Call an Adult?

The Auror scattered around sensed the change in atmosphere, stopped what they were doing, and turned to look. Several of them had already placed their hands on their wands.

Gaston raised his right hand and made a gesture.

More than twenty wands were raised at the same time, and the closest Auror spread out, forming a loose semi-circle.

Those who were standing further away moved a few steps to the left, blocking the angle leading to the ridge, while others went around to the open space behind Regulus from the right.

A standard encirclement formation: more than twenty Auror against one teenager.

Gaston didn't raise his wand. He looked at Regulus and said in a low voice, "This is the last time. Please cooperate."

Several crisp sounds rang out in the air, and three figures appeared out of thin air a few steps behind Regulus.

Behind me on the left was a man whose face was obscured. He appeared with his body turned to the side, his right hand hanging at his side, holding a wand with the tip pointing downwards.

He positioned himself right behind Regulus's left shoulder, at an angle perfectly blocking the Auror's shot from the left.

Behind him on the right was the woman with her hair tied back, squatting down with one hand on her knee and the other holding her wand in reverse.

Directly behind was a middle-aged witch of medium height, with a pair of scissors tucked into her Orion's Belt, and her wand not in her hand.

She glanced at Gaston, then at the Auror' positions on either side, and casually took two steps to face Gaston directly.

Three more crisp sounds rang out, and three more people appeared on the outer edge.

The lean man in the olive tree landed on the left side of the wounded's quarters. The one at the ridgeline observation post was crouching on a protruding gray rock, looking down at Gaston with his wand across his knees, the tip pointed at Gaston's back.

The one in the shadow of the north wall appeared on the other side of the battlefield, the furthest away, with a view covering the entire open area.

Regulus and his family's six reserves surrounded the France Auror.

Felix walked over from the direction of the manor, stopped behind Regulus, and stood in a row with the middle-aged witch.

Gaston recognized him.

Felix Laval, a retired Auror, worked in the Auror Office for over a decade.

When Gaston met him, he was a young man not yet thirty years old, assigned to the Third Operations Group, specifically responsible for capturing Dark Wizard in the port of Marseille.

At that time, Gaston was the leader of the second group. The two groups were in different law enforcement areas and occasionally met each other during joint operations.

Laval later left and became a private security guard for the Black family.

Gaston nodded stiffly. "Laval."

Felix nodded as well. "Gaston."

Gaston shifted his gaze from Felix's face, looked around, swept it over the six people who had just appeared, and finally landed on Regulus.

It's uncertain whether this kid single-handedly took care of the dozens of people on the ground, but he definitely set off the curtain of fire overhead.

I didn't see the release process, but I did see the receiving process.

With that level of Magic and that amount of Magic Power output, if they actually fought at that distance, the outcome would be unpredictable. Moreover, the six people who came later were clearly not ordinary private bodyguards.

These people bear the same professional training marks as the Auror, but they are covered by something else.

Gaston had worked in law enforcement for nearly thirty years and could tell whether a wizard was trained in Training Ground or survived real combat.

These six people are clearly the latter.

He raised his left hand and made a downward pressing gesture. The Auror put away their wands, the tips pointing to the ground, and dispersed.

The standoff has been lifted.

Gaston looked at Regulus: "We can put the wand inspection on hold for now, but I need a reasonable explanation for the Killing Curse."

Regulus tilted his head slightly. "Regarding the Killing Curse, you can continue to examine the Magic traces at the scene."

"What spells did Delacroix's men bring in? Who placed them? Why? These are your areas of investigation; I'm only responsible for defense."

Gaston paused for a moment, then nodded.

To be honest, Regulus hadn't expected the Killing Curse to appear tonight, but upon reflection, it wasn't entirely unexpected.

The Killing Curse isn't anything extraordinary; after a few years out in the world, you can always learn a thing or two through various channels.

However, being able to chant a spell and daring to use it on a person are two different things. There are plenty of petty thugs on the streets of Muggle carrying guns, but very few actually dare to pull the trigger.

In fact, no one used the Killing Curse at first; they were tricked by Bellatrix.

Regardless, the appearance of the Killing Curse has shifted the nature of the incident from a public security matter to an international dispute.

Gaston had to do something to stabilize the situation, and the wand was a gesture to his men.

Unable to find out, they stood their ground for a while, and then both sides backed down.

As for the clerical staff, Regulus knew what they were there for.

Let the Auror come up and put pressure on them first. If they can control them, then follow their rules. If they can't, then the clerks should come out and talk.

He wasn't easily frightened.

If Gaston wants to investigate his wand, then go through the proper channels; the Black family can easily take this matter to the table at the International Confederation of Wizards.

Many people will embarrass themselves then, but he won't even get a chance to join the queue.

However, he didn't want to make a big fuss. If it did, Bellatrix's affair would be impossible to cover up, and where there's Bellatrix, there's Voldemort.

Bringing up Voldemort at this stage is pointless. Are we expecting the French Ministry of Magic to deal with Voldemort? Or is Voldemort himself coming to France to bail him out of the Auror' clutches?

In politics, it's enough to maintain a tacit understanding; I believe the France think the same way.

A woman walked over from the back of the Auror ranks.

The light blue formal robe had its collar turned up, revealing a white silk lining underneath.

She was around forty-five years old, with chestnut hair styled in a low French bun at the back of her head. She had a long face, low cheekbones, a pointed chin, delicate brow bones, and well-groomed eyebrows. Her lips were thin and she wore a layer of mauve lipstick.

Regulus glanced at her; the person in charge of the office had arrived.

She stopped beside Gaston and gave a slight bow to Regulus: "Mr. Black, I am Isabelle de Lavine, Director of the Pure-blood Affairs Office of the Department of International Magical Cooperation of the French Ministry of Magic."

Her accent was much lighter than Gaston's; her English was fluent, her tone gentle, and her eyes warm. "The France deeply regret what happened tonight. Your estate has been invaded within our jurisdiction, and we will fully cooperate in the aftermath."

Then his gaze shifted from Regulus's face to the scorched ground around them, and then back again. "Perhaps we can find a more suitable place to talk."

Regulus looked around.

The charred ground was still steaming hot ash, and the groans coming from the wounded area sounded painful. Several Auror squatted not far away, giving emergency treatment to a person who was burned through. The air was filled with the unpleasant smell of roasted meat.

He nodded, his tone calm. "It's too hot outside."

After speaking, he turned and walked towards the manor, his light gray robe swaying gently in the night breeze.

Felix caught up, walking to his right, just a half-step behind.

Isabelle glanced at Gaston, Gaston nodded and followed.

Her two attendants followed.

A young witch wearing round-framed glasses was holding a notebook and an automatic Quick-Quotes Quill, while a short, middle-aged male witch was carrying a briefcase.

The six members of the Black family remained where they were, several dozen meters away from the Auror who were still working, each staying in their own place.

Baruk shifted his position on Regulus's shoulder, his eight thin legs supporting him, his spider head pressed against Regulus's neck.

Regulus stepped into the manor's protective perimeter, a slight Magic Fluctuation passing over his skin.

The Protective Charm is still in effect, and the gaps that were torn open at the weak points are slowly being repaired.

The main door was open, and the lights were on.

The long table was wiped clean, and the vase of dried lavender that usually sat on the table was moved to the windowsill and replaced with several cups of freshly brewed coffee.

The coffee is made from Dupont's own roasted beans, a South America variety, ground quite finely. When hot water is poured over it, a layer of light golden oil floats on the surface.

He also cut half a baguette, a few pieces of Brie, and a small dish of olives, which he placed in the middle of the long table.

Regulus sat down at one end of the long table, leaned back, crossed his right leg over his left knee, and rested one hand on the edge of the table, looking quite relaxed.

Felix was to his right, Dupont was next to Felix.

Baruk leaped from Regulus's shoulder onto the table, scurrying between the coffee cups. His spider head hovered above Isabelle's cup, his eight eyes fixed on the liquid inside, his chelicerae opening and closing twice with a clicking sound.

Then Regulus reached out and lifted him up, placing him back on his shoulder. Baruk, not wanting to stay still, jumped down again, climbed up the table leg to the windowsill, and spread himself out like a small, dark red blanket.

Outside the window, the sky was being illuminated intermittently by the Auror's monitoring spell.

No one commented on the spider, even though they found several traces of spider silk on the battlefield.

Isabelle sat down at the other end of the long table, Gaston to her left, and two attendants a little further away.

The young female recorder opened a dark brown leather notebook, a quill pen hovering above it, its tip trembling slightly.

The middle-aged legal advisor placed his briefcase at his feet and pulled a thin file from it onto the table.

Isabelle picked up her coffee cup, smelled it, took a small sip, and then put the cup back on the saucer.

She looked at Regulus with sincere eyes and an earnest attitude. "Mr. Black, first of all, I must say that you are not injured tonight, which is the best news."

The estate suffered a violent invasion, a severe loss for the Black family, and the France are deeply saddened by this.

Regulus politely interrupted her, "Thank you! The Black family will bear the loss of the estate themselves; no compensation is needed from the France."

Isabelle's eyelashes twitched.

She had prepared a whole opening, first expressing regret and concern, then transitioning to the nature of the incident, and finally leading to how the matter would end.

The standard diplomatic procedure is to first express goodwill, give the other party a way out, and allow the subsequent dialogue to unfold within a relatively gentle framework.

But this thirteen-year-old child kicked away the well-intentioned offer, refusing compensation and saying he would bear the loss himself.

The message is clear: don't use goodwill as leverage; let's get straight to business.

Isabelle remained composed. "The ministry has authorized me to handle this matter entirely. We will provide all necessary assistance, including site cleanup, evacuation of the wounded, and the pursuit of the remaining members of Delacroix gang."

Regulus shook his head. "There's probably no need for a manhunt; most of them are already in your hands."

"Indeed," Isabelle nodded. "Mr. Black, considering the nature of tonight's events—more than forty intruders and the involvement of Killing Curse —this has gone beyond the scope of a regular security incident."

She raised her eyes, her deep brown eyes looking directly at Regulus: "It's also beyond what you, as the head of the estate, can handle alone."

Regulus looked over.

"What I mean is," Isabelle's tone remained gentle, "That perhaps we need to speak directly with the Patriarch of the Black family, or with Mr. Orion Mr. Black's authorized representative."

Regulus's lips twitched slightly to the side.

Just like Gaston, they put pressure on him right from the start.

Call me sir?

Do you want to call Voldemort over to sit with you for a bit?

If we're really going to talk about who's primarily responsible for this, then Voldemort must be the one.