Sage Time

12 Grimmauld Place, Orion's Study, letters piled high on the desk.

Kreacher would bring in a new batch every half hour, placing the latest arrivals on top, then bend over and leave.

Orion categorized them.

The first stack on the right is probing, politely worded but with hidden meanings; ostensibly showing concern, it's actually probing the Black family's attitude. The second stack on the right is overtures, warmly worded, repeatedly mentioning the Black family's long history and past friendly relations. The stack on the left is in favor of the Lestrange family; there are only a few letters, worded subtly, not pleading, but more like testing the waters to see how the Black family plans to handle the matter, and whether they intend to completely crush the Lestrange family.

Several letters were placed separately on the corner of the table. There was no Hugo content in the wording, but they were asking about one thing: how exactly things ended last night, and whether there was any involvement from higher levels.

These people are asking about Voldemort.

Orion glanced at the letters on the corner of the table and tapped his fingers lightly on the surface twice.

He only learned about Voldemort last night.

Regulus appeared to be unharmed, but his mental state was clearly off; his face was pale, and upon closer inspection, his eyes were unfocused. He walked steadily, but at a slower pace.

A typical reaction after experiencing intense psychological intrusion.

After returning home, Regulus recounted what had happened, not in great detail, but he covered the key points.

Voldemort appeared after Fiendfyre was released. He had a brief exchange with Voldemort, Voldemort used Legilimency on him. During Legilimency, he showed Voldemort what he wanted him to see and hid what he didn't want Voldemort to see.

After listening, Orion remained silent for a long time.

Then he asked, "Is he satisfied?"

Regulus said, "We should be satisfied."

Orion nodded, and the two went back to their respective rooms.

Now he sat in his Study, looking at the letters inquiring about Voldemort, but his mind was on something else.

The fact that these people are making inquiries indicates that they have already guessed that Voldemort might make a move.

This conjecture is logically sound, but there may be another layer of meaning behind these people's conjectures.

They believed that Orion Black and Voldemort had some kind of direct contact.

This speculation is inaccurate; the person who came into direct contact was Regulus, not him, but he had no need to clarify.

The misjudgment that Black family Black family had become closer to Voldemort wouldn't harm them; in fact, it would be beneficial. The Black family's strategy within the Pure-blood Faction had always been to maintain maximum independence on the periphery—not to be considered a core member, but not to appear distant. If outsiders believed they had direct contact with Voldemort, the Black family's bargaining power would naturally increase in the ensuing political maneuvering, without them having to do anything.

Let the misjudgment fester.

But these letters inquiring about Voldemort were either an attempt to probe the Black family's background, or some might be inquiring for others, deliberately pushing the speculation that Voldemort had come forward to make more people believe it was true.

When things are chaotic, everyone wants to take advantage of the situation.

He opened a few important ones, read them, put them back on the table, and didn't reply.

No rush.

Wait a few days and see who gets impatient; those who come knocking first are the ones who truly need to be dealt with.

Regulus was in the bedroom, lying on the bed.

Since returning last night, he hasn't left the room except for exchanging a few words with Orion.

The curtains were drawn, and the room was dark. The fire in the fireplace burned very low, with only a sliver of dark red light leaking from the firebox, making the long crack in the ceiling appear and disappear.

He lay on his back, eyes open, but wasn't thinking about anything.

Physically, I'm fine. Last night's fight with Bellatrix took a toll on my stamina, but I recovered after a good night's sleep. A twelve-year-old's body is very resilient. Mental exhaustion is another matter.

Voldemort's Legilimency should not be viewed as a simple form of mental isolation or resistance.

That was a wizard standing at the pinnacle of the Wizarding World directly entering his mental realm, rummaging through it, scanning it, and touching it.

Throughout the process, he maintained a highly precise mental operation, deciding which memories to show him and which to hide.

The way you hide something should be so natural that it doesn't seem like you're hiding it; the part you reveal should feel like it's being passively exposed rather than actively displayed.

Doing these things in front of Voldemort requires dozens of times more mental energy than usual.

The Star Orbit Meditation continues, with the six stars following their respective orbits, and the light of Bellatrix shining steadily behind the Soul Avatar.

The Magic Power flows in the loop, with a portion of it being channeled into the repair of the mental structure.

Several microcracks appeared in the core area's defenses when the Containment Chamber resonated. They were not serious and did not affect functionality, but they would need time to heal naturally.

He wasn't in a hurry; he had done everything he needed to.

Bellatrix struck, Fiendfyre was unleashed, the manor burned down, Voldemort arrived, Legilimency, he guarded what he should guard and released what he should release. What follows will take time; we just need to wait, wait for the Pure-blood Circle's reaction to stabilize, and wait for the news to spread further.

There were also gains on a spiritual level.

The things I experienced last night—facing Voldemort face-to-face, clashing with one of the most dangerous wizards in the spiritual realm, and holding the line under extreme conditions—these experiences themselves are nourishment for my soul.

Saiph is responding.

Since last night, he could sense some subtle changes deep within his Spiritual World; something was loosening at the location of Saiph. There hadn't been a qualitative change yet, but it was accumulating.

He can't say for sure how things will change or to what extent; we'll have to wait and see.

The seed has been planted, and it will slowly grow.

But these are all rational analyses; beyond that, he only has one feeling now.

Not wanting to move, not wanting to do anything, this state manifests in action as remaining completely still.

His mind was blank, his thoughts were sluggish, and the inner engine that drove him to analyze, plan, and act had completely shut down after last night's intense output.

Magic Power is returning, and my spirit is healing, but that drive to get things done isn't coming back anytime soon.

He hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, and he was hungry, but even more reluctant to move.

Walburga didn't come to wake him. Usually, if he overslept, his mother would appear at the door promptly at eight o'clock, but she wasn't there today.

Kreacher didn't bring any food either.

His father must have told him to get some rest.

He lay in bed all day, from morning to noon, and from noon to afternoon.

She tossed and turned twice, changed the direction of her pillow, kicked the blanket to her feet and then pulled it back, put her hands on her stomach, and stared blankly at the cracks in the ceiling for a long time.

I did something big, it drained me dry, and I haven't been able to recharge yet.

A spider silk thread hung down from the ceiling, so thin it was almost invisible in the dim light, with only a tuft of furry stuff swaying slightly at the end.

Baruk was hanging upside down on the spider silk, his rear end facing the sky, his eight legs curled up at his sides, slowly descending.

It descended to about a foot above Regulus's face, tightened its rear end, stopped, slightly opened its chelicerae, stared at him with its eight eyes, and tilted its head slightly.

Regulus looked at it, and it looked at Regulus, then Regulus gently blew a breath.

Baruk, hanging on the spider silk, swayed twice, swinging back and forth like a fluffy pendulum.

"Regulus... tired."

Its sound remains the same: broken, abrupt, and mostly monosyllables.

His language skills are still developing, but they've improved compared to a few months ago; at least he can now put two or more words together.

Regulus didn't nod; lying down was inconvenient.

He hummed in agreement. "Tired."

Baruk's eight legs gave a slight push in the air, pulling him up a bit, and then he put them down again.

"Being powerful... no rush."

Regulus looked at it, a slight smile curving his lips. This spider was becoming more and more human-like.

"Don't worry, I'll make you stronger in a few days."

Baruk's pincers opened and closed twice, clicking softly, then its spider silk descended, and its entire body lowered, gently landing on Regulus's chest. Its eight legs were fully extended, and it circled twice on the robe, as if searching for the most comfortable position, before lying there motionless. It remained quiet for less than a minute.

"Baruk... hungry."

Regulus closed his eyes briefly; he was hungry too, but he didn't want to move.

Then he looked at the light coming through the gap in the curtains; it was warm, with an orange tinge—it was evening.

"Kreacher," he called out.

With a snap, the House-elf squeezed out of the air, bent over, his nose almost touching the floor. "Young master's name is Kreacher."

"Get me a piece of meat," Regulus said. "Raw. Do you have Dragon Meat?"

Kreacher thought for a moment, "There's half a rib of Romanian Longhorn in the storeroom."

"Cut a piece."

Kreacher disappeared again.

Regulus propped himself up and reached out to lift Baruk from his chest and place him on his shoulder.

Kreacher returned quickly, carrying a silver platter with a deep red raw steak on it. The cut surface had a fine texture and contained the dark purple blood streaks characteristic of Dragon Meat.

Baruk leaped from the shoulder onto the table, his eight legs tumbling over rapidly, his chelicerae opening as he began to tear at the flesh.

Dragon Meat fibers are tougher than ordinary meat, and Baruk's claws couldn't bite through it for a while. It used its eight legs to brace against the meat, pulled it, tore off a small strip, and swallowed it with a slurping sound.

Then continue tearing, continue swallowing.

Blood seeped from the cut of the steak, spreading across the silver plate. Baruk's leg was stained with blood, leaving a trail of small purple footprints on the edge of the plate.

Regulus sat at the desk watching it eat, resting his chin on his hand.

After it finished eating, only a few scraps of meat and a patch of blood remained on the silver plate.

Regulus lightly tapped his finger, casting Cleaning Charm to remove the blood from the silver plate. He then tapped Baruk's body with the same spell, cleaning away the blood as well.

Baruk shuddered, his fine bristles twitching.

Regulus stood up, walked to the wardrobe, and changed into a dark house robe.

"Stay here."

He left it on the table, opened the door, went downstairs, and went to eat.