1974, the Start of a New Year

Cornwall weather is like a madman.

Yesterday was gloomy and oppressive, with thick clouds like a dirty quilt covering our heads. The wind blew from the west, stinging our faces. We didn't see the sun all day.

When I opened my eyes today, the sun was shining.

The sky was a clean, clear blue, the clouds swept away by the wind to beyond the horizon, and the sunlight slanted in from the east, casting a warm glow on the walls of the stone Cabin.

The waves on the sea were smaller than yesterday, the wind shifted from west to south, and the temperature rose a bit.

Today is January 1, 1974. 1973 has passed just like that.

The UK don't really celebrate New Year's Day. Whether you're Muggle or a wizard, the first day of the new year isn't a particularly important day.

Wizarding holidays follow the Magic calendar; New Year's Day is merely a mark on the Muggle calendar, and most Pureblood Wizards don't even bother to remember what day it is. Regulus does remember, but it has nothing to do with the New Year; rather, it's a timer in his mind.

Next year, in 1975, Voldemort and his Death Eaters will step out from the shadows and into the limelight.

The term "Death Eaters" began appearing on the front page of the Daily Prophet, no longer referring to certain extremists or unidentified Dark Wizard. Missing persons cases went from sporadic to frequent, and the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic switched from routine patrols to a wartime-like structure.

After that comes war. This kind of covert infiltration will become a thing of the past. What follows will be the Wizarding War, which will cover the whole of UK, become open and intense.

From now on, in about a year, the Wizarding World will change.

But to be honest, he didn't feel any urgency about this time.

He sank an island yesterday, and his mind is filled with a complete roadmap of Chain Conduction, conversion points, and the conversion of Magic Power and mass. The ultimate form of the Disintegration Charm is still waiting for him in the distance.

Each of these things takes time to achieve; what he needs is precisely time.

He knew war was coming, and he knew he would be a part of it.

But that was a year later.

He couldn't control the situation a year from now, and he had even less control over when Voldemort would make his move, nor did he want to.

But his schedule is packed with things to do throughout the year.

The two forms of the Disintegration Charm are already stable, Baruk's transformation plan is in full swing, Saiph hasn't been lit yet, the soul hasn't grown stronger, and Spatial Transfiguration has only just begun.

The Light Magic still needs further development, and there's an entire line of Alchemy on Flamel's side that hasn't been touched yet.

He has too many things to do; he has enough time, but it would be a waste to spend it on other things.

War can wait.

Baruk lay beside the pillow, his eight legs tucked in, still asleep. The Transfiguration spell kept him at the size of a palm, making him look like a furry little black spider.

Because it was a small, hairy black spider.

Regulus turned his gaze from Baruk and looked out the window.

In the Plantation's open space, two Whomping Willow in stark contrast under the sunlight.

The one on the right is intact, its branches swaying slowly in the morning breeze, the tips occasionally twitching as if stretching.

Its trunk is thick and sturdy, with full knots, and the whole tree exudes a healthy, swaying charm from top to bottom.

The one on the left is no good.

The branches drooped, their ends dragging on the ground, as if they couldn't hold on any longer. The knots on the surface of the trunk were dry, cracked, and grayish, and the bark was peeling outwards, revealing the grayish-brown wood layer underneath.

On the thickest main branch, there was a wound for some reason, the edges were blackened, and a liquid of indescribable color was oozing out.

It is dying slowly.

After being drained of its Magic Power for a day and a half, the Magic Circuit almost came to a standstill, the cycle couldn't run, and the ability to absorb Magic Power from the outside world was gone. A Magical Plant that loses its Magic Power cycle won't die immediately, but it will die soon.

He looked around for a while, then got up and put on his robe.

Mandrake, that stuff, costs 300 Galleon per plant. It's not exactly cheap, but at least you won't feel bad if you ruin it.

Smashing twenty plants to create a Severing Charm is extremely cost-effective, and the sacrifice made by the Mandrake for this is only right.

The Whomping Willow " is different.

Before this, there were only two trees in the whole of UK, both at Hogwarts, and only one of them was mature.

Wild populations are managed in protected areas in Bulgaria and Romania, and the export of mature plants is regulated by the Department of International Magical Cooperation.

He hadn't asked how much favors and resources Orion had spent to get two plants, but it certainly wasn't a small amount.

His father had prepared for all of these things to be scrapped when he got them for him; that's how Magic research is—material consumption is the norm. But scrapping and dying are two different things. These things are rare, hard to obtain, expensive, and strictly controlled. It felt a bit wasteful to just let them die like that. Every plant that could be saved was a plant saved.

Regulus's lips twitched slightly.

That's what he said, but what he really wanted to do was try to see if Natural Magic could revive a Whomping Willow that had run out of Magic Power.

This was the first time he had encountered such a situation.

Previously, when using Natural Magic, I would interact with healthy plants, establish connections, sense cycles, and guide Magic Power.

Faced with a dying Magical Plant, can Natural Magic Power be reactivated to restore its Magic Power cycle? This question is worth verifying. Let's give it a try.

He had just put on his boots when Baruk woke up, propped himself up on his eight legs, and leaped from the pillow onto his shoulder, his front legs draped over his collar. His two top eyes were fixed on the bright sunlight outside the window, and his chelipeds opened and closed twice.

Regulus casually remarked, "Awake."

Baruk chuckled, "Wake up."

Just as he was about to push open the door and leave, a dark shadow flashed past the window.

A large owl, its greyish-brown feathers ruffled by the sea breeze, its wingspan nearly half the width of a door, its talons clutching a rolled-up newspaper, flapped and bumped against the window.

newspaper.

Regulus glanced at it and roughly guessed it: Orion.

It's nothing urgent. If it were urgent, he would have used Floo Powder or Apparition directly to deliver the newspaper. He probably just thought he should check the news.

He pushed open the window, and an owl fluttered in, tossed the newspaper onto the table, then perched on the edge, its round eyes darting around before fixing on Baruk on his shoulder.

The owl's eyes were wide and alert; its pupils contracted as if it were focusing, its feathers bristled even more, its neck stretched forward, its beak opened, and it let out a low cooing sound.

Baruk perched on Regulus's shoulder, his eight eyes fixed on the owl's round pupils, then slowly crept behind Regulus's neck and hid himself in the shadow of the hood.

But it wasn't completely hidden; its two front legs peeked out from the edge of the hood, resting on the back of his collar, and its two main eyes peered out from the gaps in the fabric. Of course, the Acromantula wasn't afraid of owls; an adult Acromantula could eat hundreds of owls in one meal.

But Baruk had probably learned a rule: birds that find people or deliver things on their own should not be eaten.

The owl hooted a few times, then turned its head to look at Regulus, who was waiting to be fed on the edge of the table.

Regulus had no food; there was only half a loaf of Cabin left over from yesterday, so hard you could hammer nails into it.

If one had to name something that could be considered food, it would probably only be Baruk, but with an owl's teeth, it certainly couldn't gnaw on the Acromantula's carapace. He waved his hand, and the owl hesitated for a moment, then flapped its wings unhappily and flew out of the window. It was swept off its feet by the sea breeze, tilted slightly, straightened itself, and flew away to the east.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the newspaper.

Baruk climbed out of the hood and back onto his shoulder, his eight eyes also fixed on the newspaper.

The Daily Prophet, January 1, 1974, New Year Special Edition.

The front page was divided into two parts, and the top part was surprisingly Muggle news.

He glanced at it; the headline on the front page was alarmingly large: <Muggle plunged into darkness!>

A set of photos was attached.

On the left is the night view of central London, pitch black except for a few buildings with lights on.

In the center is a Muggle family gathered around a dining table, a few candles burning dimly, the family members wrapped in thick coats, their shoulders hunched. To the right is daytime, a long line stretching from a shop to the street corner, everyone wrapped in coats, necks hunched, queuing to buy candles. Subtitle: <Muggle ' Lights Out: Oil Crisis Sweeps the Non- Magic World, UK Forced into Three-Day Workweek>.

The main text is written in a lively style.

"Since October of last year, Arab oil-producing countries have imposed an embargo on Western countries, nearly cutting off the oil supply that the Muggle world relies on to sustain its clumsy civilization."

Coal miners' strikes triggered global economic turmoil, forcing the UK Muggle government to declare a national emergency and implement a so-called Three-Day Workweek week. Factories were only allowed to operate three days a week, shops and offices had their electricity usage restricted, and schools relied on candles and kerosene lamps for lighting.

"Barnabas Chuffi, a member of Wizengamot, commented: This once again proves the superiority of Magic civilization."

Our lighting comes from Magic Lamp and Lumos, our warmth from fireplaces and Warming Charm, and our travel from Floo Powder and Apparition —it has nothing to do with those dark, murky liquids.

The Muggle built their civilization on a flammable liquid buried underground, and now that liquid has been cut off, their cities have become caves darker than those of the Middle Ages."

A spokesperson for the Department of International Magical Cooperation stated that the UK Ministry of Magic will closely monitor whether the chaos in the Muggle world will affect the enforcement of the International Statute of Secrecy. During the power outage, Muggle are moving around more frequently, increasing the likelihood of them accidentally passing by the entrance to Diagon Alley or Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Wizards are advised to be discreet.

"Editor's Note (Commentary):"

A reader wrote in asking whether Muggle, unable to use electricity, would rediscover the benefits of candles, thereby rediscovering the mystery of fire and thus re-entering the edge of Magic.

The editorial team believes such concerns are completely unnecessary; a species that cannot even find a substitute for oil is unlikely to spontaneously return to the right path of civilization.

Another commentary had an even more scathing title. "The Muggle Energy Crisis: Have They Finally Discovered Fire Isn't Made by Striking with Flint?" It was accompanied by a cartoon showing several Muggle frantically scrambling around a stalled car, while in the background a wizard sat leisurely under a tree, drinking tea with a glowing stone under his teacup.

Baruk stuck one of his front legs out from his shoulder, pointing to the dark London night scene photograph in the newspaper.

"Black."

"Power outage," Regulus explained, "Muggle need electricity for lighting, and when there's not enough, the lights go out."

Baruk opened and closed his chelicerae briefly, probably pondering the concept of electricity, before finally giving up and retracting his forelegs.

He continued reading.

The lower half of the same page features headlines in a more formal font, reporting news from the Wizarding World itself.

<Minister for Magic Election: Harold Minchum Succeeds Ginny Jenkins, Promising Stability and Order>.

The accompanying image is a half-body portrait of Minchum, a middle-aged wizard with a square face and broad shoulders, his hair combed back, and wearing a dark purple Ministry of Magic robe.

His expression was serious yet approachable, a clear politician's face.

The text quotes Minchum's inaugural address.

"The Ministry of Magic's duty is to maintain peace and order in the Wizarding World."

In the current complex situation, the Ministry of Magic will not favor any side, will not suppress any legitimate political stance, and will not allow any individual or organization to be above the Ministry of Magic.

"Ms. Jenkins has made contributions to the Wizarding World during her tenure, but a new era requires new leadership."

"I will prioritize stability and ensure that every wizard and witch can live, work, and practice Magic in a peaceful environment." Another accompanying article announced Jenkins' resignation, politely worded but with a clear meaning.

"Ms. Jenkins has chosen to step down before the end of her term for personal reasons."