My Brother is Taller Than Me?

Sirius pushed open the door to his room.

The sheets were clean, the tabletop was dust-free, the curtains were drawn, the fireplace was unlit, and it was cold.

Kreacher kept cleaning, making sure every corner was spotless even if the room's the Master wouldn't return.

When Sirius returned last time, he felt this room was a display room, showcasing the traces of the Eldest son of the Black family. But those traces had nothing to do with him, or rather, he didn't want to have anything to do with them.

On the bedside table sat a silver-framed photo of him at age three, dressed in a formal little suit, grinning at him with such joy.

There were several books on the bookshelf that Walburga had chosen: <The Pureblood Family Etiquette Guide>, <The History of the Black Family>, and <The Noble Bloodline>. He hadn't opened any of them; the gold lettering on the spines was still as good as new.

Next to him were his own belongings: an old Flying Broomstick maintenance kit, several photos of him and James taken at Hogwarts, and a well-worn copy of Quidditch Through the Ages.

Two piles of things stood side by side, clearly distinct. Half of them represented the person the Black family wanted him to be, and the other half represented the person he wanted to be. He used to find these things annoying, feeling that the room was a constant reminder to him: you are Black's eldest son, and you can't escape it.

Now, when he looks at the same things, he feels less agitated.

He went inside, his fingers gliding across the bookshelves.

He remembered when he was five years old, Regulus was building blocks on the floor of this room.

They were still young then, and hadn't separated yet.

Regulus's tower was tall and stable. He kicked it, and it collapsed. Regulus glanced at him, said nothing, and started building it all over again. He kicked it again.

Regulus glanced at him again, but said nothing, and started over from the beginning.

The third time, he didn't kick it; instead, he squatted down and helped him build a piece, which was crooked and uneven. Regulus straightened it.

Looking back now, those were probably one of the few warm memories they shared.

He didn't know why he thought of this.

Sirius withdrew his hand, walked to the window, and drew back the curtains.

Night fell through the glass of Grimmauld Place, where a few streetlights shone dimly, illuminating only a small patch of ground. Three or four Muggle children were playing soccer. They were short, wearing thick coats, and ran clumsily. The ball was kicked into the bushes, and one child crawled in to retrieve it while the others shouted from outside.

The sound came in through the glass, muffled and indistinct.

Sirius leaned against the window frame and watched for a while.

Muggle kids, kicking a ball, running around, simple.

They don't need to care about Pure-bloods Half-bloods, they don't need to be taught how important bloodlines are, and they don't need to think about the war situation.

He didn't feel envious; he just felt that the scene seemed very distant.

12 Grimmauld Place is shrouded in Magic; those outside cannot see inside, but those inside can see outside.

He stood here, looking over there.

Sirius watched for a while, then lowered the curtains, turned around, took a few steps, and threw himself onto the bed.

My back slammed onto the mattress, and my body bounced.

He put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

There were several small cracks in the ceiling, stretching from one end to the other, just like in his childhood memories, unchanged.

Quiet.

The entire old house was quiet, the kind of quiet that belonged to the Black family —heavy, oppressive, making you afraid to even breathe too loudly.

He used to hate this silence, feeling it was a net that swallowed all sound, making it hard to breathe.

Lying on this bed now, listening to the silence, I don't feel anything particularly special.

I don't hate it that much, and I certainly don't like it; I'm just quiet.

After a while, he got up and opened the wardrobe.

Hanging inside were several old robes, some dark, some light, all embroidered with the Black family crest on the collar, still the size they were when he was twelve. No new ones had been prepared for him.

Of course, Walburga wouldn't prepare anything for him.

Sirius pulled out a dark robe that he could barely fit into, draped it over his body, and put his arms inside the sleeves.

The collar was so tight it constricted my neck, and the seams on the shoulders were taut too; when I raised my arms, my armpits ached from the pulling.

He pursed his lips and shouted.

If you're not going to provide preparation, then so be it. Who cares?

He didn't look in the mirror, tugged at his collar a couple of times but couldn't get it open, so he just ignored it, pushed the door open and went out.

Regulus returned to his room and took the Baruk out of his arms, placing it on his desk.

Baruk stood with his eight legs on the table, turning his head from left to right and from right to left. His two chelicerae opened and closed with a click, and his eight eyes scanned the entire room.

It raised its front legs and tentatively tapped the table twice, click.

"This is my lair," Regulus said.

Baruk clicked twice more, then suddenly bounced on the table, all eight legs leaving the ground at the same time. When it landed, it had turned around. It crawled to the corner of the table, peeked out from the edge, then pulled back, and jumped towards the windowsill, landing on it and placing its paws on the glass to look outside.

Outside was Grimmauld Place, with streetlights, cobblestone streets, human cubs, and the windows of the row of houses across the street were dark.

Baruk jumped from the windowsill back onto the table, landing softly, his hairy legs tucking in and out again.

It circled the ink bottle on the table, stopped next to the notebook, and opened and closed its chelicerae twice, making a clicking sound.

"Stay here," Regulus tapped its carapace. "Don't wander off."

Baruk raised his front leg and gestured in the air.

"I'll bring you some food later."

Clatter.

Baruk found a corner on the table, curled up, tucked his eight legs under his body, and turned into a fluffy ball.

Everything is settled.

Regulus pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk.

The Rune Box given by Orion lay quietly in the corner, its dark wood surface and Rune subtly engraved, showing no outward signs of abnormality.

He took the box out.

The moment I held it, even through the protective Rune and multiple layers of Magic structure, that feeling still emanated from it.

The Bone Box was inside, tangible and heavy, dense, like cradling a living, breathing being; you could feel its presence even through the box. At the same time, the Containment Chamber deep within her consciousness reacted, and her Virtual Persona stirred.

Regulus glanced inside along the mental connection.

Containment Chamber, the pure white hexagonal room remained unchanged, with no doors or windows, only four walls and a ceiling.

The Virtual Persona squatted in the middle of the room, its hair disheveled, using Magic Power to draw a bunch of crooked Rune on the ground.

The Rune were drawn and erased, erased and drawn again, from left to right, from right to the wall above, and then back to the ground. The research materials imported from the Dark Enlightenment last time had long been used up; what could be dismantled had been dismantled, what could be analyzed had been analyzed, and what could be simulated had been simulated. Now there was nothing Sickle study.

It's going crazy.

Like a research fanatic locked in an empty room and cut off from supplies, their curiosity and desire to delve into things are blocked, they feel stifled and unable to break free, so they can only vent their anger on the walls and floor.

At this moment, it finally sensed the existence of the Bone Box outside. It raised its head, moved closer to the wall, pressed its face against it, flattened its nose, gleamed in its eyes, and scratched the white inner wall with its fingernails.

It knew there was movement over there, knew there was something good there, but couldn't reach it, and mumbled something unintelligible.

Regulus overheard through the Filtration Layer and heard something along the lines of, "I know you're outside," "Give me," "Give me some more," "I haven't finished researching yet," "There's still a lot I don't understand."

The tone was urgent and anxious, but the underlying logic was still research-driven; it wasn't begging for power, it was asking for materials.

This setting is correct.

But its Magic Power was a little darker than when it was last inspected, with a thin layer of the corrosive shadow characteristic of the Bone Box clinging to its edges. It was completely unaware of this, still scraping against the Magic Power.

Regulus withdrew from observation.

It really should be done again.

The amount imported last time was too small; the Virtual Persona digested it all in half a month, and then spent the next three months in vain, with research efficiency at zero, driving me crazy. After finishing the business with Orion, I'll extract another batch of materials from the Bone Box and import them into the Containment Chamber.

This time, we can increase the quantity, carefully control the Filtration Layer parameters, and allow the Virtual Persona more time to process the data.

Moreover, it will be useful for the dinner party.

He put the Rune Box back in the drawer and closed it.

Baruk lay on the corner of the table, his eight eyes fixed on his movements, his chelicerae opening and closing slightly without making a sound.

Regulus ignored it, changed into a dark house robe, straightened his collar, and went out the door.

Sirius came out of his room in the Corridor.

His old robe made him feel awkward all over; he was pulling at the collar with one hand, his neck was crooked, and his face was full of disgust.

He saw Regulus, released his hand from his collar, and his gaze first fell on Regulus's shoulder, then moved up to the top of his head, and then back to the shoulder. He took two steps in front of Regulus, stood next to him, and gestured with his hand above his head, then drew a horizontal line across to Regulus's side.

Then he stopped; Sirius discovered something that greatly displeased him.

Regulus seems to be taller than him.

He gestured with his shoulder again.

Regulus's shoulders were also a bit broader than his, and the shape of their robes was different; his old robes were stretched because they were too small, while Regulus's robes were stretched because of his frame.

Sirius's lips twitched downwards slightly.

How did this guy grow up like this?

Eating at Hogwarts, in the same dining halls, with the same food, could Slytherin Gryffindor?

Are cellars more conducive to health than tower blocks?

Or did this guy secretly drink Height-Increasing Potion?

He muttered to himself, then glanced at Regulus's shoulders again, confirming that they were indeed broader than his own.

This is unacceptable.

He is the older brother.

How can the older brother be shorter than the younger brother?

Although it's only a little bit shorter, although it might be an illusion, although it might look different depending on the shoes worn...

But he just couldn't accept it.

Sirius suppressed his awkwardness, tugged at his tightly constricted collar, and raised his arm, the fabric immediately creasing under his arm. "Regulus," he said casually, but with a hint of gritted teeth, "Get me a robe. This rubbish is choking me." He tugged at his collar again, tilted his head, and twisted his neck, looking exactly like a Big Dog with its collar caught in it.

Regulus stood there without moving from beginning to end, letting him gesture and measure as he pleased, a slight smile playing on his lips.

But upon hearing this, the corner of his mouth twitched again, his expression momentarily unreadable. He stared at Sirius, as if to confirm whether he was serious.