A Warm Home

Cornwall enjoyed fine weather on January 2nd.

The sun rose from the eastern sea, turning the stone Cabin golden. The sea breeze was lighter than a few days ago, carrying a slight salty taste that no longer cut the throat when inhaled.

Regulus packed his things; he didn't have much luggage—just a change of clothes and a few personal items—and stuffed them into his Undetectable Extension Pouch.

Baruk shrank back to the size of a palm, perched on his right shoulder, his eight legs tucked in, behaving very obediently.

The newly grown warm-colored stripes at the joints shimmered in the morning light, and the bristles all turned dark red.

The shimmering white in her eight eyes had turned into a translucent amber color, and when the sunlight shone on them, they looked like eight golden beads embedded in her fluffy head. Agnes walked over from the east Greenhouse, her steps as quick as ever, making no sound as she stepped on the dirt road.

She was still wearing that leather jacket, and her scarf had a few more pom-poms now. Her apron pockets were still bulging, and it was unclear what they contained. Approaching her, she first glanced at Baruk and noticed his color Taiyi; he had turned from a black spider to a dark red one, and his eyes had also changed color. She didn't dwell on it, greeting him as usual with a cheerful smile and the same tone she used when speaking to people, "Good morning, Mr. Baruk." Hearing his name, Baruk raised his upper body, extended his two pincers forward, and clicked a few times, as if returning the greeting. His eight legs kicked excitedly on Regulus's shoulder.

Agnes was amused, and the wrinkles around her eyes deepened.

"Ms. Agnes," Regulus nodded slightly, "Thank you for your help these past few days."

"No trouble at all," she waved her hand. "There's nothing to do in winter. The Greenhouse's Heating Charm is always on, and the seedlings don't need to be watched Tiantian." "That Whomping Willow," Regulus glanced toward the open space, "The cycle has been established, but it's far from healthy. I'll ask Professor Sprout after school starts if she can help it recover. Until then, I'll have to trouble you to look after it." Agnes glanced north. The Whomping Willow, drained of its Magic Power, still drooped its branches, looking like an old willow in the morning light, completely devoid of the violent energy it had when she first arrived.

"She won't die," Agnes said confidently, gesturing with her chin towards the Whomping Willow. "She's growing a lot, and I'm keeping an eye on her." Regulus pulled a cloth bag from his pocket and handed it to her. "You've had a hard time these past few days."

Agnes took the bag and weighed it in her hand. It was heavier than last time. She didn't count the weight or refuse, and simply stuffed the bag into her apron pocket.

"Mr. Black is too kind." She patted her apron pocket, making a muffled sound.

Regulus nodded. "Of course."

She thought for a moment, then added, "Let me know in advance next time you come, and I'll tidy up the Cabin again."

"Must."

Agnes suddenly remembered something and pulled a scroll from another pocket of her apron. It was parchment, with yellowed edges, and tied with an old Hemp Rope.

"Oh, right, this is for you." She handed over the scroll.

Regulus took the scroll and unrolled it.

A Nautical Chart, hand-drawn, the ink faded to brown, but the lines remained clear.

The west coast of Cornwall meanders down from the upper left corner, with markings along the shore indicating reef areas, current directions, tide times, and a dozen or so uninhabited islands of varying sizes.

Each one was labeled with its name or number in small print, and some had a simple outline drawing next to them.

To the west, there's a circled area marked "Snell Rock" with a red cross drawn on it.

Agnes pointed and said, "Those islands are uninhabited, just piles of big rocks. Seabirds hardly ever go there, and the shipping lanes are narrow and in the way." She added with a smile, "They're all safe to fight."

Regulus cleared his throat, carefully put the scroll away, and tucked it into his Handbag. "Thank you, Ms. Agnes."

"You're welcome," she said, taking a step back. "Give my regards to Mr. Black."

Goodbye, Mr. Black.

Goodbye, Ms. Agnes.

Regulus nodded to her, turned around, Apparition, disappearing into the sea breeze with a snap.

The sun and blue sky vanished instantly as the rain fell right in front of my doorstep, at 12 Grimmauld Place.

The good weather in Cornwall changed completely when I got to London.

London in January is shrouded in a gray haze, neither quite fog nor quite smog.

The sky was leaden gray, uniform, and dull. The sun was hidden somewhere, unable to penetrate the light or the wind.

The air was thick with the smell of an industrial city, a mixture of coal smoke and moisture that made your throat feel tight when you breathed it in.

Just a moment ago it was sea breeze and sunshine, and in the blink of an eye it's London's industrial gray.

Regulus had barely settled on the steps when the door opened from the inside.

Kreacher stood in the porch, his large ears twitching excitedly, his body bent low so that his nose almost touched the floor.

"Young Master is back!" Its voice was sharp and trembling. "Kreacher cleaned the room three times! He changed the curtains! He changed the sheets! He even patted the pillows!"

Regulus stepped across the threshold, removed his cloak in the entryway, and casually said, "Good work, Kreacher."

Kreacher was nearly fainting behind him, trembling uncontrollably.

The Entrance Hall of Grimmauld Place remained unchanged; the Ancestral Portraits hanging on the wall seemed to be dozing off. Two of them raised their eyelids slightly, glanced at him, and then closed them again.

He walked down the Corridor, past the restaurant entrance, and glanced inside. The table was spotless, the silver candlesticks were polished to a shine, there were no Tableware, and no one was there. He had come especially early, hoping to have a home-cooked breakfast.

The food in Cornwall wasn't bad; Agnes prepared individual meals for him.

The shepherd's pie and ginger tea were quite decent, and the Yorkshire Pudding, roast beef, and Christmas pudding were also good—much better than the staff meals. But, to be honest, the Plantation's stove was nowhere near as Kreacher as the Kitchen at Grimmauld Place.

Regulus asked, "Where is Father?"

Kreacher followed behind, walking quickly with small steps, his voice respectful. "The Master and the Master went to the Parkinson family early this morning. The Parkinson family is having a New Year's banquet, which lasts from noon until evening, and they won't be back until very late."

Pureblood families never lack social occasions, nor do they pick and choose the days for them.

There are celebrations for Christmas, New Year's Day, seasonal changes, and celebrations for every new baby or death.

Even if there's nothing going on, they can make up an excuse to get people together to drink tea, chat, and sized each other up.

They didn't celebrate Muggle New Year's Day and didn't care about calendar dates, but maintaining connections was a necessity, and names were something they could always find if they wanted to. Regulus didn't take it seriously.

"The Eldest Young Master is home," Kreacher continued, "And Mr. Hawk is also here, in the Training Room."

Regulus raised an eyebrow slightly.

Sirius is practicing Magic, which is not surprising, but it is indeed a bit early.

During the last holiday, Orion arranged for Hawk to teach him the basics, which, in Regulus's view, meant starting from scratch: posture, staff grip, Spellcasting procedures, and basic incantations.

Sirius is quite talented; now that a semester has passed, it's time for competitive training.

Sirius was also busy at Hogwarts.

He sought out Professor McGonagall to learn Transfiguration and traveled around with James and the others. Although most of his energy was spent on things he shouldn't have, at least he didn't completely waste his time.

During his holiday at home, instead of staying cooped up in his room or showing off that Muggle band T-shirt in front of Walburga, he obediently spent his time practicing with others in the Training Room.

Whether it was arranged by Orion or he wanted to practice on his own, it's all good.

Sirius may have really taken those words about power to heart, and perhaps the Christmas Banquet incident also played a role.

Sirius witnessed firsthand his fight with Bellatrix, saw Fiendfyre half the manor, and saw what the Dark Arts and Pure-bloods methods he used to scoff at meant in a real conflict.

Or perhaps it's just about staying in the Training Room, which is Walburga in the living room.

Who cares? It's always good that he's ambitious.

"Understood," Regulus glanced down at Kreacher. "Go back to your room and bring up breakfast, make it substantial."

"Yes, young master!"

"And," he said, pointing to Baruk on his shoulder, "Give it some Dragon Meat, the kind from last time."

Kreacher bowed and then vanished with a snap.

Regulus went upstairs and opened the bedroom door.

The room had indeed been cleaned, and the curtains had been replaced with new ones—dark green with intricate patterns and thick fabric.

The curtains were drawn, but outside was the London sky, a hazy gray, with no sunlight filtering in.

The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, making the room warm and cozy.

Baruk jumped off his shoulder, landed on the desk, and ran a few steps on his eight legs, heading straight for its drawer.

That drawer has been its territory ever since it first moved into Grimmauld Place.

It crawled inside, circled around, scraped the bottom of the drawer a couple of times with its front legs, and touched the drawer wall with its chelipeds, confirming that everything was as before and the territory was still there.

Then it climbed out, jumped from the desk to the ground, ran to the bedside, kicked its eight legs, jumped onto the bed, climbed all the way to the pillow, tucked its six legs in, stretched its front legs forward, and lay very comfortably.

Regulus looked at it and found it amusing.

Previously, Baruk's activity area in Grimmauld Place was very small, consisting of just this one room.

During the day, it explores every corner and furniture gap, wanders around the desk when it has nothing to do, and sticks its front legs out the window to look outside. At night, it sleeps on the corner of the table or curled up in the drawer, never going to bed.

But in the Cornwall Cabin, where the desk had no drawers, it was quite self-disciplined and climbed onto the bed, curling up next to his pillow every night. After a few days, it probably got used to it, and now that they're back at Grimmauld Place, it wants to continue sleeping on the bed.

Moreover, it's become much more active than when it first left the Forbidden Forest. Yesterday, it secretly sprayed spider silk twice, once on a beam and once in a corner. Perhaps seeing that Regulus wasn't paying attention to it, it's become bolder and even tried to get on the bed today.

So what do you want to do tomorrow? Have dinner at the table?

Regulus didn't look at it again and turned to go to the Washroom.

It's not that I'm unclean; Cleaning Charm can handle everything. But once I get home, I just want to rinse off and change my state.

Hot water was poured over his head, and steam fogged up the mirror. He stood in the mist for a few minutes, thinking of nothing.

After showering, I changed into a clean, dark gray loungewear robe with soft fabric and a loose neckline.

Food was already laid out on the table.

Kreacher's efficiency never falters.

Smoked salmon, thinly sliced, is arranged on Porcelain Plates; scrambled eggs are steaming hot; toast is cut into diagonal triangles; and Butter is softened in a small silver dish. Next to it is a pot of Darjeeling, with cups and saucers neatly arranged.

Baruk's small plate sat in the corner of the desk, containing a deep red Dragon Meat with finely textured cuts and dark purple blood still seeping through. It had gotten off the pillow and was lying there, its claws tucked in, its two front legs resting on the edge of the plate, its eight eyes fixed on the steak, but not eating. It was waiting for him.

Regulus's lips curled into a slight smile. He walked over, sat down, and picked up his fork. "Eat."

Baruk then lowered his head, opened his claws, and began to tear the Dragon Meat, chewing it with a crunching sound.

The two of them, one human and one spider, quietly finished their breakfast.

Baruk sucked the last Dragon Meat off his claws and rubbed his foreleg against his mouth.

Regulus finished the last sip of tea, stood up, and straightened the collar of his robe.

Baruk launched himself forward and landed on his shoulder.

Open the door and go downstairs.