Regulus: I've Got Big News

On July 1, 1974, in the afternoon, Diagon Alley was packed with people.

Floo Powder's green flames billowed from the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace, bringing wave after wave of wizarding families into the entrance to Diagon Alley.

The young Wizards, just on holiday, were led by their parents and looked around curiously on the cobblestone streets.

A queue had formed outside Flourish and Blotts as employees unloaded stacks of new semester textbooks and bestselling Magic novels from boxes, the boxes piled higher than a person.

The Quality Quidditch Supplies window was crowded with young wizards, and the newly arrived Comet 270 was placed in the most conspicuous position, the mahogany grain on the Broomstick handle glistening in the sunlight.

A twelve or thirteen-year-old boy pressed his nose against the glass, muttering, "Cleansweep Seven is nothing," while a companion next to him nodded in agreement, shouting, "Comet 260 is nothing either."

Long queues formed at Madam Malkin's Robes; the peak season for taking measurements before new students enrolled had arrived.

Two nervous Muggle couple stood in front of Ollivanders. The man was wearing a suit, and the woman was carrying a handbag. They were craning their necks to look into the shop, clearly seeing this street for the first time.

Occasionally, owls would flap their wings and fly across the street from the direction of the Owl Post, casting a small, fast-moving shadow.

Gringotts ' white marble building stands at the end of Diagon Alley, the sunlight shining on the leaning white building, the marble on the exterior wall dazzlingly white under the July sun.

Regulus sat at an outdoor table in Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour, a cup of chocolate walnut ice cream in front of him, half-eaten.

This shop is located in the middle of Diagon Alley, with a few round tables set up under a sunshade. Next to it is the Gambol and Japes Wizarding Jokes, which features Pygmy Puff that can do somersaults on its own and a prank box that keeps spraying colored smoke at passersby.

The ice cream shop's sign features a giant chocolate cone with a small umbrella stuck in the cream scoop, and the umbrella rotates on its own.

He wore a dark black formal gown, similar in style to the one worn at the wedding, with subtle silver-gray patterns flowing through the folds of the fabric, and the Black family crest embroidered on the inside of his chest.

Wearing this in Diagon Alley in July, surrounded by wizards in casual clothes and robes, the quality of his formal attire stands out.

Sitting across from me was Barnabas Kaf, the senior editor of the Daily Prophet, whom I had met just a few days earlier at Malfoy's wedding.

Today I wore a bright blue vest, a bright green and gold polka dot outfit, and an orange-red tie. I replaced the tie clip with a miniature quill pen model that automatically writes, the tip of which kept drawing small circles on the tie.

Her attire was more eye-catching than the most flamboyant billboards in Diagon Alley windows. Sitting at the same small round table as Regulus in his dark suit, the visual contrast was enough to draw the attention of passersby.

Next to Kaf sat a young witch in her early twenties, with light blonde hair permed into slightly unruly curls, a thin face, thin lips, a pointed chin, and cat-eye-framed glasses.

The eyes behind the lenses were very agile, constantly shifting, looking at Regulus, then at Kaf, then at the flow of people on the street, and then back at Regulus.

Quick-Quotes Quill and a notebook are placed beside me, the nib already dipped in ink, hovering over the paper, ready to fall at any moment.

Her robe was dark red and fairly decent in style, but the fabric was ordinary and the cuffs were frayed.

Rita Skeeter, an intern at the Daily Prophet, was brought along by Kaf to run errands.

Regulus glanced at her.

Twenty years later, the most troublesome reporter in the entire UK Wizarding World stirred up public opinion in half of the Wizarding World with a Quick-Quotes Quill and a mouth that had no bottom line.

The Rita of today doesn't have the outfit she'll later sport; her glasses are a more conventional style, and her nails aren't painted the scarlet red they will later become.

There was already a raw, untamed hunger in his eyes, a yearning for information, for stories, for big events, which was nakedly displayed in his eyes.

He's still an intern, and the greed in his eyes is already beginning to take shape, but he hasn't yet developed the cunning and ruthlessness he once did; he's still too green.

However, this guy is indeed talented; in a few years, he'll become that beetle.

Regulus looked away, scooped up a spoonful of ice cream and put it in his mouth, then chewed on some walnut pieces.

Kaf was getting restless on the other side.

A few days ago, he received a letter, a private invitation from the heir of the Black family. The letter was brief, with only one line on the paper.

On the afternoon of July 1st, something noteworthy happened at the Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour.

The article about the last Christmas Banquet was suppressed by his superiors, and he's still resentful about it. Young Black personally invited him out, and the information behind this made his nose itch with news for three days and kept him up at night.

So he came, bringing Rita, the intern, with him.

He's been sitting here for almost half an hour now, the Black family kid has been eating ice cream the whole time.

Why hasn't the ice cream melted into water after half an hour on such a hot day?

Damn Magic.

"Tell me," Kaf leaned forward, his voice quick and urgent, "What news is it? You didn't write anything in this letter, just a time and place. What's the difference between this and sending me a riddle card?"

"Mr. Kaf, your new vest is nice." Regulus took another bite of ice cream, chewing it slowly in his mouth, not in a hurry at all.

Kaf glanced down at his bright blue vest, then at Regulus's obviously oversized formal gown, and suspected the guy might be showing off.

He took a deep breath and forced a smile, "Thank you, where's the news?"

"Is the fabric Italy?"

"No, no! Don't change the subject," Kaf slammed his hand on the table. "I've been thinking about this ever since I received your letter. The Heir of the Black family suddenly wrote to me without saying a word. Do you know how I've been these past few days?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow with interest. "How did you get through it?"

"I can't sleep!" Kaf's voice suddenly rose. A little girl licking ice cream at the next table turned her head and gave him a look as if he were a weirdo, then turned away again.

Rita stood to the side with a stenographer, her gaze shifting between Kaf and Regulus before finally settling on Regulus's face.

From the moment she sat down until now, she had been observing him. This Heir of the Black family was different from all the other young wizards she had ever met, and also different from the interviewees she and Kaf had run around interviewing.

Those who were being interviewed were either rushing to empty their bags or too nervous to speak, but the one in front of them, who had clearly initiated the interview, was the one jumping around in Kaf.

Kaf leaned back, his arms crossed in front of his chest, his flashy vest dazzling the eyes under the awning.

He stared at Regulus for a moment, then suddenly changed his tone, a smirk playing on his lips. "Mr. Black, do you know how many manuscripts I've had suppressed?"

Regulus raised his eyes.

"Regarding the Christmas Banquet incident last time, I wrote the article, added photos, and submitted it, but it was suppressed by the higher-ups, who said it was detrimental to the unity of the Wizarding World," Kaf said, his tone filled with long-suppressed dissatisfaction. "I've been in journalism for over a decade; I know which stories to report and which not to, but some things shouldn't be suppressed."

"So I came. You wrote the letter, and I kept the appointment," he looked at Regulus, his anxiety somewhat suppressed. "Now can you tell me?"

Regulus finished the last bite of his ice cream, wiped his mouth with a tissue, and glanced at Kaf.

Call him here, because the Daily Prophet is the most widely read print media in the UK Wizarding World.

And Diagon Alley, because in the first few days of summer vacation, Diagon Alley has the highest density of wizards in all of UK.

If you're going to do something, do it with a bang. Saiph doesn't just want the results to come, but also wants everyone to see how those results came about.

The contract was merely a formality in destroying the Rowle family; the real power behind it was his and the Black family's.

But how many people see this, how many remember it, and how many people repeatedly mention it afterward—these are what truly nourish the soul.

Experience, choices, external impact—the cycle Nicolas Flamel described: the clearer you see, the more firmly you anchor; the more firmly you anchor, the more you gain; the more you gain, the clearer you see.

The experience of wiping out one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and making the entire UK Wizarding World remember what the Black family did on the same day, would be enough to haunt his soul for a long time.

So he needed Kaf, so he chose Diagon Alley.

Regulus glanced at the crowd on the street. Diagon Alley people in early July. The cobblestone streets were crowded with people shoulder to shoulder, robes of various colors swayed in the sunlight, and noisy conversations and laughter came from all directions.

That's about it.

He stood up, straightened his cuffs, and adjusted his collar.

"Let's go, Mr. Kaf," the gray-eyed Kaf said casually, a slight smile playing on his lips, "The news is out there."

Kaf paused, then jumped up from his chair. "What? Where?"

Regulus had already started walking towards Gringotts.

Kaf quickly followed, his floral vest flashing in the crowd. Rita grabbed her notebook and quill and jogged after him.

The three people walked Diagon Alley.

Diagon Alley isn't long; it takes about fifteen minutes to walk from the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron to the white steps of Gringotts, or half an hour to walk at a slower pace.

Regulus walked at a moderate pace, passing the secondhand robe shop that the Weasley family would frequent, past the cauldron shop with its hissing smoke, and around a young wizard in the middle of the street holding a large stack of flyers, promoting a potion that guaranteed passing the Owl exam.

At the street corner, several boxes of secondhand goods were displayed in front of a small shop; the sign for Vance's Secondhand Magical Artifacts was somewhat faded.

Samuel Vance stood at the store entrance, wearing a faded yellow t-shirt, holding a rusty Magic compass in his hand, which he was wiping with his sleeve.

Standing next to him was Lina Costa, who had come to practice Magic with him during the summer vacation. Her black hair was tied in a ponytail, and she was holding a small bottle of iced Pumpkin Juice that she had just bought from a street vendor, with the straw not yet inserted.

Samuel spotted Regulus first, stopped what he was doing, and fixed his gaze on the figure in a dark black robe on the main street.

"That's—" He reached out and nudged Lina, tilting his chin slightly toward the main street.

Lina followed his gaze and saw it too. Her eyes lit up instantly, and she opened her mouth to shout.

Then she saw Regulus accompanied by a middle-aged man dressed in flamboyant clothes, and on the other side was a young witch holding a notebook.

Regulus's walking posture was no different from that at school. His steps were unhurried, his upper body swayed slightly, and his center of gravity was always firmly on a straight line, as if his head and heels were connected by an invisible axis.

But the aura he exuded was different from that at school. It was hard to put into words, but it made people feel that he was doing something that shouldn't be disturbed.

Lina and Samuel exchanged a glance, neither of them speaking nor moving forward. They simply stood by the shop window, watching the three people walk towards Gringotts.

The flow of people on the main street began to show some subtle changes.

Kaf is the senior editor of the Daily Prophet. He's not exactly unknown in the Wizarding World; at least in news and social circles, his colorful attire is a walking advertisement.

Several passing wizards recognized him, and then their gazes shifted from him to the boy beside him.

A deep black formal gown with subtle silver-gray patterns, and faint traces of the family crest on the inside of the chest.

Any discerning Pureblood Wizards could tell from the style and fabric of this robe that the person wearing it wasn't out shopping; even members of the Malfoy family wouldn't wear this to go shopping.

The Heir of the Black family, dressed in a suit and accompanied by the editor of the Daily Prophet, walked down the main street of Diagon Alley. The sight of these three together suggested something was amiss.

The first to follow were two or three middle-aged wizards. They didn't get close, but kept a distance of about ten meters, slowly following in the same direction.

Several passersby who didn't understand what was going on followed the group that was walking in the same direction.

Then came more people: some peeked out of Flourish and Blotts, some turned away from the window of Madam Malkin's Robes, and some stopped at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.

Diagon Alley is not wide, so a small group of people walking in the same direction can create a large flow of people.

The crowd began to subtly converge towards Gringotts.

A blond boy of ten and a half years old stood in front of the dressing mirror in Madam Malkin's Robes, wearing a newly made light blue robe, posing in front of the mirror.

He tilted his chin up slightly, his mouth expertly forming a fixed grin that revealed a set of perfectly white teeth, and muttered to himself in the mirror, "Perfect."

Then, through the shop window, he saw the crowd on the street suddenly begin to surge in one direction. His eyes lit up, and he lifted the hem of his robe and rushed out.

A woman's voice called out from behind, "Gilderoy! Where are you going! Slow down!"

Lockhart had already squeezed into the crowd, standing on tiptoe, only able to see the backs of the adult wizards in front of him, but he saw the back of the person in the dark black robe at the very front, and the light in his eyes grew brighter and brighter.

Who is this person? Why is everyone following him?