The Older They Are, the More They Scheme

Orion understood it very well.

If the news gets out, and someone follows the trail to France to see if the Heir of the Black family is still alive, they will find a Regulus.

Inspecting the protective Magic repairs, interacting with local employees, and going through normal channels—everything was genuine.

A quick glance from afar to confirm if someone is there, and then getting closer to investigate—that's a different story.

The Heir of the Black family shouldn't be watched for nothing.

They set up traps at key locations to find out who came, when they came, and what methods they used to investigate. Anyone who ran into them was exposed.

Whether it's Death Eaters or anyone else, he'll know who it is if they show any interest in Regulus's whereabouts beyond what's normal.

And then there are those idiots who stand up for others and think they're so clever.

We must guard against enemies, and we must also mark fools. In future dealings, we'll know who can be used as a weapon and who isn't even qualified to be one.

As for Slughorn, the letter was handed to him; whether he spoke or not was up to him.

If he doesn't say anything, that's good; it means the old professor has chosen to side with Regulus, at least in this matter.

Even if they did tell, it wouldn't make a difference. If what they say is false, the person who chases after the false information to France will have their identity and intentions exposed.

Either way is fine; he will gain something from either path.

A leave request, a fake destination, a fake Regulus, the same thing: cover-up, verification, trap, mark.

Every detail was meticulously planned in his mind: location, event, reason—a perfect pretext packaged as perfect bait.

Whether Slughorn himself could decipher the true nature of the letter was none of his concern.

If you can tell, it means they're willing to cooperate; if you can't, it means their acting skills are good enough.

You can't lose money no matter what.

Orion put the letter away and got up to go to his Study.

Kreacher came again, with another letter on the silver tray. This time he went to Walburga, held it up as high as before, and his voice trembled even more.

"The Master, a letter from the young master."

Walburga's hand froze in mid-air, just like before, but this time he didn't try to hide it, nor did he have time to.

She looked up, her mouth slightly open, her gaze falling on the letter, and her whole being lit up.

He reached out and picked it up quickly, breaking the wax seal a little hastily. He pulled out the parchment inside and unfolded it to look at it.

A few words of greeting: the weather is getting warmer, the ice on the lake is melting, I was praised by Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration class, Professor Slughorn gave me Candied Pineapple again, I'm tired of Pumpkin Juice, and I wish my mother good health.

There's not much substance to it.

She read it once, then read it again, and then looked at it for a long time.

The expression on his face gradually softened, the lines between his brows smoothed out, the corners of his mouth softened, his eyes reddened slightly, and there was a thin layer of water in his gray eyes.

She folded the letter carefully, put it back in the envelope, placed it on the table, and then gently pressed it down.

Orion stood by the dining table watching her, neither going over nor saying a word.

My wife has changed a lot, and my son has noticed it too, responding in his own way.

His involvement in the mother and son's affairs is none of his business.

He pushed the chair back and turned to walk towards the Study.

Friday morning, Hogwarts.

Orion's reply arrived the night before, and it was clearly stated in the letter.

In Provence, in the Southern France, the protective Magic of the Black family vineyard has been compromised, damaging the Magic Power of the aged vines. The heir must be present to handle the situation.

The message was clear, the details were plentiful, it was all planned out, without a single word of explanation, but Regulus understood it.

He finished reading the letter and burned it.

My father was very thoughtful; every detail was deliberate: a fake destination, a fake itinerary, and the illusion that he was traveling normally in and out of France.

Older people tend to have more thoughts, but they're more useful.

After breakfast, he went directly to Slughorn's office.

At the end of the Corridor on the basement level, Regulus knocked on the door.

"Come in, come in!"

Slughorn's melodious voice came from inside, carrying the pleasant mood unique to the morning.

Pushing open that familiar door, a complex smell wafted out, stronger than Owlery, but not unpleasant.

The cloying sweetness of Pineapple Candied Fruit, the woody aroma of various dried herbs mixed together in the Potions- making cabinet, and the Applewood burning in the fireplace.

The professor was nestled in his large velvet armchair, with a pot of tea and a plate of Candied Fruit in front of him, and a row of photos on the wall, all of the people in them smiling and waving.

The collectibles on the shelf in the corner gleamed, with a few autographed photos interspersed among the Silver Instruments and Crystal, and a half-empty bottle of Mead and several plates of pastries on the small round table by the fireplace.

Slughorn was sprinkling icing sugar on a piece of Candied Pineapple when he saw him come in. His eyes lit up and his round face broke into a smile.

"Ah, Regulus, you've come at the right time. Have a seat," the old man said, dangling a piece of dried pineapple between his fingers. "Try this new batch; it's two levels sweeter than the last one. It's absolutely delicious!"

Regulus sat down, politely but firmly declining, "No, thank you, Professor. I just finished breakfast."

"Breakfast is breakfast, dessert is dessert, you have two stomachs."

Slughorn blinked, popped the dried pineapple into his mouth, chewed it a couple of times, squinted his eyes, and looked on with obvious enjoyment. Then he picked up his teacup and took a sip.

He wiped his fingers with a handkerchief, crossed his hands over his stomach, and gave Regulus a look of amusement.

Suddenly, she spoke, her tone tinged with a mischievous smugness. "Minerva asked me the other day if you'd handed in your Potions Class paper yet."

Regulus paused for a moment.

Professor McGonagall actually came to ask about Slughorn?

Did she think he would write a separate paper on Potions Class and deliberately avoid writing about Transfiguration? Just because he's Slytherin?

How is that possible?

If you're not going to write anything, then of course you shouldn't write anything at all.

Regulus put on an embarrassed expression, and if he weren't truly unable to do it, he would even have scratched his face. "Professor..."

"Don't worry, don't worry," Slughorn raised his hand and pressed it down, his smile deepening, his face full of cunning. "I won't tell Minerva that you've already handed it in."

After saying that, he picked up another piece of Candied Fruit, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed until his cheeks bulged out.

Regulus breathed a sigh of relief and said gratefully, "Thank you, Professor."

After a few more casual words, Regulus said directly, "Professor, I'm here to ask for leave. There are some things at home that need to be taken care of; my father should have written a letter."

Slughorn's expression didn't change. He said "Oh," and reached for a letter next to a stack of documents on the table.

The envelope had been opened, and Orion's sealing wax stamp remained on the seal.

He held the letter between two fingers, gave it a gentle shake, and said casually, "I received Orion's letter; it's about things in France."

He shook it again, silencing the rest of his sentence, but his round face remained perfectly still, his grinning expression unchanged.

It's perfectly normal for the heir of Pureblood families to take leave to handle family affairs in Slytherin.

Every semester, several children take leave to run errands for the family business or attend ceremonies, since urgent matters related to the business won't be handled during holidays.

Most young wizards are older, at least after the fifth grade, before it's their turn. Family affairs involve business and foreign negotiations, and very young children can't handle the situation; they'd only cause trouble.

But Regulus Black, that kid is definitely not ordinary.

He was only in second grade when he was able to go toe-to-toe with Bellatrix Lestrange and burn Lestrange Manor to the ground. Even when Tom himself was there, he couldn't do anything to him.

The Slug Club has been operating for decades and has seen no fewer than twenty or thirty gifted young wizards, but the ones he truly cares about can be counted on two hands, with Regulus ranking first.

It's normal for this kind of student to take any kind of leave.

But Orion Black's letter was too well-written.

Specifically, the location of the vineyard, the details of the invasion of protective Magic, the extent of contamination of several batches of vines, and why the heir must be present in person.

A normal leave request letter wouldn't be written like this. For family matters, requesting a few days off, you'd at most add a location, and that's it.

Orion had everything prepared, down to the detail that the recipient of the letter only needed to follow instructions.

Having lived for so many years, I've witnessed more conspiracies and secrets than I've mastered any Potions recipes.

He understood the meaning of the letter.

Regulus won't go to France; Orion is writing this for outsiders.

If anyone asks, he can simply read the letter, a ready-made answer, without having to make up a single word himself, and without betraying anyone's trust.

If no one asks, it's just a leave request.

Of course, he could choose not to say it.

No one knew what was written in the letter; he was just an old professor at Hogwarts, how could he know about his students' family affairs?

He can say it or not, this balance makes him comfortable.

Orion was clever; he wrote the letter in such a way that he made a request, leaving the decision of whether to cooperate to himself.

He likes this position; he doesn't have to bear any responsibility or take any risks. He has the initiative, and he can advance or retreat as he pleases.

Doing it is a favor, and you can ask for it back whenever you need it in the future.

He wouldn't do it, nor would he offend anyone; it wasn't his responsibility anyway.

Whether or not to tell depends on who asks, when they come, and their attitude when they ask.

These details are full of information; the network of relationships he cultivated throughout his life relied on these details.

With the Black family's reputation standing, no one can underestimate them.

But he is the head of Slughorn family, the head of Slytherin, and the professor of Potions at Hogwarts.

Orion's favor was useful, but that's all it was.

What really bothered him was the child sitting opposite him.

Regulus Black.

At the age of thirteen, this child was already ahead of most adult wizards, possessing astonishing talent, meticulous thinking, and a keen sense of timing.

Bellatrix was defeated in front of him, and the older Death Eaters in Slytherin House didn't dare to raise their voices when his name was mentioned.

What's even more remarkable is that the child always treated him with utmost respect, knowing how to speak in the office and how to behave outside of it.

What's most remarkable is that the child trusts him and tells him everything about Tom, things that even Albus might not know.

This is the kind of investment worthwhile.

The Black family's favors were merely icing on the cake; Regulus's future was the real prize.

Slughorn chuckled, took a sick note from the drawer, picked up a quill pen, and signed his name.

The handwriting was smooth and flowing, with a small hook at the end of each stroke. It was stamped with the dean's seal, the ink dried, and then handed over.

"It's still cold in France in March," he said casually, yet with concern. "Bring an extra robe."

Regulus accepted the leave slip and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Professor."

Slughorn waved his hand. "Go ahead, don't be late for class."

Regulus turned and went out the door.