War Is Coming

Orion stared at Regulus, speechless for a long time, the scene from just now still lingering in his mind.

Dolohov was attacked and his stronghold was destroyed. The news circulated among the Death Eaters for a month or so, but he didn't really take it to heart.

??

What does this new henchman who suddenly appeared on Dumbledore have to do with him?

Now they're connected; that's his son.

He recalled Regulus when he was a child, three or four years old, an age when he couldn't even speak properly, yet he already knew how to teach Sirius how to use Magic.

I started browsing through the family's books when I was five or six years old, and would sit in the small cubicle upstairs for a whole day.

This child has always been quiet, reserved, and serious, like a little adult, with even fewer facial expressions than he is.

He thought back then that Regulus probably wouldn't grow up to be the type to joke around with his father, Black family didn't produce that kind of child.

Orion thought it was fine this way; he wasn't a talkative father anyway.

Then, during the first-grade Christmas break, Regulus summoned his Patronus, and from then on, the boy would play pranks on him.

In Knockturn Alley, Regulus faced the fallen scoundrel, the tip of his staff glowing green. It was the first time he realized this kid was playing a joke on him, and with Killing Curse at that.

Later, this happened more and more often, and Regulus became increasingly aroused when he was around him.

He's still quiet and reserved, but the few words he occasionally utters and the things he does clearly show his closeness.

Orion knew that Regulus was different from ordinary children, but the Black family was no ordinary family either.

Tonight's scene was the same; the old house's defenses were fully activated, and he even raised his wand, almost firing the Killing Curse.

But no matter what, it was his son joking with him. He was startled, but to say he wasn't happy at all would be a lie.

That white-haired wizard was probably a lively, extreme version of this: flamboyant, crude, and grinning.

But since these are his children, that's fine.

Regulus sat opposite him, silently observing his father's face.

Since emerging from the shadows, Orion's expression has changed at least five times.

From shock to realization, and then to something he wasn't quite sure what it was, but which definitely contained a mix of amazement and helplessness, he suddenly wondered if he had gone a bit too far with the joke.

My father isn't young anymore. Can his heart handle what he just went through?

He studied Orion's face for a moment.

There are fine lines at the corners of my eyes and a few on my forehead, but those are just marks of time; there isn't a single gray hair.

The Black family's dark hair gene is ridiculously strong; Arcturus III was almost eighty years old and still had a full head of black hair.

Orion was in his prime, in his early forties, with his Magic Power at its peak and expected to increase with age. He also maintained a better physique than most thirty-year-old wizards.

My father isn't old; he's very healthy.

Regulus looked away, a slight smile playing on his lips.

A rustling sound came from the corner of the table. Baruk had just flipped himself over on the table, lying face up with his eight legs kicking and making gurgling noises in the air.

It kicked for a while, flipped over, braced its eight legs on the edge of the table, and sprang into action, plunging into the fireplace flames with a whoosh.

The green flames swallowed it and closed again. Baruk rolled over in the flames, his eight legs folded up, and his chelicerae rested in front of him.

His amber eyes, peering through the flames, glanced at Orion, then at Regulus, and remained motionless.

Orion's gaze was drawn to it; the Magic Power of flames, the Acromantula, and the Salamander had been grafted together—this was the result.

He glanced at him a few more times; Baruk lay there motionless, not a single hair on his body burned off.

Orion snapped out of his daze and snapped his fingers.

Kreacher didn't appear with a thud as usual; instead, a series of hurried footsteps came from the direction of the Entrance Hall, the House-elf's feet stomping heavily on the stone slabs as he ran.

The Study door was pushed open from the outside, and Kreacher stood in the doorway.

The earlier security operation at the old house had lifted the entire building up.

The defensive Magic within the walls lit up completely, the Ancestral Portraits all opened their eyes, and the buzzing sound from beneath the floorboards still lingered.

House-elf and wizards' houses are symbiotic; House-elf were originally included in the old house's defense system.

Every generation of Black has never missed this step when adding protective Magic to the old house: the wizard manages the Magic Power and Rune, House-elf manage the corners that the Rune can't reach.

The Kitchen ventilation ducts, the cellar drains, and those neglected corners under the stairs where even Portrait are left hanging are all guarded by House-elf.

On either side of the Entrance Hall at 12 Grimmauld Place, there is an extremely narrow, dark corridor hidden behind the wainscoting. It is too narrow for a person to squeeze through, but House-elf can just pass through.

The dark corridor leads to the cellar and the rooftop Attic; the entire house's longitudinal circulation is woven through these narrow passages.

Kreacher, of course, sensed it too; he was holding a palm-sized brass lantern.

Inside the four glass enclosure was a fist-sized black flame, slowly flickering. A ring of fine Rune was engraved on the copper casing of the lantern, climbing up the base, over the edge of the glass, and disappearing inside the handle.

The Rune glowed dimly, their frequency perfectly synchronized with the defensive patterns that hadn't completely faded from the cracks in the old house's walls.

This lantern is an old item from the Black family, Alchemical Item. Each Patriarch's personal House-elf must learn to use it in emergencies to guard those easily overlooked corners behind their the Master.

Kreacher's Tea Towel had an extra dark cloth strip than usual, slung across his chest, with a dark silver ring buckle at the end, the surface of which was etched with the Black family crest.

Its eyes were wide open, and its ears were perked up, displaying a resolute and determined demeanor, ready to point its lantern at anything that shouldn't be there.

"The Master, Kreacher"

Then it saw Regulus, and almost dropped the lantern: "Young the Master— "

Kreacher's voice was high-pitched and sharp. He bent his knees, then bounced back up halfway down, his free hands twisting the Tea Towel around his neck, unsure whether to continue bowing or lunge forward.

Then he quickly hid the lantern behind his back, bent his body deeply, and his nose almost touched the floor.

"Kreacher didn't know his young the Master was back! Kreacher just now— Kreacher thought— Kreacher deserves to die— Kreacher actually pointed a weapon at his young the Master!"

Regulus chuckled, his voice regaining Regulus characteristic gentleness. "Alright, it was a misunderstanding. Just kidding with your father."

Kreacher straightened up, mouth agape, looked at Regulus, then at Orion, his large ears twitching, drooping and then bouncing back up.

The black flame in the lantern behind him was still dancing, Rune were still glowing. He held it up to his side, looked at it, and then looked up at the faces of his two the Master.

It has been with the Black family since the time of Arcturus III and has participated in more than one real defense alert, but this is the first time I've heard it associated with the word "joke."

It blinked twice, its face full of grievance, but it didn't ask; the House-elf never asked about its the Master's affairs.

Those big, watery eyes looked at Regulus, her ears flapped twice, and then slowly drooped down.

Orion's lips twitched slightly.

Regulus's voice remained gentle. "Kreacher, a cup of tea, please."

Kreacher reacted immediately, then disappeared with a snap, and reappeared less than two seconds later, holding a silver tray with a steaming cup of black tea on it.

It placed the teacup in front of Regulus and then replaced it with a hot one for Orion.

Having done all that, it stood by the table, its ears twitching slightly, and said hesitantly, "The Master, the Master's defenses on the old house just lit up; The Master wants to come and check."

Kreacher's large eyes glanced at Regulus, then quickly looked away.

Orion waved his hand. "Go tell the Master that the young the Master has returned, and to go see her later."

Kreacher bowed and was about to disappear when Regulus called out to him, "Kreacher, I haven't eaten yet."

Kreacher's ears perked up, and a look of fear flashed in his large eyes at his hungry the Master. He bowed again, deeper than before, until his nose touched the floor.

"Kreacher, get ready right away! Steak, mashed potatoes, Yorkshire Pudding, roasted tomatoes, steamed vegetables, Cream of Mushroom Soup —whatever the little the Master wants to eat, Kreacher will make it!"

Before the words were even finished, it vanished with a snap.

Orion stared at the spot where Kreacher had disappeared, took a sip of his tea, then his gaze fell on Rebles. He tilted his chin forward slightly and said, "Your outfit?"

Regulus glanced down at himself, then tugged at his loose collar, a smirk playing on his lips. "Professor McGonagall's Permanent Transfiguration."

Orion nodded.

Minerva McGonagall, a staunch supporter of Dumbledore, a core member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a master of Transfiguration, personally crafted this battle suit for Regulus.

This means that McGonagall knew that Regulus was operating outside of school under another identity and had provided substantial assistance.

In other words, Dumbledore not only acquiesced but also facilitated it.

He watched Regulus sitting in the chair, wearing those ill-fitting clothes—a sight he wouldn't normally see.

Orion's lips twitched, but he didn't say anything.

He steered the conversation back on track. "Everything's arranged in France, what are your plans?"

Regulus thought for a moment.

The simplest way is to go back to the school, tell everyone that things in France are done, and that you're back at Hogwarts. Everything will be fine then.

If Voldemort has the guts, he should go to the school and see. Dumbledore standing there, Voldemort is perfectly fine now, with his mind clear. He shouldn't have the guts to step into the Castle.

As for those Slytherin Death Eaters, he didn't believe anyone would dare get close enough to stare at him, or even speak loudly in his presence.

But that's too boring; Saiph is still far from that.

The Werewolf camp incident elicited a response, and the Skipton Castle marked another step forward.

He needs more to make the result come crashing down, to make everyone see it, but no one can figure out how he did it.

He was also curious about who Voldemort would send. He wasn't sure how much Voldemort believed after Voldemort's performance in front of Bellatrix at the Christmas Banquet.

But since then, the core of Dark Enlightenment has remained quiet in the Containment Chamber and has not caused any more trouble.

Voldemort knew what he wanted to see, but there was no need to constantly appear corrupted.

If Voldemort wants to see these things, then the people who come will have to be really capable. To be honest, I'm kind of looking forward to it.

Regulus's tone was somewhat casual. "I'll go over there and show him."

Orion didn't say much, only adding, "Be just as careful with your subordinates. Voldemort's people may not be the core Death Eaters, but there are also seasoned veterans on the periphery with sharp eyes. Their sense for Dark Arts is much stronger than that of the younger generation."

Regulus nodded, understanding his father's meaning.

Bellatrix is really just so-so. She looks strong, but she can't compare to the older generation. Voldemort has no shortage of older people around him.

But that's what makes it interesting. If we had someone like Bellatrix, it would be really boring; they couldn't even act with any passion.

After a moment of silence, Orion spoke again, his tone a little more somber than before.

"Recently, there has been a lot of news in the Pure-blood Circle. The Death Eaters are accelerating, increasing their manpower, and expanding their strongholds. Attacks have already occurred in the Southern France, and the methods are clearly carried out by the Death Eaters."

Meanwhile, the France at the Department of International Magical Cooperation are furious. Just today, Wizengamot rejected cross-border law enforcement authority, and the France won't give up. The next round of voting is already underway.

Regulus held his teacup, listening quietly.

Orion continued, his tone somewhat sarcastic. "The Dementor aren't behaving themselves either. The people the Ministry of Magic sent to patrol Azkaban said that those things aren't sitting obediently on the walls like before; some have started drifting towards the cells."

The department is still in a meeting discussing whether to increase the number of Patronus on duty. By the time they reach a decision, those things will probably have absorbed everything they needed.

Regulus nodded, showing no particular opinion.

Dementor are Voldemort's natural allies; they all wear black robes and seem to be a perfect match.

"In the Ministry of Magic, Minchum sits in the minister's seat, pretending to be deaf and dumb." Orion's words were tinged with disdain when he mentioned this minister.

"The Auror Office is Tiantian arguing with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office is piled up with a thick stack of reports on non- Dark Arts activities, each marked as pending review."

The review process dragged on for six months without completion. By the time the last few key positions were filled by Death Eaters, Minchum had no choice but to accept the situation, even if he didn't want to take sides.

He looked at Regulus, his tone growing serious. "Voldemort is almost ready; it could be as short as a year, or as long as two."

Regulus shook his head. "Maybe even shorter, less than a year, next summer at the latest."

(And there's more!)