A Hug for Mother

Regulus returned to his Dormitory, where Baruk was lying in the fireplace, his eight legs outstretched, his dark red bristles gleaming in the embers. Hearing footsteps, he raised his head, making a clattering sound as he kicked up tiny Mars.

Regulus crouched down. "Something's going on today. No talking, no showing your face."

Baruk's eight eyes turned to him simultaneously.

Regulus reached out his hand, Baruk climbed out of the fireplace, shook his bristles, and crawled up his fingers to his palm, shrinking into a ball the size of his palm. He put Baruk into his inner bag and wrapped him in Magic Power.

This layer of Magic Power was extremely thin, clinging to Baruk's body and flattening out his Magic Fluctuation, making him appear as an ordinary, inconspicuous shadow in the inner pocket of his robe.

If conventional detection methods can't detect anything, then it's because the other party is being impolite.

Then he can be impolite.

The reason Baruk was brought along was because it needed to be replenished with Transfiguration spell periodically. Regulus wasn't sure what the funeral would entail and wouldn't have a chance to attend, so he had to bring it along.

Baruk lay still inside the bag.

Even through the robe, I could feel its eight legs curled up under its body, its chelipeds tightly tucked in, and even the occasional clicking sound it usually made was gone. Obedient and docile.

As we stepped out of the Castle gates, the February wind blew in from the direction of Black Lake; it was cold, but not biting.

The frost on the lawn had melted, the flagstones were damp, and the air smelled of earth and withered grass.

Regulus waited a few minutes, then the door opened and Sirius came out.

He changed into the robe he wore when he went out, the one he wore at the beginning of the semester. It was quite neat, but the collar wasn't buttoned up properly and was crooked.

Upon seeing Regulus, he grinned and walked straight over, staring at him without saying a word.

With his hands in his pockets, he stood awkwardly, his weight shifted to one leg, and his other foot tapping around on the edge of the stone slab.

He looked Regulus up from head to toe, from toe to head, and from face to shoulders. Regulus walked forward, and Regulus turned to the side to continue looking. Regulus stopped, and asked indifferently, "What are you looking at?"

He knew Sirius's tactics; the more you engaged with him, the more enthusiastic he became. But this time, ignoring him only fueled his own enthusiasm.

Sirius glanced at it a few more times, then grinned slightly, his tone casual yet probing. "I thought you would."

He swirled his tongue in his mouth, probably trying to think of what to say, but couldn't come up with anything, so he gave up and only said, "Not feeling well?"

He was checking on Regulus's condition.

Pollux was their maternal grandfather, though they weren't close, but what if Regulus cared?

Sirius needs to gauge his brother's attitude before deciding whether and to what extent he should restrain himself in future situations. If Regulus shows any distress, he will refrain from causing trouble.

If Regulus felt nothing for him, then he could continue to be indifferent without worry.

Regulus glanced at him sideways, ignored him, and walked straight ahead.

Sirius grinned, then quickly caught up and walked alongside him.

Regulus remained unchanged, his face revealing nothing, but he was certain that Regulus was just like him.

The two walked along the cobblestone path toward Hogsmeade.

The sun had just peeked over the eastern mountains, its pale light offering little warmth to the lawn.

In the distance, the outline of Hogsmeade emerged from the thin mist, its staggered rooftops and crooked chimneys emitting wisps of gray smoke. It was a forty-minute walk from the Castle gates to Hogsmeade; normally a carriage ride would take much less, but now there were no carriages, only walking. Sirius had walked for a while and was clearly getting tired.

He turned to look at Regulus and asked, "What's the reply?"

Regulus ignored him.

Sirius, unconcerned, asked again, "Where to?"

Regulus raised his chin, gesturing towards the front.

Sirius followed his gaze; the path stretched all the way to the Hogsmeade, requiring a walk over a small hill and around a bend in the Carriage Road. "That's far," he muttered, "I should have brought Broomstick."

After saying that, he looked at Regulus, raised an eyebrow, and, feeling smug, leaned closer to Regulus, nudging his shoulder. "How's your flying? Want to try sometime?"

Regulus remained completely unmoved.

He flew up, and Sirius couldn't even catch a wisp of dust, a mere Broomstick.

But thinking about it further, the scene is actually quite interesting.

Sirius, riding his beloved Cleansweep Series, lay sprawled on the Broomstick, his posture dashing and brimming with confidence. The wind blew his hair back, making him feel as fast as lightning.

Then he started chasing from a few hundred meters behind, his Shield Charm Shell and Fiendfyre leaving a trail of orange-red flames stretching over ten meters behind him.

The sonic boom exploded, catching up in a second, and the shockwave sent Sirius's Broomstick tumbling through the air.

Sirius was hanging on the Broomstick, his hair a mess from the wind, his mouth agape, his face screaming, "What the hell are you?" Then it was Sirius's turn to chase after him, but as he chased, there was no one in front of him anymore.

If we add some special effects...

Voldemort's Vehicle-less Flight Charm allowed him to fly like smoke, graceful, light, and too fast to be seen.

Then he could unleash a torrent of thick smoke, billowing out black smoke that blots out the sky, splitting the sky in two wherever it passes, so that people on the ground would look up and think it was Volcano eruption.

The visual effect of the Dark Lord is that he is simply flying.

Regulus's lips curled into a slight smile, which he quickly suppressed. "Alright."

Sirius was muttering about the angle of the Broomstick's tail fin when he heard that word and froze.

He turned his head, his eyes wide, his face full of disbelief. "You just said yes? You just said yes? You—"

Regulus nodded.

Sirius blinked twice, and then his whole body lit up.

"Really?! You agreed?!" His voice suddenly rose, carrying far across the empty Carriage Road.

His speech quickened instantly. "You need a good Broomstick to Cleansweep Seven, you know? The new model that came out last year, its top speed can reach..."

No, we need to use the Comet 260. The Comet's acceleration is better than the Cleansweep, although its top speed is slightly lower, it's better in corners.

He began walking backwards as he spoke, facing Regulus, taking his hands out of his pockets and gesturing in the air, mimicking the trajectory and angle of Broomstick.

"A Cleansweep Six is fine too, but Cleansweep has the best stability and is less likely to flip over in strong winds. How would you fly? Do you use Broomstick too? You don't know how to ride Broomstick, do you?"

Regulus watched expressionlessly as he walked backwards and nearly tripped over a stone on the side of the road.

If I fly up and manage to catch some dust, you win.

Sirius was completely excited, and he was still spouting out parameters.

He started by comparing the braking distances of the Cleansweep Seven and Comet 260, then talked about the old Cleansweep Five he test-flew at Hogsmeade last semester, and finally about James's Comet, whose tail fins were broken off three times.

Then he confidently announced, "You're definitely going to lose," and then went on to analyze how to celebrate if he won.

Regulus didn't reply and continued walking forward.

Sirius talked for thirty-five minutes about a forty-minute walk.

Upon reaching the Hogsmeade, we were out of the range of the Castle's Anti-Apparition Charm.

Sirius finally got tired of talking, took a breath, glanced back at the path he had just walked, and muttered, "Why couldn't they have told us in advance? Why did they have to tell us in the morning? We walked all this way just for one thing..."

Regulus glanced at him sideways.

How can you give advance notice? Are you setting a time for someone to die, and then they just have to wait until that time?

He almost blurted it out, but then he thought, this is his maternal grandfather, even if we're not related, he shouldn't say that.

On second thought, Sirius's words, while seemingly thoughtless, weren't entirely without merit.

Wizards are different from Muggle; some of the more skilled ones can actually know things in advance.

A skilled Divination can know in advance when he will die.

Prophets, their descendants, those old wizards who spent their entire lives sitting in the Department of Mysteries, facing the Crystal Ball, would occasionally see their own death reflected in their eyes.

There are too few Divination, even fewer who can Prophecy their own death, and almost none who can Prophecy accurately.

So Sirius said something that seemed thoughtless, but it was actually quite clever; however, this cleverness had nothing to do with Sirius's actual thinking ability.

Moreover, this is how funerals are conducted in Pureblood families: news of death is not announced in advance, and the notification and funeral are held on the same day, sometimes only a few hours apart. Death is a very private matter, and given the size and status of the Black family, they do not need to prove anything through pomp and circumstance. They only notify those who should be notified, family members and close relatives, and the funeral is conducted quietly and on a small scale.

As for preventing anyone from causing trouble at the funeral, or preventing the news from leaking and attracting unwanted people, those were secondary considerations.

Sirius probably didn't know these rules, or if he did, he didn't care. He just found it tiring after walking for a while and started complaining. Regulus was too lazy to explain.

The two stood at the village entrance for a while.

Sirius drew his wand, about to say, "I'll take you with me."

Regulus had vanished.

Smack

Sirius's mouth was still open, and his wand was raised in mid-air.

He stared at the spot where Regulus had just stood for a second, gritted his teeth, and waved his wand.

Smack

At 12 Grimmauld Place, in front of the portico, Regulus landed first, his feet stepping onto the stone steps at the entrance.

A few seconds later, Sirius appeared beside him, swayed slightly, and then steadied himself.

The door opened from the inside, and Kreacher appeared in the doorway, bowing slightly. Seeing the two young masters, he bent down and greeted them, his ear tips twitching twice in the morning breeze. "Young Master, Eldest Young Master, Kreacher has everything prepared; the clothes are in the room."

The Entrance Hall was quiet, with a low green flame burning in the fireplace, casting flickering light on the Ancestral Portraits on the wall.

Regulus went upstairs to his bedroom, where his formal attire was already prepared and laid out at the foot of the bed.

The pure black gown was made of thick, heavy fabric with a solid feel, and featured very fine silver thread patterns on the collar and cuffs.

He picked it up and glanced at it. The cut, the details of the pattern, the silver thread design—this was the standard procedure for the Black family to attend funerals, the standard for heirs.

Simple, understated, not overtly obvious, but discerning people can see it.

He changed into it and straightened his collar in front of the mirror.

The reflection in the mirror showed a thirteen-year-old with slightly curly black hair and gray eyes, dressed in clothes much older than his age, yet it didn't look out of place. Baruk crawled out of the inner pocket of the robe and landed quietly on the bed. Regulus reached out, and it crawled into a new inner pocket. Regulus then wrapped it in Magic Power again.

Baruk adjusted his posture, shrinking even smaller, and remained motionless.

Regulus patted him. "Good boy."

Stepping out of the bedroom, the Corridor was completely silent.

The Portrait of our ancestors hang on the wall, most of them dozing off, a few with their eyes open glancing at him briefly before looking away.

Sirius also came out of his room, his robes neatly worn, unusually with the collar closed, and his expression was composed. He simply nodded when he saw Regulus.

He disliked funerals, disliked formalities, and disliked all the rituals in this house.

Especially this atmosphere—the green flames, the silent Portrait, the heaviness in the air.

But he's no longer that boy who rebels simply for the sake of rebellion. He still hates it all and will never like it, but at least he can pretend now.

He wasn't trying to please anyone; he had simply figured some things out for himself.

He can dislike something, but he doesn't need to show it every time.

Who are we showing this to?

Regulus glanced at him and nodded.

The two brothers went downstairs together.

When Regulus reached the corner of the stairs on the second floor, he saw Walburga.

The mother stood by the window in the Corridor, wearing a long black dress, her hair neatly styled, gloves on, one hand resting on the windowsill, the other hanging at her side.

Her expression was calm; she wasn't doing anything, she just stood there.

Her face was turned towards the window, and the winter sun shone on her face, revealing her slightly reddened eyes.

Sirius stopped in his tracks, no longer moving forward. Regulus walked past him alone, and Walburga turned to look at him.

The emotions in her eyes were complex.

Regulus reached out and hugged her.