Orion Was Exhausted

A scorching Magic Power surged from Regulus's body, and the image of Betelgeuse's eruption lit up deep within his consciousness.

The heatwave pushed outwards, the air crackled, and the temperature in the Study rose sharply. The air around him twisted violently, colliding with the old house's Magic Power pressing in from all directions, creating a chaotic vortex.

The approaching shadow stopped two steps away from him and did not go any further.

But the shadows seemed alive; fine, tentacle-like darkness crawled along the ground, retreating when they touched the edge of the scorching Magic Power, then probing in another direction.

Baruk climbed over his shoulder.

A spider the size of a palm saw the shadows spreading throughout the room, heard the deep buzzing from deep within the walls, and sensed the most primal threat of death; it bristled.

Its bristles stood on end, and its eight legs stomped wildly on Regulus's neck, crawling from left to right, and from his right shoulder to the back of his neck.

But this outfit had no inner pockets, the short vest was fitted, the Orion's Belt was tight, and the cuffs were narrow, leaving no gap to even squeeze through.

Baruk wrapped his arms around his neck twice, then scurried into his long, silvery hair that draped over his shoulders, curling himself into a small ball.

Eight legs clung tightly to his scalp, their pincers pressed against the back of his head, and he dared not move.

In the depths of the shadows, the tip of Orion's staff gleamed a little brighter.

He now understood why Dolohov had been beaten so badly; the newcomer was indeed as described by the Death Eaters —just standing there exuded power.

His nasty side was also revealed; even after entering the old mansion of the Xilaijing family and being surrounded by defensive Magic, he was actually laughing.

His lips were stretched into a wide grin, giving off an air of smug satisfaction at being surrounded and humiliated on someone else's Patriarch.

Orion saw it as a provocation; to laugh like that on someone else's turf was incredibly rude.

Either they are acting with impunity, or they completely disregard the Black family; neither is a good sign.

But one fact stands in the way: this person's method of travel is clearly that of Patronus.

He didn't believe there was a third wizard in the UK Wizarding World who could summon Magical Creature and their Patronus. Dumbledore one, Regulus one—it was something on a spiritual level, something that couldn't be faked.

And the spider that had been hiding was now peeking half its head out from the white-haired wizard's hair.

Dark red bristles, amber eyes, and a palm-sized body—he recognized it. It belonged to Regulus and was named Baruk, who had undergone a modification in Cornwall.

But the person standing in the Study, regardless of appearance, didn't seem to possess any Magic Power aura whatsoever.

Regulus's Magic Power is restrained, cold, and withdrawn; anyone with keen senses who probes will only encounter an extremely thin and smooth shell.

And then there's his personality; there's nothing bad about Regulus's life.

His son always acts with discretion, purpose, and boundaries. Malice is something that is impulsive, Regulus is not impulsive.

Orion squinted in the shadows, the green light at the tip of his staff turning into a dark purple, so intense that it seeped through the shadows and glowed faintly in the darkness.

Regardless of who this person is, how they got in, or why their Patronus is Magical Creature, we must take them down first; we cannot take any risks.

A dangerous wizard capable of crippling Dolohov single-handedly stands in the old Black family mansion; any hesitation would be foolish.

The old house's defensive Magic responded to the Patriarch's judgment at the same instant; the Rune on the walls suddenly brightened, turning from dark green to deep red.

The shadows in the four corners of the ceiling fell down like living things, the Muggle street scene outside the window had completely disappeared, and only darkness remained outside the glass; even the moon had been swallowed up.

Regulus felt threatened, and he wasn't kidding.

Centuries of Pure-bloods accumulation made the oppressive atmosphere of the old mansion surpass any Magic environment he had ever faced before.

He could feel his outward-projecting Magic Power being suppressed considerably, and the scorching heat of Betelgeuse was forced to retract under the pressure of the old house.

It's rare to feel such emotion; this is the essence of the Black family's heritage.

At the same time, I came to the conclusion that if this was the case in my own home, it would probably be difficult to force my way into other people's homes as well.

But that's not certain. Let's wait until the holidays and try it out with a lucky family.

Baruk peeked out one of his main eyes from his hair, saw the room filled with red light and the black shadows seeping down, then withdrew it. Regulus felt his scalp being gripped tightly by the eight legs.

A dark purple light flickered in the depths of the shadows, almost igniting.

Regulus laughed again, his lips twitching to reveal his teeth, golden light flickering in his amber vertical pupils, his entire being transforming from an explosive fire into an even more violent one.

The room was filled with shadows, the fireplace roared with flames, dozens of eyes were fixed on him, and the ceiling lights jingled erratically. He stood amidst all of this, grinning easily, as if nothing had happened.

The dark purple light in the shadows suddenly surged, and then, in a relaxed, almost irritating manner, he casually uttered, "Father."

0

The air in the Study fell silent.

The flames in the fireplace hovered somewhere between pale white and green, no longer flickering, and the shadows that had spread across the corner fell onto the floor, as if held down by something.

The swaying of the Crystal chandelier lessened, the clinking of the pendants became sparser, the deep red Rune turned back to dark green, and in the Ancestral Portraits, Arcturus I's eyes narrowed slightly.

Deep within the shadows, the dark purple light trembled violently before dimming.

Orion emerged from the shadows, first revealing the outline of his boots, then the hem of his robes, then Orion right hand holding his wand, the tip of which glowed with a dark purple light, and finally his entire face.

His brows furrowed, his lips pressed together, then relaxed and tightened again, his gaze fixed on that completely unfamiliar face.

Regulus raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, palms open with fingers pointing upwards, shrugged his shoulders, and grinned even wider before the Transfiguration began to fade.

The silver-white hair faded from the ends upwards, the white sinking and the black rising, spreading strand by strand from the ends to the roots.

The hair texture changes accordingly; the coarse and stiff cuticles rearrange, transforming from rough to smooth, and radiating a pampered shine.

The golden pigment in the amber iris is fading, and the vertical pupils are shrinking from both ends towards the middle, returning to their original shape, changing from a vibrant golden light back to a cool gray.

The strong facial contours are softened, the curve of the cheekbones becomes gentler, the jawline narrows from square, the angularity of the bridge of the nose diminishes, and the shadow cast under the brow bone becomes lighter.

His height gradually decreased, his shoulders narrowed, and the muscles in his chest went from solid to thin like a teenager's.

A moment later, he had transformed back into Black, with his black hair, gray eyes, refined features, and quiet Regulus.

However, he was still wearing that Geralt outfit.

A dark gray short vest, high-necked and sleeveless, with subtle patterned reinforcement on the shoulders and chest, a wide leather Orion's Belt, straight-leg dark trousers, and short Dragon Hide, now hung loosely on his body, like a child wearing an adult's clothes, yet his expression was quite composed.

Baruk poked his head out, glanced at the shadows receding around him, then at Orion standing before him, wand in hand. He then crawled out of Regulus's hair, climbed back onto his shoulder, shook his bristles, and his pincers clicked softly. Orion stared at him for a long time, looking him up and down, from his black hair to his gray eyes, from his oversized vest to the gap inside his boots.

He lowered his wand, the dark purple light at its tip extinguished, and the defensive Magic of the old house was withdrawn.

The Rune on the wall dimmed, shrinking into the cracks between the bricks. The shadows crawled along the wall back to the ceiling, retreated to the four corners, and disappeared completely.

The portraits of the ancestors glanced at each other, and a few were still whispering among themselves, but they all shut up after being glared at by the older ones next to them.

The green flames in the fireplace fell back to their original position, returning to their usual height, burning quietly. The Muggle streetlights outside the window lit up again, and the moon hung back in the sky.

Orion opened his mouth, then closed it again, opened it again, his brow still furrowed, his voice dry and his throat slightly constricted. "You..."

Regulus lowered his raised hand, his expression smoothly transitioning from Geralt's flamboyance to Regulus's composure.

But he couldn't suppress the smile in his eyes; the corners of his mouth curved upwards, and his gray eyes shone brightly in the fireplace light, making him look rather disheveled.

He called out again in Regulus's voice, "Father."

Orion fell silent again, gray eyes facing gray eyes, one standing, the other standing, separated by several floorboards, and the last vestige of shadow shrinking into the corner.

His expression went through several layers: disbelief, retracing his steps, all the clues matching up, and shock.

So this white-haired wizard was Regulus from beginning to end.

That incredibly powerful, ruthless young wizard who severely injured Dolohov and was described in Dumbledore's camp as having considerable fighting strength but an unknown origin was none other than Regulus, his son.

Orion's voice was still dry. "I..."

Regulus lowered his eyes, straightened his posture, and spoke calmly, "Father, it's like this. Even without the Starry Sky Kite returning to the old house, traces will always be left. As for what happened just now, I simply forgot to change back beforehand."

Orion stared at Regulus for a while longer, then turned and went back behind his desk, sat down, picked up his teacup, and found that the tea was already cold.

He put the cup back, sighed, and gestured with his chin to the chair opposite him. "Sit down."

Regulus walked over and sat down, placing his hands on his knees, sitting upright.

Baruk settled on his shoulder, his chelicerae opening and closing slightly with a very soft click, as if greeting Orion.

Orion remained silent for a long time.

The green flame in the fireplace crackled occasionally, and another car passed by the street corner outside the window.

He looked at Regulus, his lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but he hesitated, his expression extremely complicated.

His voice had returned to its usual calm, but there was a hint of helplessness in his tone, like that of a father who had just been frightened by his son but couldn't get angry. "Next time you're coming home, give me a heads-up."

Regulus's voice was calm and even. "Yes, Father."

Orion looked at the smile on his face, which had been suppressed but was still clearly visible, then picked up the now-cold tea and took a sip.

I'm a little mentally exhausted.

(And there's more!)