Where Regulus Belonged

The Apparition landed in the same spot as last time: the marked clearing outside the Plantation.

Cornwall in winter is completely different from July.

Last time I came, the morning fog was as thin as gauze, dissipating as soon as the sun came on, and the sea breeze carried a warm, salty smell, with only dew on the grass. Now it's the end of December, and the morning fog is as thick as a gray wall pushed directly up from the sea, with visibility less than twenty meters.

The grass blades were covered with Bai Shuang, crunching underfoot and leaving a dark footprint with every step.

The sea breeze swept in from the east, cold and harsh. The dampness clung to my robe, seeping into my collar and sleeves, lingering on my skin. In the distance, a thin layer of ice covered the glass roofs of the Greenhouse, making them appear hazy in the mist. The sun had not yet risen, and the sky was a greyish-blue.

Regulus was wrapped in a dark, thick woolen robe with a cashmere lining, a tight collar, and concealed buttons on the cuffs—a custom-made winter garment. Over the robe, he wore a thick black cloak, the hood of which was open.

Baruk poked his head out of the inner pocket, felt the cold wind outside, and immediately withdrew, letting out a reluctant thud. "Mr. Black."

Agnes walked over from the side of the stone path, her steps still quick, making a soft sound as she stepped on the gravel.

She was wearing a thick leather jacket and an old scarf around her neck, the edges of which were already pilling.

Her short, grayish-brown hair was tucked behind her ears, with a few strands falling down and clinging to her cheeks, damp with mist.

The fingers were thick and strong, with prominent knuckles, and the nail crevices were studded with indelible dirt and plant sap.

Regulus glanced at her and noticed that she seemed shorter than when she last visited.

Of course, she didn't change height; he did.

Last time she came, she was just below his ear; this time she probably only reached his shoulder.

"Ms. Agnes," Regulus nodded, "Merry Christmas, sorry to bother you so early in the morning."

Agnes looked up at him, smiled, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Black, you've grown taller again." Regulus stroked his chin. "Really?"

"Last time I saw you, you raised your hand this high," she said, placing her hand at the tip of her nose, then raising it two inches higher. "This time it has to be this high."

Regulus raised the corners of his mouth in a smile.

"Head north," Agnes turned and led the way. "You've been seated on the north side. This way, please."

The two walked north along the stone path, and as they passed the Greenhouse complex on the east side, the glass roof of Greenhouse No. 3 was faintly visible in the mist.

Regulus glanced at the spot where he had last studied the Mandrake.

Agnes noticed. "That room is still empty; we can tidy it up and use it anytime."

"No need," Regulus said. "This time, the north will suffice."

The stone path winds its way between the Greenhouse complex and the main house, opening up as you go north. The Greenhouse and stone walls fall behind, and in front of you is a large slope that was originally planted with windbreak shrubs.

Two rows of old holly and a row of dwarf photinia blocked most of the north wind. In the summer, the shrubs were so dense that even a dog couldn't squeeze in. Now, half of them have been cleared, making room for a space with a radius of about fifty meters.

A ring of short wooden stakes was temporarily erected along the outermost edge of the open space. Each stake was about waist-high and had Rune for Gnome-Repelling Charm carved on its top. The carvings were fresh, and you could still see wood chips sticking out from the edges of the carvings.

Thick Hemp Rope were strung between the wooden stakes, swaying slightly in the wind.

In the center of the open space stood those two Whomping Willow.

Regulus stopped outside the low wooden stakes.

Wild, mature plant, 25 feet tall.

The trunk is thick and the bark is dark brown to black, covered with large, overlapping bumps, as if something had pushed it outwards from the inside and then healed it, leaving behind irregular scars and bulges all over its body.

The bark at the edges of those bulges was peeling up, revealing a deeper black wood underneath, looking like an old scar that had been torn open before it could scab over. The number of branches far exceeded that of the tree at Hogwarts, with no fewer than thirty or forty on each tree, branching out from the middle of the trunk and extending outwards in layers. They varied in length and thickness, with the thickest being almost as thick as an adult's arm and the thinnest only as thick as a finger.

It's December, and most of the leaves on the treetops have fallen, with only a few withered yellow leaves hanging on the branches, trembling in the wind.

Even when no target is approaching, the branches are still moving, each with its own sway and rhythm, without touching or tangling.

The thickest ones moved the slowest, but swung the most, drawing huge arcs in the low sky.

The finer ones move much faster, constantly sweeping back and forth at a height.

The thick and thin branches move in completely different directions; the thick branches are moved in large circles from left to right, while the thin branches are moved repeatedly from top to bottom.

With two layers overlapping, the tree's attack range means that at any given moment, more than one branch will sweep across the same point.

Regulus noticed that the branches of the two Whomping Willow were swaying in complementary directions.

One plant leans to the left, the other to the right; the thicker branches' curves do not overlap, while the sweeping range of the thinner branches just touches each other.

There was an almost invisible gap between the two trees, and all the branches stopped at the edge of that gap, never crossing it.

It was clearly a deliberate adjustment, and upon examining the trunks and branches of the two trees, he found no obvious signs of damage or withering, indicating a high level of skill in the transplantation.

Agnes stood beside him and gestured with her chin towards the inside. "When it was transported here, the branches were bound with three Magic ropes, and they were untied the next morning."

"The first branch that sprang out crushed two passing seagulls. Seagulls are nothing, but when the transplanted wizard got close, three were struck. One had two broken ribs, one had a dislocated arm, and another was sent flying and crashed into a stone wall, lying in St Mungo's's for two days." Regulus nodded and continued looking at the two Whomping Willow.

He remembered the tree at school, where James Potter and Sirius had drilled into it countless times, at most getting whipped until they howled, but he never heard of anyone breaking a bone.

As if tamed, the branches' offensive power was deliberately suppressed; even a young wizard wouldn't be killed if he crawled inside.

These two plants in front of me are wild specimens dug up from Bulgarian Magical Reserve. They have grown for hundreds of years in an undisturbed environment, and every branch is a weapon for survival.

Agnes pointed to the edge of the clearing. "Its attack range is roughly the same as the tree canopy projection, about fifteen feet. It ignores you outside this circle, but once you enter, the branches will come at you."

Regulus looked at the area, fifteen feet, about four and a half meters.

She continued, "There's a small stone hut on the north side. It used to be used to store tools, but I've cleaned it out for you. It has a fireplace, a bed, and a table. The south-facing window faces these two trees, so you can have a clear view."

"Thank you for your help."

"No trouble at all," she waved her hand. "Just call me if you need anything. I'm usually in the east Greenhouse."

She turned and left, her footsteps quickly disappearing behind the low wooden stakes.

Regulus stood still.

The wind blew in from the sea, carrying a bitter, salty smell. A few withered leaves were blown down from the bushes and rolled twice on the open ground. A withered leaf drifted into the area within fifteen feet.

A branch lashed out without warning, so fast it ripped through the air with a sharp whistling sound, splitting a withered leaf in two. Before the fragments even hit the ground, a second branch swept them away, shoving them into the soil.

Then the branches retracted and continued to sway slowly.

Regulus watched for a while longer, then turned away.

The stone Cabin is located about twenty meters from the edge of the open space. The walls are made of local granite, which is grayish-brown. Each stone is different in size and shape, but they are laid out very smoothly.

The door was made of thick wooden planks, unpainted, revealing the natural color of the wood, and a brass key hung on the iron door knocker.

Pushing open the door, I found the room cleaner than I had imagined. A small fire was already lit in the fireplace, just enough to keep the room from getting too cold.

A single bed was placed against the north wall; it had an iron frame, and the bedding looked newly changed.

A table was placed against the south wall, and the south-facing window overlooked the open space outside, where the two Whomping Willow were clearly visible through the window frame.

An oil lamp and a pot of water were placed on the table.

Baruk climbed out of his inner pocket, up his sleeve to his shoulder, and all eight eyes looked at the shadows of the two trees outside the window.

"Tree."

Regulus's lips curled into a smile, "Tree."

He reached out and touched Baruk's carapace, tapping it lightly twice with his fingertips. "I'll become stronger first, then you become stronger." Baruk's chelipeds opened and closed twice, tapping and clacking, its eight legs stomping back and forth on his shoulder, circling around before returning to the starting point. "Regulus... powerful... Baruk. Powerful."

He looked outside.

The Whomping Willow, bathed in the grey-blue sunlight, swayed its branches slowly.

Professor Sprout discussed the Magic Power properties of the Whomping Willow, Conduction and oscillation.

These two things combined form the attack mechanism of the Whomping Willow: first Conduction, then vibration. First, the Magic Power is sent to the end of the branch, and then the vibration is sent into the target's interior.

The Severing Charm replicates the decomposing tendency of the Mandrake, causing the whole to lose its definition on a Magic Power level.

This time, he wants to replicate the shock Conduction of the Whomping Willow, causing the structure to collapse from a physical perspective.

There are two paths: one is based on concepts, and the other is based on physics.

The method has been used once, the path is readily available; understand it, replicate it, and transform it into your own.

The only difference lies in the objects being treated.

He turned around, pushed open the door, and walked towards the open space.

Baruk crawled into the inner bag, leaving only half his body exposed, his eight eyes staring out.

He walked to the edge of the low wooden stake and stopped fifteen feet outside the attack range.

The branches of the Whomping Willow were still swaying, slowly and lazily.

He stood there, eyes closed, his Magic Perception spreading out.

Normally, Magic Perception and vision have been integrated; seeing is sensing, and no additional action is required.

But now he wants something more refined: the texture, flow, direction, core of Magic Power, and those deeper properties and tendencies that don't even have a concrete shape.

He separated the Magic Perception from his vision, spread it out separately, and covered the two Whomping Willow.

Feedback has been received.

It is completely different from Mandrake.

The Magic Power of Mandrake is net-like, slow, with multiple inlets and outlets.

The Magic Power of the Whomping Willow is linear, fast, and directional.

The Magic Power travels upwards from the roots, Conduction through the main channel of the trunk, branching out at each fork, flowing into the branches, from the thickest to the thinnest, all the way to the tip.

It was incredibly fast. The moment his senses connected to the main passage, the Magic Power surged from the roots to the tips of the branches at the top of the canopy in less than half a second.

The Conduction path is clear, and the direction, width, and bifurcation angle of each channel are as if they were designed. The Magic Power flows through it with almost no loss, and the strength hardly decreases from the root to the end.

The Magic Power itself vibrates during the Conduction process, and the vibration comes from the Magic Power itself.

This oscillation is confined within the Conduction path, like water boiling as it rushes forward in a closed pipe.

The conduit confines all energy in one direction; the vibrations only bounce off the inner wall of the conduit and do not spread laterally, only being released at the end of the branch. He could sense that release point, about a foot from the very tip of the branch, where the Magic Power suddenly changed its nature, from Conduction to intrusion, from flow to explosion.

A tiny, constrained burst of energy is completed the instant it makes contact with the target.

The moment the Magic Power bursts out from the end of the pipe, it transforms from a constrained flow into an unconstrained oscillation, then penetrates into the target and pours the oscillation inside.

But he hadn't figured out the transformation process at the end of the branch—how the Magic Power, at its very tip, went from Conduction to invasion and vibration. To understand it, he needed to get close, touch the branch, and press his senses against the tip at the very moment it attacked.

Mandrake has biological characteristics, instinctively resisting external Magic Power. The Whomping Willow is different; it resists everything from the outside world, or rather, it welcomes everything.

He can't get into the 15-foot circle now.

Regulus opened his eyes, withdrew his Magic Perception, and switched his output.

Natural Magic Power, the first thing he was born with, and the Magic Power of being naturally close to all plants.

He allowed the Natural Magic Power to spread outward from his palm, without any purpose, without probing, without intruding, simply existing.

Like sunlight shining on leaves, like rain seeping into soil, it's there naturally without any effort being made.

The Natural Magic Power enveloped the two Whomping Willow.

The first Whomping Willow tree twitched, its swaying rhythm changing from a patrolling pattern to one of alertness. After a few seconds of tucking its branches together, the alertness decreased, and then the branches slowly unfolded again, swaying at a slower pace and with a smaller amplitude. The second Whomping Willow reacted a few seconds slower, but the trend was the same: first alert, then relaxed.

The Whomping Willow is a plant. No matter how aggressive it is, its roots, trunk, branches, and leaves are all plant tissues. Its relationship with soil, sunlight, water, and wind is the same as that of any ordinary tree.

The branches of the Whomping Willow are still moving, but its aggressiveness has decreased by more than half.

They haven't completely let their guard down around him yet, at least not today. The affinity of Natural Magic Power takes time, just like the Mandrake's initial rejection of him; trust takes time to build.

Baruk had already climbed out, making a rapid clattering sound on his shoulder, his eight legs kicking back and forth on the fabric, his chelicerae slightly open.

Baruk was very comfortable.

"Baruk... wants to... weave a web."

"No spider silk allowed," Regulus said.

Baruk circled on his shoulder, making a clattering sound, appearing quite lively, climbing from his left shoulder to his right, and then from his right shoulder to the top of his head. Regulus shook his head, and Baruk was shaken off, sticking out his rear end and spitting out spider silk to stick to his shoulder, swinging himself back.

A sea breeze blew by, and it swayed on the spider silk, its eight legs kicking twice in the air before its rear end tightening and it falling back onto its shoulder.

The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the gray-blue light peeked through the gaps in the clouds to the east, shining on the branches of the Whomping Willow, casting shadows that moved slowly across the open space.

He looked at these things, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.

This is where he should be.