The Black Family's Finest

Regulus closed the door, folded Geralt's vest neatly, and placed it at the foot of the bed.

He took out a lounge robe from the closet; it was dark gray, a style typical of the Black family.

Baruk was already in bed, rubbing against the pillow. When he had enough, he stuck his spider head into the pillow's crevice, leaving only his hairy rear end sticking out.

Regulus opened the bedroom door and said, "Stay here for now, I'll come back and feed you later."

A claw emerged from the pillow crevice and clicked.

He pushed open the door and went out.

Inside the restaurant, Walburga was already seated at the table with a glass of red wine in front of him, but no Tableware was set out.

The table was laden with food, with Roast Lamb Chops arranged on Porcelain Plates, the bone end wrapped in silver foil, sizzling with oil.

Mashed potatoes piled high, Butter slowly melting on top, steaming vegetables rising from the steamer, Yorkshire Pudding fluffy and crispy, and a whole roasted salmon baked to a golden brown, its eyes gleaming milky white.

There was also a steaming bowl of Cream of Mushroom Soup, and an extra dish of braised oxtail with a thick sauce and the meat slightly falling off the bone.

Walburga stood up, opened his arms, gently hugged Regulus, and patted him on the back.

The movements were natural, unlike the time at the funeral when it took a long time to hug him, or the time before when he would just give a weak hug and then let go.

She took a half step back, placed her hand on his shoulder, looked him up and down, and said gently, "My Reggie, you've lost weight."

Regulus smiled. "No, I ate well."

He sat down at the table, picked up his knife and fork, and began to eat.

I followed Dumbledore for three weeks. We weren't hungry, and the food was good too. Every place had its own unique flavor.

But unlike home-cooked meals, Kreacher's cooking technique—the perfect heat for the Roast Lamb Chops, the perfect Butter ratio for the mashed potatoes—is consistent, and the taste is exactly what home makes.

After taking a few bites, Orion pushed open the door and sat down next to Walburga. Kreacher poured him a glass of red wine as well.

The parents sat opposite him, Orion holding a wine glass, Walburga with his hands folded on the edge of the table, watching Regulus eat alone.

After they had almost finished eating, Walburga asked, "Why are we going home?"

Regulus glanced at his father, but his father ignored him.

He looked away, swallowed the food in his mouth, and deflected the blame. "My father called me back; it's family business."

Walburga also looked at Orion, his eyes filled with a hint of resentment.

But she didn't say anything. She had kept it a secret before; she was used to being excluded from the family's affairs concerning the father and son.

Orion reluctantly accepted the offer, simply explaining, "There's been a problem with the vineyards in France; I've sent Regulus to handle it."

Walburga paused for a moment, then asked, "What just happened?"

Orion looked at Regulus, signaling him with his eyes, "You brought this on yourself, so explain it yourself."

Regulus's cheeks bulged, and he mumbled, "Just kidding with Father."

He chewed a few times and swallowed, his tone natural and intimate. "We'll have Mother see the details tomorrow morning."

Walburga's eyes lit up for a moment, a smile appeared on his lips, then disappeared, and his brows furrowed slightly.

France is so far away, it's not like Knockturn Alley where you can just take a carriage back. The English Channel separates us, the Floo Network doesn't extend into France, and the Portkey have to be registered with the Ministry of Magic in advance.

Of course she knew how formidable her son was; at the Christmas Banquet, she had witnessed him knock Bellatrix down in the rubble.

But that's a duel, a face-to-face contest. It's different outside than at home. No one will go easy on you just because you're Black. On the contrary, that surname is a target.

Regulus is only thirteen years old. No matter how powerful his Magic is, how mature can his mind be?

Those old fogies have plenty of ways to make people suffer.

She looked at Orion, but swallowed her words. The arrangements were already made; there was no point in saying anything more.

Then he turned to Regulus, a hint of worry in his eyes, and began to impart his experience.

"Once you're outside, don't believe what other people say. They're being polite to you because you're Black. If you had a different last name, they wouldn't even let you in the door."

France may look glamorous, but the France are more cunning than anyone else. When they tell you news, just listen to half of it; the other half is fabricated to trick you into revealing information.

If they praise you, it means they're preparing to have you take the fall for them; if they say they'll help you, they're already digging a pit for you.

She dumped all of this out at once, and then began to teach Regulus what she thought was right, speaking faster and faster, "Judging an ally is seeing what he gives you when you need him the least."

To judge an enemy, see what they fear. If they fear death, threaten them with their life; if they fear losing face, threaten them with their weaknesses; if they fear losing their position, threaten them with a replacement.

Make people fear you, not hate you. Hate will bring retribution, fear will not.

"Use benefits to bind people, not favors. Favors fade, but benefits don't. If you have what they want, they'll be your ally; if you don't, they'll turn on you faster than a book can read."

After saying this, Walburga looked at Regulus, who was listening attentively. After thinking for a moment, he added, "If we really run into something we can't handle, we'll use the Killing Curse."

She had seen Regulus use the Killing Curse, specifically on Bellatrix, reciting Avada Kedavra, only halfway through, but the green light was real.

Orion stood beside her, holding a wine glass and occasionally taking a sip, without interrupting Walburga. The mother and son were bonding, and he didn't say a word.

However, Regulus doesn't seem to need to use these words much.

What Walburga said is a survival rule for any thirteen-year-old wizard.

The rules of the Pure-blood Circle, the scheming of people's hearts, the entanglement of interests—that's how the outside world is.

However, Regulus was no ordinary little wizard; with his power at that level, the schemes and tricks at the tea table were indeed somewhat insignificant.

He glanced at Regulus with a mocking look in his eyes.

Regulus happened to be looking over as well, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

He nodded in agreement throughout.

Some of what her mother said was indeed true: interests, leverage, timing. She had lived most of her life within this system, from the young lady of the Black family to the Master of the Black family, and had seen more sordid things than most wizards had ever heard of in their entire lives.

But she didn't know what he had seen. She hadn't seen the Werewolf camp burned by Fiendfyre, the fishing village wiped out, or fought the Death Eaters head-on.

What she had witnessed was the backstabbing and intrigue at the tea table and the scheming between families—deadly, but dignified.

He could distinguish between sincere advice based on his mother's experience and excessive worry stemming from her lack of experience with true darkness.

There's no need to argue. The more she acts like a normal mother, the more cooperative he becomes. Having a mother in the family who constantly reminds him to be careful when he goes out is better than anything else.

As for the Killing Curse, just listen to it and forget about it. If you want to kill someone, there are plenty of ways.

He looked at Walburga and smiled, "I remember, thank you, Mother."

Walburga seemed encouraged and was about to continue when Orion coughed lightly, "Regulus is leaving early tomorrow morning, so get some rest tonight."

She frowned. "So soon?"

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she stood up, her expression softening, and said to Regulus, "I'll go prepare your things. Get some rest."

Then he turned and left.

Orion and Regulus exchanged a glance but said nothing.

Orion picked up his glass, Regulus forked a piece of roast beef, finished the last few bites, said goodnight to Orion, and went upstairs to his room.

As soon as the door opened, Baruk peeked out from under the pillow, saw him come in, and immediately jumped up, running around the bed several times.

It darted from one end of the bed to the other, then from the other to the bedside table, its eight legs moving incredibly fast.

Regulus sat down on the edge of the bed, and Baruk climbed up his arm to his shoulder, his chelicerae clicking against his ear with a crisp, urgent sound.

He glanced at it sideways, a slight smile playing on his lips, "The Dragon Meat pouch is at Hogwarts; I didn't bring it back."

Baruk's chelicerae slowly stopped, and all eight amber eyes stared at him. Then he placed his spider head on his neck and made a very soft click.

It's light and short, with the ending note dropping down, disappearing halfway down.

The little thing felt wronged.

Regulus chuckled, reached out and patted Baruk's back armor, calling out, "Kreacher."

Kreacher appeared abruptly, bowed deeply, his ear tips brushing the floor, and asked in a shrill voice, "What are your orders, young the Master?"

Regulus said, "Give Baruk a piece of Swedish Short-Snout saury, cut into strips."

Baruk immediately sprang off his neck, braced his eight legs on his shoulders, and gave Kreacher a series of clattering sounds, even swinging his front legs into the air once.

Kreacher's large eyes lingered on Baruk for a moment. It still didn't quite like the spider, but its little the Master's orders were absolute.

He bent over. "Kreacher will go prepare it right away."

It vanished with a snap.

Before long, he returned carrying a silver platter, in which dark purple strips of Dragon Meat were neatly cut and arranged in a row.

Baruk sprang onto the table, its chelicerae outstretched, and pounced to bite. Its chelicerae and mouthparts worked in perfect harmony, and blood seeped from the cut surface of the meat strip, spreading across the silver plate.

Blood stained his legs, leaving a trail of dark red footprints on the edge of the plate.

After finishing the last one, it scraped the bottom of the plate twice to make sure it was gone, then plunged into the fireplace flames with a sizzle, and the Dragon Meat juices and blood clinging to its bristles rose in a small wisp of white smoke.

It rolled over in the flames, belly up, and roasted itself until it resembled a small, dark red blanket.

Regulus quickly washed up, lay back in bed, closed his eyes, and went straight to sleep.

A family of three at the breakfast table.

Toast, soft-boiled eggs, fried bacon, a Darjeeling, a small dish of smoked salmon, a few pieces of roasted tomato, and a bowl of oatmeal.

Regulus changed into a dark black, everyday robe, while Baruk huddled comfortably in the inner pocket.

After finishing his meal, Orion picked up the newspaper, Walburga stood up. "There are a few things for you to take with you."

She took a dark velvet bag from the cabinet next to her, untied the drawstring, and laid out the contents one by one on the table.

The first item was a ring, a platinum band with a gleaming green snakeseye stone set in it.

Walburga picked up the ring, placed it in his palm, and showed it to Regulus.

"The Withering Ring emits a grayish-white light. Once it hits a person, the person will begin to dehydrate and wither from the point of impact. They won't die immediately, but will watch themselves shrivel up inch by inch."

The skin first turned gray, then the blood dried up, and finally the bones shattered on their own, but the person remained conscious until the very last moment.

She turned the ring over, revealing a Rune of tiny runes on the inside of the band. "The gemstone will darken after each use and needs to be replenished. The ring should be placed against a living thing; anything will do."

Pronounced 'Exsugere Vitam'.

She slowed down and read it syllable by syllable, "Ex-su-ge-re Vi-tam, you do it once."

Regulus blinked and looked at his mother.

Walburga looked at him intently.

Regulus repeated it after him, pronouncing it accurately.

Walburga nodded in satisfaction and placed the ring back on the tablecloth. "The gem has regained its luster, so it's full."

She didn't say what she used to recharge last night.

The ring lay quietly on the tablecloth, green light shining through the gemstone and casting a small, pale green patch on the tablecloth.

She nudged it towards Regulus, her expression extremely gentle.

The second item was a palm-sized, double-layered Dragon Hide bag, sealed tightly. She picked it up and placed it next to the ring.

"Wailing Dust, the Black family's way of cleaning up traitors. The powder they scatter will find people on its own, and if you suck it in, it will burn you through."

The screams of the Dark Lord dead will be absorbed by the powder, then exploded out again. Anyone who hears that scream will also be hit, and if one is hit, many will die.

She carefully placed the Dragon Hide down, her expression turning serious, and earnestly instructed, "Curses don't discriminate; you must first apply the Bubble-Head Charm before using it."

Regulus nodded under his mother's watchful gaze.

The third item is a gold coin, the size of Galleon, with a snake ring engraved on the front, its head and tail intertwined. The snake's body is covered with fine Ancient Latin curse Rune, and its eyes are two dark red blood spots.

Walburga picked up the gold coin, gently stroking it, and said in a slightly reminiscent tone, "It played a part in making the Black family curse famous in Europe Pure-blood Circle during the Middle Ages."

She continued, "Blood Oath Coin, once activated, allow you to state a condition; if the other party refuses, the curse will be triggered."

The cursed person's blood begins to boil, their Magic Power becomes completely out of control, and they are dried out from within by their own Magic Power until they become a charred corpse.

She placed the gold coins next to the ring, arranging the three items in a row. "The gold coins won't run out. You can just reactivate them by dripping blood each time you trigger them. Those two red dots are from the last activation."

Regulus picked up the gold coin, twirled it between his fingers, and the bloodstains on the snake's eyes appeared dark in the morning light.

"The real power of this thing isn't killing people, but rather making them know the consequences of not agreeing before they even agree to the conditions. The more specific the conditions are, the better; if they're vague, the curse's effectiveness is halved."

"With it in hand, your terms become irresistible during negotiations."

Three items were placed on the tablecloth: the green glow of the ring, the dark color of the Dragon Hide, and the blood-red of the snake's eye on the gold coin, all bathed in the morning light and the tablecloth.

Orion watched from the side, his expression somewhat complicated.

The snake-eye stone on the ring was a bright green, and he could tell at a glance that it wasn't obtained from animals.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Regulus examined the items.

The things Mother brought out were indeed ruthless; the Black family's resources were fully demonstrated in these sinister cursed creations.

A ring that can wither life, dust that kills a whole swath with a single hit, gold coins that bake people dry with their own Magic Power —each one is designed to kill.

These things, if in the hands of any ordinary wizard, would be enough to land him in Azkaban and have him die.

However, for him now, the scenarios in which these things were applicable have passed.

He has passed the stage where he needs Alchemical Item to survive; his own strength now surpasses any threat they could pose.

But he didn't refuse; his mother was unaware of this.

In her eyes, he was her thirteen-year-old son, traveling alone for the first time, and these things were the best protection she could think of.

He stood up, shoved everything into his pockets, looked at his mother, and said gratefully, "Thank you, Mother."

A smile appeared in Walbuga's eyes as he saw that Walburga had accepted them all.

Then he took out a small leather bag from the side, opened the bag, and took things out one by one.

"Several new robes, Italy blend wool, a bit thinner than the winter ones; it's already warm in the Southern France in April."

She folded the robe and placed it next to her purse, then took out two pairs of new leather shoes. "Leather from the back of Welsh Green, lined with cashmere."

Next was a small cloth bag. "Invigoration Draught, stomach soothing agent, burn ointment, blood tonic, Calming Draught. Keep these on hand when you're out and about, in case you get an upset stomach."

She took out the bottles one by one and placed them on the table for Regulus to see, then took them back and put them back in her bag.

With everything in order, Walburga nodded in satisfaction. "What were you talking about last night?"

Regulus smiled, took two steps back, and raised his wand.

A ball of silvery-white light surged from the tip of the staff and condensed into shape in mid-air above the restaurant.

The Starry Sky Kite spread its wings, its silvery-white light receding, hovering above the dining table. Its shape was clear, its feathers distinct, without radiating starlight or rippling light patterns.

Walburga's eyes widened suddenly as he stared at the circling silver-white bird for a long while before abruptly turning to Orion.

Orion's face was expressionless, but there was a faint smile at the corners of his mouth.

She turned back to stare at the bird, and after a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice trembling slightly: "Patronus of the flesh—my Reggie— "

She reached out, her fingertips touching the Silver Light, which flowed around her fingers: "You're only thirteen—"

Orion watched from the side, his expression unchanged.

He was the first person in this family to see the Starry Sky Kite.

Regulus saw his mother's expression, a smile played on his lips, and he winked.

The Starry Sky Kite suddenly flapped its wings, and starlight burst forth, with countless Light Point scattering from between its wings, illuminating the entire restaurant as a flowing galaxy.

It hovered above the dining table, the trail of its tail feathers lingering in the air, and with each flap of its wings, new Light Point were scattered.

Walburga looked up at the starlight still clearly visible in the morning light and finally recognized that this bird was not an ordinary animal.

She watched the starlight fall, landing on the tablecloth and on her body, her eyes glistening, her body trembling slightly.

Regulus looked at his mother and said goodbye triumphantly, "Goodbye, Mother."

The Starry Sky Kite folded its wings and swooped down from mid-air, its silvery-white light enveloping its entire body, merging the man and the bird into one.

The light shone brightest in the restaurant, then contracted and dissipated, the last ray of starlight landing on the tablecloth, flashing briefly before fading away.

Walburga stood there, his hand still in the position where he had tried to touch the light.

Then she slowly sat back down in her chair, her voice still trembling. "Your son is gone?"

Orion sighed.

He looked at the tear stains still clinging to his wife's eyes, then at the breakfast plates still untied on the table, and then at the spot where the Silver Light had faded.

Now it was his turn.