Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Regulus wandered around the shop, picked up a crucible with temperature markings, and looked at it.

This thing is cleverly designed. Temperature sensing incantations are engraved on the inner wall, and the corresponding position on the outer wall will display the current temperature, so you no longer need to guess based on experience when brewing potions.

"Take one if you like." The witch noticed Regulus's actions and winked at him. "Your father won't take your money."

Regulus put down the crucible and said regretfully, "The school won't let us use it."

"Hogwarts has so many rules," the witch shook her head in dissatisfaction. "My grandson goes there too, and he's always writing letters complaining."

The third shop is a general store, selling all sorts of magical daily necessities.

Automatic brooms, boxes that keep food fresh, crystal balls that forecast the weather, and quill pens that can write on their own.

This store is the largest and has the most customers; there are five or six people queuing in front of the cashier.

The shopkeeper, a bald wizard, was busy settling a bill for an old lady. When he saw Orion and Regulus, he nodded as a greeting, without stopping his work.

Orion didn't bother him. He took Regulus for a walk around the store, checked the expiration dates on several shelves, and looked at the ledger at the cashier.

Orion only went over after the shop owner finished serving this group of customers.

"John, business is good."

"Thanks to you," said John, the shopkeeper, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Christmas has just passed, and many people have come to buy gifts."

"This is Regulus," Orion stepped aside, "my son."

John looked Regulus over carefully and smiled. "You look like you, and a bit like Mrs. Walbuga. When you take over the shop, please take good care of us old folks."

Regulus nodded politely: "Hello."

Leaving Diagon Alley, Orion led Regulus into a narrower alley.

He took two old-looking teapot lids out of his pocket and handed one to Regulus.

"The door key," Orion said, "hurry up, it'll start in five seconds."

Regulus gripped the cold, rusty lid of the pot, and five seconds later, a powerful force came from the lid, as if a hook had snagged his navel and pulled him sharply.

The world began to spin, and colors and sounds mingled together.

This is different from the squeezing sensation of Apparition; it's more like being thrown into a washing machine and spun dry, and it has to be a turbine-type one, not a drum-type one.

When they stopped, they were standing on a desolate high ground.

A cold wind howled past, making his robe flutter loudly.

In the distance are rolling gray-green hills, and nearby are several low stone buildings with white smoke billowing from their chimneys.

The air was filled with a strong herbal scent, mixed with the smell of earth and rain.

"Scottish Highlands, Potions Workshop." Orion put away the door key and walked towards the stone houses.

The workshop manager was an old wizard with gray hair and deep wrinkles on his face, as if they had been carved out by a knife.

He was wearing a leather apron stained with various medicines and holding a long-handled stirring stick. He nodded when he saw Orion, his expression serious.

"The price of raw materials has gone up." That was the first thing the old wizard said. "The venom of the giant spider in Africa is 30% more expensive than last year, and the horn powder of the moon-obsessed beast in South America is 20% more expensive."

"Understood," Orion replied curtly. "Let's go in and take a look."

The workshop is much larger inside than it appears from the outside; a space expansion spell was used.

A dozen large cauldrons bubbled over the magical flames, and wizards wearing matching aprons stood by the pots, stirring with agitators and adding ingredients from time to time.

The walls were covered with recipes and precautions, and the shelves held hundreds of glass bottles filled with powders and liquids of various colors.

The old wizard led them around the workshop, explaining what was being cooked in each pot, the progress, and when it was expected to be ready for shipment.

Orion listened attentively, occasionally asking a few questions.

Regulus followed behind, watching the wizards skillfully handle the materials, control the heat, and adjust the recipes.

They moved swiftly and their eyes were focused; they were clearly seasoned veterans.

A younger wizard was brewing a potion of euphoria; the liquid in the pot was bubbling with golden yellow and emitting a sweet aroma.

"This batch will yield thirty bottles," the old wizard said. "We'll bottle them tomorrow and deliver them to Diagon Alley the day after."

"Keep a close eye on the quality," Orion instructed. "Last time, a customer complained that the effect only lasted three hours."

"That's a problem with the raw materials." The old wizard frowned. "The quality of the Billywig insect stingers isn't as good as before. I'll think of something else."

After leaving the potions workshop, they used the portkey twice more to go to the alchemy workshop in Wells and the herb garden in Cornwall.

Wells' alchemy workshop was built inside a cave, and it was as hot as a sauna.

Dozens of anvils were arranged in two rows, and fairies and wizards worked together, the clanging and hammering sounds never ceasing.

Regulus looked around and realized that this place was more of a blacksmith's workshop than an alchemy workshop, as it didn't require much skill.

It was vastly different from the alchemy lab he had imagined, but then he thought that the products produced here were only aimed at low-end customers and focused on volume, so it was understandable that the technology was less advanced.

The Cornish herb garden, spanning dozens of acres and protected by a magical barrier, is filled with a variety of magical plants.

Moonflowers close their silver petals during the day, their poisonous tentacles writhe restlessly inside their glass domes, and mandrakes are grown in soundproof greenhouses with signs outside warning of danger.

The gardener was a short witch with tanned skin, thick fingers, and dirt under her fingernails.

"The weather was good this year, and the harvest is 20% more than last year," the witch said, loosening the soil around a white stalk of grass. "It's just that the goblins kept causing trouble, so I set traps and caught more than a dozen."

"Proceed according to the old rules," Orion ordered. "Sell the furs to Knockturn Alley, and feed the meat to the animals over there in Ireland."

The last stop was the Amazing Animals Farm in Ireland.

This place is much bigger than the previous ones; it stretches as far as the eye can see.

Different areas are separated by magical fences, and various kinds of creatures are kept inside.

Grindylo swims in a pond, Bowtruckles live in another forest, and a few dwarf pig monsters live in a cave.

A horned camel wandered along a steep, rocky, sparsely vegetated area, and the feathers of a bird-snake could be vaguely seen in the shadows of a tall wooden house.

The person in charge of the farm was a big man with a ruddy complexion and a loud voice.

"Everything is fine!" he assured, patting his chest. "It's just that feed prices have gone up again; dragon liver is 40% more expensive than last year."

"Raise the price if it's due," Orion said casually. "Don't mistreat these animals; if you don't raise them well, you won't get a good price."

Regulus stood by the fence, watching a Bowtruckle peek out from a tree hole and curiously examine him.

The little guy was only the size of a palm, with bright black eyes and slender fingers.

It watched for a while, then suddenly threw an acorn at Regulus's feet, before retreating back into the tree hole, making a rustling laugh.

"It likes you." The farm manager laughed heartily: "Tree-protecting bowels usually don't pay attention to people."

It took Regulus three days to follow Orion and tour the main properties of the Black family.

I haven't looked into it in depth yet; I've only glanced at it once.

He then realized that the Black family's businesses extended far beyond the old house at 12 Grimmauld Place and the three shops in Diagon Alley.

From the Scottish Highlands to the Irish coast, from the Wales Valley to the Cornish Plains, the Black family owned land, workshops, plantations, and ranches everywhere.

And this is only within the UK.

"What about other places?" Regulus asked Orion one night while staying at a hotel in Ireland.

"France has vineyards that make magical wine," Orion said, sitting in a chair by the fireplace, holding an account book.

"Germany has mines that produce some rare metals, India has spice plantations, and North Africa has magical animal sanctuaries, but you're starting school soon, so we can go there later."

Regulus sat on the opposite bed, processing this information in his mind.

He only knew that the Blake family was rich, but he didn't know where the money came from.

Now he knew that the Black family was involved in all the essential industries of the magical world: potions, alchemy, herbs, and magical creatures. Although they didn't own all of them, they didn't have a small share either.

Moreover, they've been doing this for hundreds of years, connecting the upstream and downstream sectors. From raw material planting and breeding to processing and production, and then to sales and retail, the entire industrial chain is in the hands of the Black family.

What surprised him even more was the people.

The heads of each industry, the artisans in the workshops, the gardeners in the plantations, and the livestock keepers in the farms.

They may not all have the surname Blake, but they all have close ties to the Blake family.

Some had worked for the Black family for generations, some were distant branches of the Black family, and some were small families that depended on the Black family for survival.

This is a vast and complete ecosystem.

The Black family was at the very top, below which were layers upon layers of businesses and dependents, like a large tree.

The main trunk is the surname Black, the branches are the businesses, and the roots are the countless people who depend on the Black family for their livelihood.

This is the true value of ancient pure-blooded nobility.