Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

On August 31, 1971, the atmosphere at the dinner table at 12 Grimmauld Place was somber.

Sirius is going to Hogwarts tomorrow, and Walbugar has been preparing for it for a week.

"Remember," she said for the tenth time, "you represent the Black family. Once you board, sit in the Slytherin carriage, not with those—"

Sirius's voice wasn't loud: "I won't go to Slytherin."

Walbuga's cutlery froze in mid-air: "What did you say?"

"I'm not going to Slytherin," Sirius repeated, his eyes fixed on the roasted lamb chops on his plate. "I'm going to Gryffindor."

A hush fell over the dining table.

Even the ancestral portraits on the wall ceased their whispering; Phineas Nigellus stared wide-eyed and gaping like a dehydrated fish in his frame.

Orion slowly put down his glass: "The Sorting Hat considers the students' wishes, but it also considers lineage and traits. House Black has been in Slytherin for five hundred years."

"Then break it down with me," Sirius said stubbornly. "I don't want to spend seven years with a bunch of snakes."

"A venomous snake?" Volbuga's voice began to tremble. "That's where your family has lived for generations! That's your glory!"

"That's a cage!" Sirius's voice suddenly became agitated. "I don't need Black's glory! I just need to be myself!"

He turned to Regulus, whose ten-year-old brother was calmly cutting a piece of steak and putting it in his mouth.

"And you?" Sirius asked. "You're going to Slytherin, right?"

Be their perfect successor, study hard, perform well, and wait for the day you can take over this decaying family.

Regulus looked up at him: "I will go where I am meant to be."

"Suitable?" Sirius laughed. "There's only one place suitable for Black: the Slytherin cellars, with those lunatics obsessed with pure-blood honor. Have fun, little brother."

He turned and left the restaurant.

Volbuga slumped in his chair, his face grim, while Orion remained expressionless, though his magic surged.

Regulus finished eating the food on his plate.

He knew what was going to happen. In the original story, Sirius Black was sorted into Gryffindor, becoming the first non-Slytherin in the Black family.

He also knew that many things would begin to change starting tomorrow.

On the evening of September 1st, an owl delivered a letter from Hogwarts.

Walbuga's hands trembled as she tore open the envelope. She quickly scanned the parchment, her face turning from pale to ashen, her lips quivering. Then her eyes rolled back, and she fell backward.

Orion caught her and took the letter at the same time.

It read: "Sirius Black has been sorted into Gryffindor House."

That night, the atmosphere at 12 Grimaud Place was like that of mourning.

But Regulus knew this was just the beginning.

From the second day onward, Volbuga turned all his attention to him.

"You must be ten times better than him," she said at breakfast. "No, a hundred times better! You must prove that the Blake bloodline has not been corrupted, prove that the true heir is here."

Regulus simply nodded without saying a word.

This was exactly what he had hoped for, but the price was Sirius's departure, until he left this home, which didn't make him very happy.

But this is the best arrangement.

He gained new privileges: unlimited access to the library, the ability to borrow some books from the family heirloom section, and even the ability to peruse some low-risk experimental notes under supervision.

After Sirius left home, the mansion became much quieter. Regulus spent four hours a day in the library, two hours in the attic, and the rest of his time dealing with his mother's lessons and his father's occasional inspections.

The practice of magic-guided cycles has brought about substantial changes over the past two years.

The magic capacity has been increasing slowly but steadily, like digging a little more well every day. Over time, the well will become deeper.

This was a slow and meticulous process; every night before bed, Regulus would practice the magic circulation.

Sit cross-legged on the bed, close your eyes, slow your breathing, and sense the magic.

Then imagine the magic flowing from your limbs and bones to your chest, and then back to your limbs, starting a cycle.

Gradually, there was no need to deliberately imagine it anymore; the magic seemed to have its own consciousness, flowing naturally along the opened path.

Like a river finding its course.

Moreover, he can now make a few feathers draw multiple perfect circles in the air with a trajectory error of less than one millimeter.

Alternatively, create intricate ripple patterns on the surface of a glass of water that last for a long time without dissipating.

This is the synchronization of magic and will, the change in the precision of control.

Finally, there's the recovery speed.

Previously, he needed a long rest after intense training, but now, by guiding magic to circulate within his body, he can accelerate the natural recovery of his magic.

Just like stretching after exercise to promote blood circulation, magic also has its own circulatory system.

From the autumn of 1971 to the spring of 1972, the three cousins ​​gradually came into close contact with Regulus.

Bellatrix started visiting Grimmauld Place more often; at twenty years old, she had become a full-fledged early follower of Voldemort, her eyes burning with a kind of fanaticism.

"The world is sick, Regulus." One afternoon, she said to him in the garden, "The filthy blood of Muggles has tainted magic, half-blood wizards have diluted ancient powers, and the Ministry of Magic has been taken over by cowards."

We need a cleansing.

"Cleanse?" Regulus watched as she swung her hand fiercely in the air, like an invisible blade.

"Cleanse the impurities." Bella smiled, but the smile sent chills down one's spine: "That great man will guide us; he has power, vision, and determination."

Once he takes power, the pure-blood families will once again stand at the top. We don't need equality; we want true domination.

"Whom will you rule?" Regulus looked at his cousin Bella, knowing she would gradually go mad until she resembled Voldemort.

But he could not stop the process, nor did he intend to.

"Everyone!" Bella's voice was full of excitement: "Muggles, half-breeds, Mudbloods, they will find their place."

Narcissa, on the other hand, was a sixteen-year-old sixth-year student at Hogwarts and a Slytherin prefect. She was pragmatic and shrewd.

"Bella has her own path." Narcissa said privately to Regulus during a family gathering, "But you must go your own way. Slytherin is not just about fanaticism; we also have wisdom."

"wisdom?"

"Weighing things out." Narcissa gently poked at the cake with her silver fork. "Knowing when to advance and when to retreat, knowing who is useful and who is dangerous, knowing what to say and what to keep hidden."

She shared some practical tips: "Always have three excuses ready. For example, if you get caught going out at night, you need to have three different reasons for different people."

Tell the professor you're lost in the library, tell the prefect you've lost your pet, and tell your friend the truth, but make sure your friend is reliable.

Never let anyone know you completely, not even your best friend. Keep at least one secret. Secrets are both a bargaining chip and armor.

"In Slytherin, value is more important than friendship. What can you offer? Knowledge? Resources? Protection? Figure out your own value, and then find people who need that value."

Regulus listened attentively. Narcissa's words, though cold, were true and useful.

Andromeda visited the least, but Regulus cared the most about her; of his three cousins, she was the kindest to him.

At seventeen, she was still in seventh year at Hogwarts and was a well-known oddball throughout the school.

She never participated in the pure-blood students' clique, but instead often discussed Fantastic Beasts with mixed-race and Muggle students, for which she was repeatedly reprimanded by Bella for defiling her bloodline.

She visited Grimoire Place less and less often, and Walbuga did not welcome her because she was considered to have mental problems.

On a rainy day in March 1972, Andromeda found Regulus in his room.

"I'm leaving," she said bluntly.

"Where to?"

"Leave England." Andromeda sat in a chair by the window, raindrops tracing thin streaks on the glass. "Marry Ted. He's a Muggle-born, and you know what that means."

Regulus nodded, signifying his removal from the tapestry; his name was burned, and the family no longer recognized him.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

"I'm afraid," Andromeda said honestly. "I'm afraid of losing my family, afraid of being rejected, afraid of the uncertainty of the future, but I'm even more afraid of staying here and slowly becoming someone I don't recognize."

She looked at Regulus: "I know you are different from Sirius. You are smart, rational, and know how to compromise."

But don't let compromise turn into surrender, don't let this family devour you. You have your own heart; remember it.

Regulus remained silent for a long time, then said, "Thank you."

"Take care." Andromeda stood up, walked to the door, and turned back. "And... if one day you need help, real help, you can contact me. I'll be in France."

Another Blake is leaving.