Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Regulus gained a clearer understanding of this ancient surname, one that truly impacted the lives of many.

A thought suddenly popped into Regulus's mind: Had I been too frugal before?

He never spent much money at Hogwarts; he only bought necessities like books and materials.

But now it seems that the Black family has more wealth than they can spend. Even if he threw away a hundred Galleons a day, he wouldn't be able to spend them all in ten years.

What makes a Muggle-born wizard compare to a half-blood wizard?

Some pure-blood families are the same; they have to scrimp and save to buy even a decent wand. Regulus's family, on the other hand, controls a complete industry chain in the magical world.

The gap here cannot be bridged by individual talent alone; it is a deeply ingrained structural advantage accumulated over hundreds of years.

Then he thought of another question: who benefited from such wealth in the original destiny?

Even if Sirius is a spendthrift, could he possibly squander all these businesses?

How much is that old house at 12 Grimmauld Place worth?

Compared to these industries scattered throughout the British Isles, what is a house?

Perhaps in the original story, the Black family's assets were divided up among other families after the deaths of Walbuga and Orion.

The Malfoys might take a portion, the Lestranges might take a portion, and the other pure-blood families would each get a share.

Sirius inherited an empty shell, unaware that the real wealth had already been swallowed up by others.

But none of that matters anymore. What matters is that these businesses are still in the hands of the Black family.

The important thing is that all of these will belong to him in the future, and no one can take them away.

Then he realized that Voldemort was also a hybrid, and he wasn't born with these things either, but unlike others, he could steal them, and he could get them.

Regulus squinted, his fingertips tracing the wand as he recalled everything he had seen over the past few days.

Even Voldemort can't steal my things.

......

On the afternoon of the third day, they stood on a cliff on the west coast of Ireland.

Below us were black cliffs tens of meters high, with waves crashing against the rocks and splashing up white foam.

In the distance, where the sea meets the sky, the setting sun is slowly sinking into the water, turning the entire sky golden red.

The sea breeze, carrying a salty, fishy smell, caused Regulus's robes to billow behind him.

He stood on the edge of the cliff, looking at the scene before him.

For the past eleven years since his birth, Regulus has spent most of his time in the old house at number 12 Grimaud Place.

Later I went to Hogwarts, but that was just the castle and the land around it.

He had never seen the truly vast world, never seen towering mountains and vast oceans, never seen wilderness and plains.

For the past three days, he has followed Orion across half of the British Isles.

He had seen the desolate yet magnificent hills of the Scottish Highlands and the misty forests of the Welsh valleys.

I've seen the vibrant herb gardens under the Cornish sun, and the turbulent sea along the Irish coast.

The world is so big, and the magical world is so rich and colorful.

Not just the classrooms and corridors of Hogwarts, the shops and streets of Diagon Alley, the endless banquets and intrigues of the pure-blood families, and the starry sky above.

And there is this vast land, magnificent scenery, and vibrant life.

Regulus took a deep breath of the sea-scented air, and something inside him began to loosen.

He has always lived like a meticulously calculating machine, planning every step, weighing the pros and cons of every decision, and considering the consequences of every action.

He enveloped himself in a shell of calmness and rationality, showing little emotion or fluctuation, for fear of affecting his judgment or interfering with his plans.

But now, standing on this cliff, watching the sunset sink into the sea, and listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks, he suddenly felt that perhaps he didn't have to live so tensely.

Magic is his path, power is his pursuit, but along this path, he can also enjoy the scenery along the way.

What is the purpose of becoming stronger?

Isn't it all about being able to live freely, to go wherever you want, and to see whatever scenery you want?

Orion stood beside him without saying a word.

The patriarch of the Black family looked at his son's profile, at the golden light of the setting sun reflecting in his gray eyes.

He noticed that Regulus's expression was different from usual; it no longer had that calm and composure beyond his years, but rather a pure focus and curiosity that one should have at his age.

Orion breathed a sigh of relief; he had always worried that his son was too preoccupied with his thoughts.

He never cried or made a fuss since he was little, and always acted like a little adult.

This is certainly commendable in a pure-blooded family; which parent doesn't want their child to be mature and stable?

He was gratified and proud of this.

But as a father, Orion also hopes that Regulus can experience some wonderful things, feel the joy of being alive, and be full of curiosity and longing for the world like a real child.

Now he finally sees a glimmer of hope.

Regulus was oblivious to his father's gaze; his entire attention was focused on the scene before him.

The sea breeze grew stronger, tousling his hair. He stretched out his hand, letting the wind pass through his fingers, feeling that invisible force.

Then he closed his eyes and let the magic flow naturally through his body.

Something magic happened.

At this moment, the magic became active, as if it had broken free from some kind of restraint, flowing joyfully within his body, carrying a lightness and exhilaration he had never experienced before.

As if the magic was responding to his emotions, Regulus suddenly understood something.

Magic is not just a quantifiable, controllable, and usable form of energy.

It is also alive, it has life, and it changes with the wizard's emotions and state.

When he calmly calculates, the magic is precise and stable; when he is moved, the magic is active and joyful.

Perhaps these two things are not contradictory.

Magic can be a precise science, requiring calculation, logic, rigorous deduction, and practice.

But magic can also be vibrant, warm, and full of infinite possibilities.

Just like this ocean, one can use physics and mathematics to calculate its tides and waves, but one can also stand here and simply feel its grandeur and beauty.

But what is the essence of magic?

Wizards use their will and magic to influence the world.

The wizard is the subject, magic is the tool, and the world is the object.

If a wizard lives like a machine, the magic he uses will only be cold, lifeless spells.

But if a wizard were a living, breathing person with emotions, feelings, and aspirations, would magic also become different?

Regulus opened his eyes.

The sun had already sunk halfway down, and the sea seemed to be burning, glowing with a golden-red light.

A seabird takes flight from below the cliff, spreads its wings, and soars on the rising air currents.

The idea that had been in his mind for a long time began to waver.

Perhaps he doesn't have to choose between rational calculation and emotional experience; perhaps he can have both.

Plan your path with reason, experience the process with emotion, control the magic with calculation, and feel the magic with your heart.

That might be better.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, the wand was already in Regulus's hand.

He gave in to the surging impulse within him, an impulse that had been building up in his chest like a volcano for far too long.

The yearning for freedom, the desire for the vast world, the expectation of breaking free from all constraints, and the purest and most direct emotion felt at this moment when facing this magnificent scene.

This feeling even surpassed his previous feelings about anything.

It surpasses the sense of accomplishment when you learn a new spell, the sense of control when you defeat an opponent, and the satisfaction when you gain knowledge.

It was something deeper, as if it came from the depths of the soul.

It's so good to be alive, the world is so beautiful, I want to see more, experience more, and become more.

Magic surged within him, breaking through the calm cycle of star-track meditation, rushing forth like a jubilant stream, every wisp of magic conveying the same emotion.

Joy, longing, freedom, desire.

Regulus raised his wand.

Orion turned his head and saw his son's actions, his thoughts shifting from relief to doubt.

He didn't know what Regulus was going to do. The place, the time, the scene—none of it seemed like they were going to practice magic.

Regulus had long since lost interest in observing his father beside him.

He took a deep breath, letting the salty sea breeze fill his lungs, the golden light of the setting sun fill his pupils, the sound of the waves fill his ears, and the surging emotions in his heart reach their peak.

Then, facing the sea breeze and bathed in the sunset, he chanted the incantation: "Call upon the gods for protection."

A silvery-white light burst forth from the tip of the wand, pouring out like a flood bursting its banks, instantly illuminating the edge of the cliff and enveloping Regulus in light.

The light was intense yet not dazzling, as warm as a winter fireplace, and as pure as snow on a high mountain.

A silvery-white light began to gather.