Regulus: Women Slow Down Wand Drawing

Regulus came downstairs, his long silver hair draped over his shoulders. His short vest was not fully buttoned, and the collar was loosely open, revealing the dark lining underneath and the strong muscle lines below his collarbone.

I slept well, and both my body and mind have recovered. Star Orbit Meditation started automatically, and my Magic Power and physical strength have returned to normal levels.

He didn't lie down until 3 a. m., which was four or five hours at most, but that was enough for him.

There are many young wizards at Hogwarts who can stay up all night; Avery can stay up until the early hours, Hermes is practically a nocturnal animal, but none of them can compare to him.

Two years of Star Orbit Meditation compressed his sleep needs to an absurd level; four or five hours was enough to fully recharge, and three hours was also acceptable.

But making do is just making do; it's not the same as being comfortable.

In fact, he was not very energetic; his eyelids were heavy, his steps were a little unsteady, and a vague sense of weariness lingered in his mind.

He stretched his neck, and his joints cracked.

The Prewett brothers were already seated at the table.

In front of them were two rimmed plates, each containing a mass of grayish-white paste, with a thin skin on the surface and several fine cracks.

Touch it with a spoon, and the thin skin cracks open, the paste underneath wobbles slightly, then solidifies again, and the skin slowly closes up.

Next to it were several slices of burnt toast, shiny black, with serrated edges from carbonization.

Surprisingly, the toast remained perfectly shaped, retaining its square and triangular forms as intended. The charring process was remarkably even, indicating that although the baking time was slightly overdone, it was stable.

Fabian stared at the plate, his expression overly complicated.

At the very edge of the heart was terror, followed by a double respect for Aberforth himself and for the dish being made so horribly; then came embarrassment, then fear, and finally, resolute determination.

He had eaten at Hog's Head Inn many times, and he stayed there almost every time he went on a mission. Every time he stayed there, he would eat breakfast made by Aberforth himself.

The food here is like this—not only does it look bad, it tastes bad too, but it's made by Aberforth himself.

You can't refuse the food he cooks.

Hog's Head Inn may be dirty and run-down, but once you're there, you'll feel at ease.

With Dumbledore there, Aberforth there, even the goats there, everything was in its proper place. It was reassuring, like having a tall person to hold up the sky even if it fell.

Free accommodation, free medical treatment, free drinking water—everything is great, except for the food.

But no matter what, you still have to eat breakfast yourself.

Gideon had already picked up his spoon, scooped up a small spoonful and put it in his mouth. His brows slowly furrowed, and he chewed very slowly, his cheeks moving slowly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down several times before he swallowed.

Then he picked up the cup and took a big gulp of tea. The tea was cloudy and grayish, with tea leaves settling at the bottom.

He gulped down half a cup to wash away the mushy substance in his throat, but then his mouth was filled with the taste of rotten wood.

Aberforth emerged from behind the bar carrying a black pot, and when he saw Geralt coming downstairs, his blue eyes swept over him.

He was unhappy first thing in the morning, his face was full of bad luck, and his brows were so furrowed that they could trap a fly.

He placed another chipped plate on the table, containing the same grayish paste, and tossed the spoon aside, making a clattering sound.

He turned back to the bar, tossing out a sentence as he walked. "Eat it or don't, it's up to you. Even goat isn't as picky as you."

Regulus looked down at the plate.

Aberforth's cooking remained consistently bad, consistently unpalatable, consistently awful, consistently at a level where you could tell what it was but had absolutely no desire to eat it.

He went out to eat last time; the old man holds a grudge.

But with food prepared like this, how can you expect people not to eat it?

He ate and stayed at the Hog's Head Inn for free; Aberforth never charged him a single Knut, Dumbledore never mentioned the room fee.

He didn't know whether other Order of the Order of the Phoenix members who came for treatment and lodging had to pay, nor did he know if the two bottles of blood tonic the Prewett brothers had last night had been recorded in the bill.

Anyway, he didn't spend a penny here, eating and staying for free, so he shouldn't be picky. But the young master of the Black family didn't want to suffer this injustice.

He had never eaten anything so awful; Kreacher's cooking was a hundred times House-elf from Hogwarts Aberforth.

He didn't even sit down, but turned the corner and walked straight to the door, leaving behind the words, "Let's eat out."

Fabian's spoon froze in mid-air. He glanced at the bowl of paste in front of him, then at Geralt's back, and finally turned to look at Gideon.

Gideon put down his spoon, wiped the gray paste residue from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and stood up to follow.

Fabian grinned, threw the spoon into the plate with a clatter, and then darted out.

The two brothers quickened their pace to catch up with Geralt. Fabian patted Gideon on the shoulder from behind and whispered, "Finally, someone's taking the lead."

Aberforth yelled from behind the bar, "Don't come if you're not going to eat! You'll deserve to starve next time!"

The door closed behind the three figures. The goat raised its head and glanced at the doorway, its eyes glazed over, before lowering its head to continue chewing hay.

The Three Broomsticks had just opened the door, and there weren't many customers inside yet.

The windows were spotless, and sunlight streamed in, illuminating the light-colored tablecloth on which sat a small vase of wildflowers.

The air was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, mixed with the charred smell of fried bacon and the slightly sweet scent of jam.

The wooden wall decorations were polished to a shine, and the wine glasses behind the bar were arranged in a neat row, their glass reflecting the sunlight.

Compared to Hog's Head Inn, this is a completely different world.

Madam Rosmerta was standing behind the bar wiping the counter. Her blonde hair was loosely tied back, with a few stray strands falling beside her ears. Her deep green eyes curved into a smile when she saw the person who pushed open the door.

She nodded to the two brothers first, her tone familiar with them, tinged with a hint of teasing. "Fabian, Gideon, long time no see. What's wrong? You look like you just crawled out of a mine?"

Regulus glanced at the two brothers.

Last night Scouring Charm and Mending Charm. The tears in my robe were patched up, and there were no obvious injuries on my face.

But after tossing and turning for most of the night, still feeling dizzy from the explosion, crawling in and out of the Castle ruins, drinking Aberforth's blood tonic, and staying up late, he still looked alright, though he was as tired and ashen-faced as Aberforth.

Madam Rosmerta had a sharp eye and noticed it immediately.

"More or less," Fabian grinned, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "The journey back from the north wasn't peaceful."

Gideon nodded in greeting. "Madam Rosmerta, long time no see."

Madam Rosmerta waved her hand, her gaze shifting to Geralt. Her deep green eyes brightened, and her smile widened.

She remembered this face: white hair, vertical pupils. The last time he came, he sat in a corner and ate a meal alone. He didn't say much from beginning to end, but his aura was very strong.

She said she would definitely remember next time she came, and just a few days later, she came again, bringing two regular customers with her.

She put down her cup, picked up the tray, and walked over, her tone light and cheerful. "You said you'd come again next time, I didn't expect it to be so soon, and you even brought a friend."

She glanced at the Prewett brothers, then back at Geralt, tilting her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips, and raising an eyebrow. "You came back from the north together?"

Regulus shrugged, leaned back casually, and blurted out, "There's a swamp to the north, and in the swamp there's an abandoned Giant Camp, and in the camp there are—"

Fabian's eyes widened in suspicion. This tone, this fluent delivery, was exactly the same as when he told the story of the Frostwolf and the Siren at the Hog's Head Inn last night.

Gideon glanced at Fabian, and seeing his brother's subtle expression, a slight smile curved his own lips.

Madam Rosmerta rolled her eyes—a very pretty one, her green eyes gleaming—and tucked the tray under her arm, her blonde hair swaying slightly. "Alright, alright, she's back from the north."

Of course she recognized them. She knew who Fabian and Gideon were, and those who came with them were probably of similar status. As for helping from the north, she could only listen to it and not take it seriously.

But this person could concoct an adventure story on the spot, Taiyi member of the Order of the Phoenix I had met before.

"No matter where you come from, you must eat well," she said with a smile, shaking her head and placing the tray on the table. "I can't eat the food from Pig Head's place. What would you three like to eat?"

Fabian nodded vigorously. "Madam Rosmerta, you understand perfectly."

She chuckled and handed over the menu.

Regulus took the order, glanced at it, and ordered the same things as last time: roast beef, Yorkshire Pudding, mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables.

Fabian ordered a ton of food: grilled sausages, fried eggs, grilled tomatoes, fried potato wedges, two slices of whole wheat toast, a serving of bacon, and a serving of grilled mushrooms.

Gideon's appetite was about the same as his.

When I got home last night, I didn't eat anything except for that bottle of Aberforth iron supplement and a few cups of awful tea; my stomach was completely empty.

After Madam Rosmerta finished writing down the order, she turned and walked towards the Kitchen. After a few steps, she glanced back at Geralt.

Her blonde hair slid down her shoulders, flashing in the sunlight; her deep green eyes curved upwards; and a faint smile played at the corners of her lips.

Then she turned back, her waistline curving gracefully beneath her apron, and disappeared into the Kitchen doorway.

Fabian's eyes followed her retreating figure until she disappeared, then he abruptly turned back to Geralt, his eyebrows raised high, his voice brimming with excitement. "Did she do that last time too?"

Gideon also looked over, his expression calm, but his gaze focused.

Before he could answer, Fabian rested her elbows on the table and began to speak on her own, "Let me tell you, she used to come here all the time when we were in school. She's always been very friendly to people, but someone like you—"

He gestured to Geralt, "--You know what I mean? Her smile makes you feel like the most special customer in the whole bar, but that look in her eyes just now, and the way she turned back when she left--"

He made an exaggerated turning-around gesture, but of course, the blonde hair wasn't there, so the effect was much less impressive.

Gideon added from the side, his tone more composed than his brother's, but his words were no less impressive. "Madam Rosmerta has been running the shop for several years, and we've seen how warmly she treats many customers."

Her smiles do come in several varieties; they're polite to ordinary guests, warm to acquaintances, but the one she gave you just now Taiyi."

Fabian slammed his fist on the table. "Yes! It's Taiyi! I'm talking about—that turn of the head! And the way he walked—"

"Fabian," Gideon's tone was slightly suggestive, "What's with the attitude? Why are you looking at her figure?"

"Alright, alright," Fabian waved his hand, "Anyway, you're charming."

Regulus leaned back, one hand resting on the edge of the table, his amber pupils half-closed, a slight smile playing on his lips, revealing a smug grin. "I wasn't paying attention."

Then he lowered his head, fastened the top button of his inner lining, straightened his collar, and when he raised his head again, his eyes gleamed with a disdainful golden light. "Women affect the speed at which you draw your wand."

Fabian froze, his mouth agape, his expression caught between "Did I hear that right?" and "That's fucking cool!"

Then he burst out laughing, slammed his hand on the table, and turned to Gideon, saying, "Did you hear that? That's a real man!"

Gideon was taken aback by this remark. He remained silent for a moment, then slowly curved his lips into a smile and nodded.

His expression was subtle; although somewhat extreme, upon closer reflection, it did seem to make sense.

Madam Rosmerta returned with a tray and placed the dishes on the table one by one.

Thick slices of roast beef were arranged on Porcelain Plates, fluffy and crispy Yorkshire Pudding was piled on one side, mashed potatoes were drizzled with Butter, and steaming vegetables were puffing up.

Her movements were gentle, and a faint smile lingered on her lips; she had probably heard what he said earlier.

As she placed the last dish of steamed vegetables in front of Geralt, she bent down, looked at him with her green eyes, and spoke in a tone that was hard to tell whether it was teasing or serious.

"How fast do you draw your wand? When are you usually free?"

Fabian nearly spat out the piece of roast beef he had just put in his mouth, coughing twice while covering his mouth. Gideon's hand holding the spoon froze in mid-air.

Regulus looked up at her, a smirk playing on his lips. "Between fighting and eating."

Madam Rosmerta raised an eyebrow, stared at him for a moment, then straightened up, smiled at the three of them, and went back to the bar.

Fabian covered his mouth and swallowed the roast beef, then gulped down some water, his voice still trembling. "Between fighting and eating— Merlin's beard, how have you survived until now?"

Gideon picked up his fork, his expression serious. "Probably by the speed at which he draws his wand."

Fabian laughed again, Regulus shrugged, and then buried his head in his food.

Three young men sat at the sunniest table, where Three Broomsticks, eating quickly, the clinking of knives and forks against plates echoing loudly.

Towards the end, it was almost a competition to see who could finish their plate first.

Fabian was noticeably speeding up his roasting of the beef, Gideon was quietly accelerating as well, and Regulus was taking his time, but the food on his plate was disappearing faster than both of them.

Fabian stuffed his last bite of potato wedges and Gideon's last piece of toast into their mouths almost simultaneously. The two glared at each other, their cheeks puffed out, and swallowed at the same time.

They tied, Regulus in first place.

Outside Hogsmeade, there is a rolling hill.

The grass was beginning to turn green again, with a few clumps of wildflowers dotting the landscape. The morning sun slanted in from the east, and the spire of Hogwarts Castle could be seen in the distance.

A morning breeze blew from the direction of Black Lake, blowing long, silvery-white hair down to her shoulders.

The three of them walked up the hillside and chose a relatively flat spot.

The two brothers drew their wands, walked to the other side, and assumed dueling stances.

Fabian suddenly spoke up, "There's no shame in losing a two-on-one situation."

Gideon added, "Even if we win, it's not honorable."

Fabian then added, "So it doesn't matter, let's fight first and see what happens."

Regulus's lips twitched slightly as he drew his wand, casually letting it hang by his side, his posture relaxed.

The two sides stood about ten meters apart.