracting his legs were locked, but his head could turn, and his body itself was not injured in any way.

He took another breath and quickly assessed his physical condition.

There was no pain, the magic was plentiful and functioning normally, and the other party hadn't even had a chance to do anything to him.

But the magic here feels really off.

A cold and heavy magic, carrying an aura of despair and fear, seeped into his pores. Some voice in his mind was howling, wailing, and pulling him into the depths of his consciousness.

He shivered, a chill running from his tailbone all the way to the back of his head.

Sirius took a deep breath.

"The moment you uttered that curse, your body exploded, and all four limbs pulled outwards at the same time, causing the iron chains to creak and groan."

He arched his back on the stone platform, the veins in his neck bulging outwards, his mouth wide open, roaring from his stomach.

"Let me go! You fucking let me go!"

There was no response from the other side. The black figure had its back to him, picked up a slender iron tool from the table with its left hand, and twirled it in its hand.

Sirius tugged a few more times, but the iron ring didn't budge. His breathing became heavy and rapid, and his gray eyes widened in the green light.

The roars and cries surged up again, crashing against his mind in waves, with the intervals getting shorter and shorter.

A wisp of dark purple smoke appeared on the worktable, rising from the mouth of a crucible, slowly swirling and drifting upwards under the green light, carrying a sweet, burnt smell.

"I am Black! Did you hear me? My name is Sirius Black!"

The black figure on the control panel acted as if he hadn't heard anything, put the iron tool he was holding back on the table, and then picked up a knife.

Sirius's gray eyes flashed.

"My brother is Regulus Black! Do you know him?"

The figure didn't react, just kept scraping with the knife in their hand.

"Don't you read the newspapers? Don't you know how the Luo family disappeared? Are you from out of town?"

The black figure remained unresponsive.

Sirius kept shouting as he rapidly racked his brains.

If the thing on the other side is a Death Eater, given the Black family's reputation and what Regulus did last month, they should at least have taken a stance. Releasing him is a stance, hesitation is a stance, threats are a stance, even mockery would be a response; they can't just leave him hanging like this.

There was nothing in the end; the other side didn't care about the Blake family at all.

This led him to a very uncomfortable conclusion.

This guy is from out of town and doesn't follow local rules. He just arrests people without caring what their surname is.

The wisp of dark purple smoke on the worktable thickened, turning from a single wisp into a cloud, billowing out of the crucible and spreading outwards along the surface of the worktable.

The black-clad figure picked something up from the table, turned it over in his hand, and made a faint metallic hum, but the oppressive feeling in the air intensified.

The waves of despair and fear grew stronger and stronger, with shorter intervals and greater force. The screams in my head grew louder, pulling me deeper into my consciousness.

Regulus had his back to Sirius, and he was holding a metal strip that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, rubbing it back and forth on the edge of the crucible.

Sirius Black was clever enough to use his name to threaten him.

In extreme circumstances, this guy can think of using the Black family name and his reputation to buy himself some space, putting life first and putting face and position aside.

It's alright, at least it's better than blindly enduring it or shouting aimlessly, but it's still not enough.

Sirius shut his mouth, turned his attention back to the dark figure opposite him, and stared down at the iron ring on his wrist, beginning to feel the structure of the ring.

With the palm facing up, the five fingers can move, bend, and make a fist; the part below the palm is free.

He began to gently rub his thumb and forefinger together, and magic gathered at his fingertips, causing a faint dark pattern to appear on his skin.

The scales of the Hebrides dragon spread outwards from the base of the fingers, covering the back of the hand, wrist, and part of the arm.

Magic flowed into the structure of the scales, and the force of the palm flipped upwards. The iron ring was slightly deformed by the thickness of the scales, and the rough inner edge was being pushed aside by the hard surface of the scales.

His mouth opened wide at the same time, and his voice was even louder than before.

What exactly do you want! Turn around if you dare! Turn around! Don't play with those iron rings behind people's backs. They broke apart and shattered in two. He used his shapeshifting ability to change the surrounding air structure, and the sound of shattering was swallowed up.

The left hand was pulled out, and the same operation was performed with the right hand: scales covered, expanded, cracked, and silenced.

The iron rings on his ankles were thicker than those on his wrists. He grew scales from the top of his feet, pushing them outwards from the inside of his ankles, his mouth never stopping.

"Do you believe I can uproot this place and destroy it once I get out of here! Do you know how many people outside know me?!"

You just wait until the iron rings on your ankles break one after another, and all four limbs are freed from their restraints.

He flipped himself up from the stone platform, his feet landing on the stone slabs with a thin layer of magic between the soles of his boots and the slabs, so there was no sound when he landed.

The scales on its limbs didn't retract; instead, they began to spread towards its shoulders and hips, making its outline thicker. The dark gray scales gleamed coldly under the green light, exuding a precise sense of power.

He slowly squatted down, lowering his head to the same height as the stone platform, and continued cursing.

You're the only one who doesn't dare to show your face, and you have to do everything in secret—you're acting like a mother here, and your voice is even louder than before, with a deliberate excitement.

He began to move toward the control panel, each step landing on a magical cushion where his wand lay.

Regulus nodded slightly inside his hood.

The scales of the Hebrides Black Dragon, which could only manifest their shape and hardness in McGonagall's office more than half a year ago, now possess magic.

The silent, wandless transfiguration was performed amidst the oppressive magical atmosphere filling the room.

The order of operations was also correct: first, break free of the wrist by changing the hand, then deal with the ankle; first support, then crack, then silence; each step was done properly.

This guy is definitely working on his skills.

He placed the metal strip he was holding back on the table, it touched the edge of the crucible with a final clink, he let out a strange laugh, and turned around.

"Hehehehe Sirius's muscles tightened all at once, his magic power changed from scattered to contracted and gathered towards the core, every muscle in his limbs was gathering power, his feet gripped the stone slab tightly, and he suddenly darted forward.

He reached for the wand, pushed off the ground with his feet, and sprang to the side, his whole body moving with a savage ferocity as he darted toward the black figure.

Magic surged into the core of the staff, and a crimson light burst forth from the tip, illuminating half of the stone chamber.

The tip of his staff pressed against the chin of the black figure in front of him, his left hand, covered in dragon scales, gripped the man's right wrist tightly, and he put on the fiercest expression he could ever make.

His mouth was stretched to its limit, revealing all his teeth, and his pupils were shrunken. The light in his gray irises burned with a frenzied rage under the crimson light.

Your voice is stuck.

The hood was illuminated by a scarlet light, revealing gray eyes, black curly hair, and a mouth that twisted into an extremely irritating curve.

Sirius's expression shattered.

"you"

Regulus raised his hand and gently brushed aside the wand that was pressed against his chin with two fingers.

He glanced down at the glowing incantation on the tip of the staff that could send the caster to Azkaban, at the hand gripping his right wrist covered in black scales, and at that dumbfounded face.

He nodded slightly: "Not bad."

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