Go Have a Baby

Regulus stood in the center of the ruins, looking around.

The Lestrange family's Banquet Hall was about forty meters long, a little over thirty meters wide, and nearly nine meters high. The four load-bearing walls were made of solid granite blocks, and the top was a Gothic pointed arch dome.

There are three narrow windows on each side, and two load-bearing colonnades in the middle divide the space into three longitudinal areas. The building itself is inlaid with at least three layers of superimposed Structural Solidification Charm and intrusion prevention Rune.

Over two centuries of family Magic heritage have allowed this mansion to withstand numerous upheavals.

Now it's been beaten into this state by two Black.

Two of the four walls collapsed, most of the stone pillars fell down, the ground rolled over and collapsed back down, and rubble and dust covered the ground.

Debris was still falling from the cracks in the ceiling; the chandelier had long since been smashed; the long table, candlesticks, Portrait, Tableware, curtains, and carpet were all crushed into pieces, mixed with gravel and sawdust.

Regulus stood amidst the ruins, assessing his own condition.

The Magic Power has been depleted, more than expected.

There's nothing we can do about it; considering his age, he's still growing, so his total Magic Power power will be less.

But the Magic Power cycle of Star Orbit Meditation continues to operate.

Each of the six stars follows its own orbit, Magic Power flows continuously within the loop, allowing for a recovery speed far exceeding that of his peers, and even surpassing most adult wizards. If he takes a break after each round of combat, his Magic Power recovers faster than it is depleted.

And so far, his playing style has been relatively economical.

In the opening exchange of spells, he relied on precision and timing; the consumption of Magic Power was even less noticeable than the consumption of physical strength.

Later, when dismantling Bellatrix's Transfiguration, he used minimal Magic Power to strike the most crucial point, consuming far less Magic Power Bellatrix. But when it comes to holding back, Bellatrix was also actually holding back.

Although if a normal wizard were to take the full force of each of her spells, he would at least lose his fighting ability, or at worst die on the spot.

Later, her Transfiguration went even further, turning such a large Banquet Hall into ruins.

If this happened outside, in a place without Magic protection, the whole street would be doomed.

Bellatrix's relatively stable emotions despite the situation were somewhat unexpected.

He thought she would get carried away after being knocked away the first time, and would immediately pull out Dark Arts to attack her to death.

She didn't; instead, she chose to use Transfiguration combined with spells for attack, which was a reasonable tactical arrangement.

Even if someone had graduated from Hogwarts several years ago, they would most likely be killed by a large-scale Transfiguration in a confined space.

Her playing style itself wasn't flawed; she just happened to run into someone who specifically countered it.

A large-scale attack is useless if it is precisely dismantled; no matter how powerful the attack is, it will be in vain.

The current situation is that Bellatrix is injured and her Magic Power consumption is greater than his, but he hasn't been able to establish any decisive advantage.

After two rounds, he had the upper hand, but Bellatrix's fighting ability was still intact, and her mental state remained stable.

This won't do; a war of attrition would be pointless. Bellatrix should understand that this isn't a way to defeat him.

The current situation necessitates one side overwhelming the other; at this point, the possibility of reconciliation is no longer possible.

Otherwise, it would be too embarrassing; she couldn't afford to lose face, and he wouldn't give her a way out.

He withdrew his gaze and looked across at the other side.

Most of the dust had settled, and the view had become more open.

Bellatrix stood on the pile of rubble seven or eight meters away, having already adjusted her posture.

Her breathing was still a little rapid, but the intense excitement on her face had subsided, replaced by a quieter expression. She was looking at Regulus, her gaze sweeping over him from head to toe and back again, as if she were getting to know him all over again.

This little cousin, twelve years old, has fought her to this extent; his talent is worthy of his the Master's high regard.

It's understandable that he has the confidence to disregard her.

But he was too naive to think that this would give him the final say and allow him to speak with power.

Talent is one thing, vision is another.

He relied on his own power, while she relied on her the Master's trust; these two things were not even on the same level.

Power can be suppressed by greater power, but the Master's trust was something she earned with her soul.

Thinking of her the Master, her gaze shifted from Regulus to a spot in the void that only she could see.

The more Regulus behaves this way, the more it demonstrates his value.

Such talent, such Black family heir—if he could be subdued, tamed, and sent before his the Master ...

The Master will be satisfied.

The Master will see what she does, acknowledge her vision, and reward her.

Her fingers traced patterns on her wand, her lips twitched slightly upwards, her pupils dilated, and her breathing became labored and somewhat broken. A shiver, seemingly emanating from her very bones, crept up her spine, causing her shoulders to hunch as she reached the back of her neck. She shivered.

Regulus watched Bellatrix stare at him for a moment, then her gaze drifted elsewhere, a strange expression appearing on her face. It was half infatuation and half greed; her lips twitched, her eyes gleamed, and her entire demeanor shifted from a fighting stance to something he didn't want to scrutinize.

He shook his head inwardly.

His emotions are relatively stable, but his mental state is hard to understand.

I have no idea what she's so pleased about.

"Bellatrix."

His voice rang out in the quiet Banquet Hall, neither too loud nor too soft, just enough to reach her ears.

Bellatrix's gaze returned from the void to his face.

Regulus looked at her, his tone as gentle and non-aggressive as he had spoken every word that evening.

"We're family, why can't we talk this out properly?"

Then he looked around, his gaze sweeping over the collapsed walls, the shattered stone pillars, and the ground that had rolled over and collapsed back down.

"After all," his gaze returned to Bellatrix's face, "This is your home."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes slightly.

She knew perfectly well that Regulus had been intent on fighting her from the very beginning—fighting her to the death, and had no intention of having a proper talk from the start.

Now he stands in her wrecked Banquet Hall, asking her in a concerned tone why they can't have a proper talk.

Bellatrix's lips twitched, but she didn't react.

Her eyes darted around, then she replied seriously, "Yes, we are family."

She threw the question back at him, tilting her head to look at him. "Why can't we talk this out properly?"

Regulus shook his head slightly, a nostalgic expression on his face. "Cousin, we've always been close since we were little."

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow.

"Do you remember the first time you came to our house?" Regulus's tone softened, as if recalling a fond memory. "I was three years old then, and now it's been almost ten years."

He looked at Bellatrix with a rare tenderness in his eyes. "I remember, you were wearing a dark Velvet dress that day." Bellatrix's fingers loosened slightly on her wand, and her eyes vacated for a moment.

It was Spring Tea Party hosted by Walburga in March 1964. Before going, she felt bored; tea party, children, socializing—none of it appealed to her.

Then Sirius turned the Silver Instruments into earthworms.

The living room was in chaos, earthworms were crawling on the tablecloth, and Walburga's screams were faster than she Spellcasting.

Then, in front of everyone in the room, the three-year-old boy sitting in the corner Reverse Transfiguration and restored the Silver Instruments.

She was extremely shocked.

Bellatrix pulled herself out of her reverie and frowned slightly.

She had already accepted that Regulus wouldn't speak kindly; every seemingly gentle word he uttered was a dagger hidden beneath.

What's the point of all this rambling?

She looked at Regulus but didn't say anything.

Without waiting for her reply, Regulus raised his wand and swung it towards his feet.

The rubble and broken slabs on the ground began to move, closing up, piecing together, and rising before him, transforming into a waist-high table and two chairs.

Regulus extended his left hand, palm up, and gestured towards the chair. "Bellatrix, we're family, why are you fighting like this?" Bellatrix's jaw muscle twitched.

This kid's addicted to this routine.

"And I haven't had a chance to say it to your face yet," Regulus said with a serious tone, "I have gained a lot from the gift you sent on behalf of that Dark Lord."

"That gift showed me many things I hadn't seen before," he said, looking at Bellatrix with a hint of gratitude in his eyes. "I've always wanted to express my thanks to you in person."

Bellatrix tilted her head, frowned as she looked at him, a mixture of wariness and confusion flashing in her eyes.

It was a mix of reminiscing, gratitude, and inviting her to sit down and talk.

What's up with this kid?

She was a little unsure.

"But, Bellatrix."

Bellatrix's expression changed immediately.

But again.

It's exactly the same as before. I care, but I don't care.

She tilted her head back slightly and squinted her eyes.

"You are now Lady Lestrange," Regulus said gently. "We are siblings, that will never change. You are the Dark Lord trusts most, and I respect you."

He paused, then continued, "But from now on, you don't need to concern yourself with the Black family's affairs."

Bellatrix's lips slowly curved into a smile.

"Isn't the Lestrange family enough of a worry for you?" Regulus's tone now carried a hint of concern.

Bellatrix's chest heaved slightly.

Regulus looked at her, his expression devoid of malice, sincere and concerned, like a good younger brother thinking of his married sister. "I respect your work for that Dark Lord," he said, "But when you go home, you still have to live your life."

His tone softened. "Have a child for the Lestrange family, cousin."

Bellatrix's face started twitching; the muscle above her cheekbone twitched on its own, pulling upwards along with the corner of her right eye.

Rodolphus leaned against the wall, his hand holding the wand frozen in place.

Bellatrix's words about having a child came out of Regulus's mouth lightly, as if they were chatting casually.

The rift between him and Bellatrix, the one that was never mentioned, was torn open in this setting, in this tone, in front of everyone by a twelve-year-old boy.

He didn't care about being Rababstan up; a beating would settle things with the Black family, and he even found it reassuring.

His house was almost smashed up, but he didn't care. He could fix it with money. He was just tired of the old decor anyway, so he wanted to change the style.

Bellatrix was sent flying, but he didn't care. He just watched the drama between Black and the others as a spectacle.

But this is different; it's a matter of face.

Regulus shifted his gaze from Bellatrix, across the ruins, to Rodolphus beside the doorframe.

"Rodolphus," he called out, his tone as natural as when he called Bellatrix, "You should be grateful that I'm thinking of you." Rodolphus's eye twitched.

I should be grateful to you?

"Bellatrix has had a lot on her mind with the Black family," Regulus said. "I'll handle those things from now on, so she can focus on taking care of the Lestrange family."

After he finished speaking, he glanced at Bellatrix, then looked back at Rodolphus: "By the way, the Black family will cover the damages caused to the Lestrange family tonight. Name your figure for the repair costs of the Banquet Hall."

Rodolphus stood beside the doorframe, his mouth opening and closing briefly.

He wanted to say something, but didn't know what to say.

What the hell is wrong with the Black family?

Orion, standing behind the barrier, raised an eyebrow slightly upon hearing Regulus's words.

He was a little surprised.

This kid has this skill?

Fighting is one thing, but he'd never seen Regulus use such verbal skills before.

Sirius stood against the wall, his lips twitching upwards as he tried to hold it in, but after two seconds he couldn't maintain the upward curve.

Regulus had just been reminiscing and expressing gratitude, and he still felt something was off.

Recall what? He knew perfectly well who Regulus was.

Now it seems so.

The memories are fake, the warmth is fake, it's all just setup, all leading up to that one sentence. "Have a child."

He didn't know what the problem was with having children, but in Bellatrix's case, it just felt out of place.

I want to laugh.

Regulus withdrew his gaze from Rodolphus and returned it to Bellatrix's face.

"Cousin," he said, his tone unchanged, "Be a good Lady Lestrange. We're still siblings. I'll come see you if anything happens."

He took a step forward, stepping on the gravel with a crunch.

"Mind your Black family business, and mind your own business as well."

Bellatrix stood on the pile of rubble, her expression completely blank, utterly silent.

She simply stood there watching Regulus, her eyes barely moving.

She knew, of course, that every word Regulus said was meant to provoke her; it was a series of sweet words masking a barrage of venomous attacks. But she also understood Regulus's meaning: after this fight, the winner would decide, and the loser would shut up.

You win, you can meddle in the Black family's affairs as you please; you lose, from now on you can Lady Lestrange and don't interfere in the Black family's affairs anymore.

Even if she denies it, if she loses the fight, the people present will admit it for her.

If she can't beat him tonight, her word will no longer count in matters concerning the Black family.

Ultimately, it still comes down to fighting.

She certainly didn't think she would lose.

It's a fact that we can't beat him with conventional tactics.

She stared at Regulus for a long time, then said, "Regulus."

Her voice was soft. "You know, I've never been serious, have I?"

Regulus looked at her, a very slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, cousin, I know."

His tone held a hint of expectation. "So?"

Bellatrix didn't say anything more. She raised her wand slightly, the tip pointing downwards towards the ground.

Magic Power emanated from her, but it was completely different from before.

A layer of dark mist spread up her wrist, down her arm, to her shoulder, to her neck, and to her face.

Her pupils deepened in the dark mist, turning from brown to almost black, the edges of her irises appearing as if soaked in ink. The air itself seemed to change.

Everyone present simultaneously felt their breathing become heavier, as if something was pressing on their chest.

A new smell filled the air—rotten, cloying, like something wafting from a long-unopened coffin.

Bellatrix stood on the pile of rubble, dark mist seeping from her and running down the hem of her skirt.

When you touch the gravel under your feet, the surface of the gravel is darkening and turning black, as if something is corroding them from the inside.

She tilted her head slightly, looked at Regulus, and parted her lips a little.

"My dear cousin," she said softly, "Don't worry, I won't kill you."