380. Domesticated, Wild

The family of four met on a gentle slope outside the cemetery.

The Black dispersed, and the cemetery surrounded by yew trees was deserted. Dusk pressed down from above the hills, and darkness fell. Orion stood in front, with Walburga half a step behind him, and Regulus and Sirius at the very back.

Sirius remained silent the entire time, his face composed, and he didn't look at anyone.

*Snap, snap, snap, Apparition, back to Grimmauld Place.

As soon as he landed and settled down, Kreacher pushed open the door from the inside. Before he could even bow, Sirius paused for a moment, didn't even glance at anyone, and then, with a snap, disappeared again, heading straight back to Hogwarts.

Orion frowned as he looked in the direction Sirius had disappeared, then turned to look at Regulus.

Regulus shook his head.

Orion's gaze lingered on his face for a moment before returning to his own without saying anything.

Walburga glanced at the spot where Sirius had just stood, his gaze calm and unreadable, then turned and went inside.

Kreacher darted out from behind the door, bowed, and murmured, "The Master, the Master, young the Master, Kreacher has prepared dinner—hot soup, hot dishes, and hot tea."

The family of three entered the house and went to their respective rooms to change clothes; they couldn't very well eat in their funeral robes.

Regulus returned to his room, closed the door, and gently patted the inside of his pocket.

Baruk poked his head out of the inner bag, saw the familiar surroundings, climbed up Regulus's upper body onto his shoulder, and then sprang up on all eight legs, landing on the bed.

It tossed and turned on the sheets several times, its dark red bristles fluffy and fluffy, its chelipeds opening and closing, making a constant clicking sound. After being cooped up all day, it could finally move.

It jumped from the bed to the desk, from the desk to the windowsill, and from the windowsill to the bedside table, surveying its small territory once more. Regulus changed into a dark gray house robe and went downstairs to the dining room.

Orion and Walburga had arrived. A dark green tablecloth covered the rectangular table, and the candles on the silver candlesticks burned neatly.

Kreacher set up a table in the restaurant.

Grilled beef slices, roasted lamb leg with mint sauce, boiled peas, mashed potatoes, and a bowl of creamy asparagus soup—all steaming hot, filling the entire restaurant with the aroma of food.

The dining table was quiet, save for the clinking of cutlery against Porcelain Plates and the soft crackling of candle wicks; no one spoke.

Walburga didn't eat much; he barely touched most of the food on his plate, drank a few sips of soup, put down his spoon, and wiped his mouth.

She stood up, lightly placed her hand on Orion's shoulder, glanced at Regulus, and then went upstairs.

Today was too tiring for her.

I stood at the funeral all afternoon, and my father was buried. My emotions fluctuated, but I maintained a dignified appearance all day.

Orion glanced at her retreating figure, then looked down, cut a piece of mutton, put it in his mouth, chewed a few times, and swallowed.

He picked up his teacup and took a sip, about to tell Regulus to get some rest, when he saw Regulus put down his knife and fork and look at him. Orion paused, knowing his son had something to say, turned his head slightly towards the Study, got up, and left.

Regulus followed.

In the Study, a fire burned in the fireplace, its green flames casting a somber glow on the entire wall of bookshelves.

Orion sat down in the armchair, picked up the tea that Kreacher had prepared in advance, and watched Regulus sit down opposite him.

"Lucius asked me for help," Regulus said directly. "Voldemort gave him a task: to meet a Werewolf, Fenrir Greyback."

With Greyback's activities in Yorkshire under surveillance, the Ministry of Magic began setting up a network of detection. Voldemort needed someone to relay a message to Greyback to restrain himself, Lucius needed someone to accompany him to keep things under control.

He spoke briefly, with nothing to hide; at least in front of Orion, there was no need to beat around the bush about this level of matters.

Orion listened, his expression unchanged, holding his teacup in his hand, occasionally taking a sip.

After Regulus finished speaking, he looked at his father and added in a relaxed tone, "I'm interested in Werewolf."

Orion's eyebrows furrowed slightly, but quickly relaxed.

His opinion of Werewolf is nothing special: despicable, filthy, of polluted blood, walking sources of infection.

It's not a question of whether they are victims or not; Werewolf are not even on the list of species recognized by Pureblood Wizards.

The bitten wizard certainly deserves sympathy, but sympathy is not the same as acceptance.

A Werewolf, whether Pure-bloods or Half-bloods before being bitten, changes after being bitten; it's that simple.

But he wasn't surprised that Regulus said he was interested in Werewolf.

Mandrake and Whomping Willow —both are things that every wizard who has been to Hogwarts knows, but only Regulus could conjure spells of that caliber from them.

This kid always manages to find something worth digging into in places that others take for granted.

Therefore, Orion only had doubts, not questions.

He became interested; could there be some theory about Werewolf that he didn't know about?

He put down his teacup, looked at Regulus, and gestured for him to continue.

"There's a Werewolf at Hogwarts," Regulus said. "He's under Dumbledore's protection at the school."

I once talked to Dumbledore about this, about the nature of Werewolf transformation, about whether willpower can overcome animalistic instincts."

He looked at Orion, a slight smile playing on his lips, "Dumbledore said that will overrides instinct, and self-knowledge is the foundation of everything. Shortly after that conversation, my soul was enlightened."

Orion's expression changed; he looked at Regulus, his teacup hovering in mid-air, forgetting to drink.

Regulus had told him about illuminating the soul.

He knew his son had succeeded, but he didn't know exactly how, the process, the trigger, or what led to the final breakthrough. Now he knew it was a conversation with Dumbledore about Werewolf.

Orion was silent for a moment, then brought the teacup to his lips, took a sip, and put it down.

Dumbledore's words, the teachings of an old wizard, were about willpower and self-awareness.

He tried to put himself in that situation and imagine how he would react if he heard the same words.

They'll probably think it makes sense, write it down, and then go about their business.

But Regulus heard the same words, and his soul was awakened.

Dumbledore deserves credit for this, undeniably, but Regulus himself deserves even more.

The same seed falling into different soils will grow into completely different things.

Orion suddenly thought of Sirius.

If Sirius came up to him and told him that there was a Werewolf at Hogwarts, how would he react?

He would probably say, "Stay away from Werewolf, don't hang out with those things."

Orion's lips twitched slightly, but he dismissed the thought.

"So you want to go see Greyback?" Orion steered the conversation back on track. "Compared to the one at school, Greyback is definitely a more extreme example."

Then he asked, "What are you planning to do?"

Regulus said, "Let's take a look first, get a close look, and observe his mental and Magic Power structure."

Orion nodded.

He wasn't worried about safety; they were just Werewolf. Even if Fenrir Greyback was the biggest Werewolf, he couldn't do anything to Regulus.

Let alone one, even if dozens or hundreds of Werewolf attacked together, a Fiendfyre or the Second Form of the Severing Charm would reduce them to ashes in an instant.

But this is clearly not a problem with Werewolf.

Orion looked at him. "Lucius is looking for you, and you know what he means."

Regulus nodded. "To build relationships and gain favors."

Orion nodded again, knowing that Regulus understood.

Lucius himself wasn't bad, but this job didn't require much fighting ability; it was just a message relay, not an operation to wipe out a Werewolf stronghold. Lucius chose Regulus because he valued the person, not his combat prowess.

"It's fine to get involved in Voldemort's affairs," Orion said, putting down his teacup. "But you have to be careful not to overstep your bounds."

This is Lucius's mission, given to him by Voldemort. Go and help him. Voldemort's interpretation might be that the Heir of the Black family is cooperating with his arrangements.

He looked into Regulus's eyes. "This impression has its pros and cons. The good thing is that it makes the Black family seem willing to cooperate, but the bad thing is that it makes the Black family seem like they can be manipulated."

So when we get there, let Lucius take the lead. Let him say what he's supposed to say and relay what he's supposed to relay. Once all that's done, you can do your own thing. Regulus nodded; that was what he thought too.

Orion took another sip of tea, his tone and expression changing slightly.

"And one more," he said, his tone laced with undisguised contempt, "Werewolf are filthy, you'd better watch out."

"Greyback is Voldemort's man, don't kill him," Orion continued, his tone still carrying a casual contempt.

"As for the rest, if anyone offends you, you handle it yourself."

In his mind, for Werewolf to even touch Regulus, even just his robes, was an unacceptable act of blasphemy.

He knew Regulus would be fine, but as a father, he still had to say a few words of advice to his son, who was at that age and going to such a place to deal with such things.

After listening, Regulus simply replied, "I understand."

Orion looked at him, his gaze lingering on his face for a moment.

Then his tone returned to normal. "Get some rest."

Regulus stood up, walked to the Study door, and closed it behind him.

I returned to my room.

Baruk leaped out of the fireplace, trotted around the floor on his eight legs, jumped onto the table and then off, circled Regulus's feet twice, and made a constant clicking sound with his chelicerae.

It ran around the room, leaping from the desk to the windowsill and then to the bed, its eight legs moving incredibly fast, like a bouncy ball that had been locked up for too long. Regulus watched it go crazy for a while, then called out, "Kreacher."

Smack

Kreacher appeared in the room, bowed, and asked, "What are your orders, young the Master?"

"Get Baruk a Dragon Meat, from Hebridean Black Dragon, cut into strips."

Kreacher's large eyes glanced at Baruk, its lips twitching slightly; it felt a complex mix of emotions towards the spider. Then it bowed. "Yes, young the Master."

Snap, it disappeared.

Two minutes later, snap, he reappeared, holding a silver plate with a row of sliced dark purple Dragon Meat strips on it.

Kreacher placed the plate on the table, bowed, and disappeared with a snap.

"You did well today," Regulus said, sitting down at his desk. "Have a good meal."

Baruk came running over on his eight legs, his chelicerae spread open, and he began to tear at the flesh.

They ate quickly and voraciously, without any manners.

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

Regulus watched it eat for a while.

Baruk finished the last Dragon Meat, scraped the bottom of the plate twice with his claws to make sure it was gone, then raised his head and glanced at Regulus with his eight amber eyes.

The next second it launched itself off the table, darted to the top of the fireplace, its eight legs touched the edge of the fireplace stone, and then it flipped over and plunged into the fireplace flames.

With a sizzling sound, the Dragon Meat juices, oil, and blood clinging to the bristles and pincers were instantly charred and crispy in the flames, emitting a sizzling aroma and a small wisp of white smoke.

Baruk rolled over in the flames, roasting himself belly up, kicked his eight legs a few times in the air, then rolled back over, comfortably sprawling out like a dark red little blanket.

Regulus looked out the window.

The night at Grimmauld Place was quiet, the streetlights were dim, and the light cast on the street was only enough to illuminate the outline of the sidewalk.

Occasionally, a car would pass by the street corner, its headlights drawing a white arc across the window before disappearing.

A beige Ford Cortina slowly drove past the square, its headlights casting two beams of light through the fog, and the muffled sound of its engine coming through the glass.

In 1974 London, Muggle were still worried about the Oil Crisis and strikes, and the newspapers were full of news about inflation and unemployment.

He's going to meet a Werewolf tomorrow.

He remembered Dumbledore asking him outside the Shrieking Shack, "What do you think of Werewolf?"

He said, "It's too ugly."

But to be honest, he hadn't seen many Werewolf.

Lupin is one, but Lupin is a cub. Normally, animal cubs are cute, but Werewolf are the opposite; they're never cute. Besides, Lupin is, by all accounts, a domesticated creature.

With Dumbledore watching over him, the school protecting him, his brothers keeping him company, and the Shrieking Shack where he could stay every full moon night, life was quite comfortable. Tomorrow he'll be meeting the wild ones.

He twitched the corner of his mouth slightly.

Let's see just how ugly it is.