Orion: Let's have another

The midday sun shone through the high windows of the Great Hall, scorching the young wizards from Gryffindor.

After finishing their meals, the students poured out, some chatting, some playing around, all heading towards the Common Room.

Regulus didn't follow Avery and the others into the cellar. Instead, he turned at the entrance of the Great Hall and headed towards the Library.

It was the start of the semester, and the Library was nearly empty. Regulus sat down in his usual spot by the window and laid out a few Potions books.

"Bestiary Rare Potions Materials", "Principles of Unconventional Potions Recipes", "Norse Magical Plant", and "Africa Ritual Potion Traditions".

The materials Slughorn mentioned this morning—seven main ingredients and two auxiliary ingredients—we need to extract their information one by one.

He turned to the table of contents, found the relevant entry, pulled out a piece of parchment, dipped it in ink, and began to copy it.

I spent half of my lunch break picking some.

Wednesday afternoon was the History of Magic class. Professor Binns was reading aloud about the Troll Wars from the podium, while Regulus sat in the last row, his ears listening but his mind wandering.

As soon as the Dismissal Bell rang, he packed up his things and went back to the Library. He searched until just before dinner, but still couldn't find everything.

These materials are too obscure; some entries are scattered across different chapters of several books, while others only appear once in the appendix of an obscure journal. It takes a long time to copy just one entry.

After dinner, he returned. One by one, the lights in the Library came on, and the surface of the Black Lake outside the window was shrouded in darkness, with only one or two faint lights visible on the opposite hillside.

He then picked up two more books from the bookshelf: "The Handbook for Gathering Potions Materials" and "A Collection of Ancient Potions Literature".

Around eight or nine o'clock, six books were piled on the table, their parchment pages densely covered with entries. Finally, I found them all.

The origin, collection conditions, activity window, and preservation method of each of the nine materials are all summarized above.

He looked down and checked it once, then put down the quill pen.

The Black family will not brand themselves with the Dark Mark; this was decided long ago.

Voldemort probably won't touch him right now. The Black family holds too high a position in the Pure-blood Faction. Marking him would be like pushing the Black family towards Dumbledore's side, and would also invite Dumbledore's intervention.

Voldemort wouldn't do that, at least not right now. He doesn't need this drug to protect himself from anything.

He collected these materials because they were rare, and with the opportunity presented to him, he decided to make them.

Once you've made it, keep it. No matter who uses it or when, it's an important asset.

He took out his wand and touched the paper with the tip.

A thin ray of golden light emerged from the tip of the staff, and the parchment floated into the air, beginning to fold in half, then in half again, growing smaller and smaller with each fold.

It shrank to the Light Point of a thumb, hovered half an inch above the table, slowly rotated twice, and then disappeared with a snap.

The Family Bloodline Beacon has been sent out.

Regulus put away his wand and glanced out the window.

My face was vaguely reflected in the glass, along with the lights in the Library and the dark sky outside.

At this hour, Father should be in his Study dealing with Wizengamot's documents, the Black family business, or those never-ending letters.

You can't be lying in bed in the dark and suddenly a Light Point hits your face and startles you.

My father is getting old; he shouldn't be frightened too much.

He gave a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

The letter clearly stated that Slughorn had given him something— Potions related to the soul, capable of blocking the Dark Mark.

Slughorn may or may not know that Voldemort wanted to see him at Christmas.

There are nine kinds of materials, which can be found all over the world. It will take the Black family's resources and connections to collect them. The plaster will remain with us for now.

He sat for a moment, then stood up, stacked the six books neatly, carried them back to Madam Pince, walked out of the Library, and headed towards the cellar.

Go in that direction.

Master bedroom on the second floor of 12 Grimmauld Place.

The curtains were drawn, and the fire in the fireplace glowed a dark red.

Normally the flames are green, but today, for some reason, they're reddish, and the flames are dancing quite happily in the furnace, casting a soft glow over the whole room.

A candlestick was lit by the bedside, its flame flickering gently inside the glass shade.

Walburga leaned against the headboard, wearing a dark green velvet robe with the collar loosely open and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

Her hair was loose over her shoulders, with a few strands hanging down her neck. The fabric of her robe clung to her body, revealing glimpses of her waist.

His forearms were draped over a thin blanket, his skin glowing white in the firelight, without a single fine line visible.

The light slid down the curve of the neck and shoulders, landing on the collarbone and casting a small, light shadow.

Orion lay beside her, against the other pillow, shirtless, with a thin blanket draped over his waist.

He's 45 years old, but he's in good shape; you can vaguely see muscle definition in his shoulders and chest.

The couple had just finished showering; their bodies were dry and refreshed, their hair tousled. The house was quiet, with the fire in the fireplace crackling occasionally.

A loud cracking sound.

Walburga leaned closer to Orion, placing a hand on his forearm and tracing a line with his fingers.

Orion glanced at her sideways, a slight smile playing on his lips.

The family has been harmonious these days.

After Walburga changed, he softened considerably, and even the atmosphere in Grimmauld Place was different from before.

Sirius was no longer famous, the house was missing a big son, Regulus had started school, and the whole house became quiet.

With fewer things to do at home, I had more energy to devote to other things.

When life is harmonious, the family is harmonious, the relationship between husband and wife is harmonious, and their sex life will also be harmonious.

Orion lifted the hand that had been resting on her stomach and placed it on Walburga's shoulder, her fingers sliding down her shoulder.

Walburga leaned closer to him, his shoulder against his arm, the collar of his robe tilting slightly to one side.

The fire in the fireplace flickered, and the flame on the candlestick wavered as well.

Walburga moved his hand from his forearm to his chest, tapped it lightly with his fingertips, and then slid it down.

The atmosphere was perfect.

Just then, a thumb-sized Light Point appeared out of thin air half a foot in front of Orion, hovered there, spun twice, and then unfolded into a letter with a snap.

The Twin Stars and Sirius on the cover lit up briefly, then went dark again.

Orion stopped moving, and Walburga stopped too, his hand hanging in mid-air from O'Brien's chest.

Her gaze shifted from Orion's face, glanced briefly at the letter, then returned to the candlestick on the bedside table.

Orion recognized it—the Bloodline Beacon, sent by Regulus. He picked up the letter, glanced at it, and froze.

The letter was short, just a few lines. He read it twice, his gaze lingering on one or two lines.

Then he turned around and handed the letter to Walburga.

Walburga naturally took it, lowered his head, and began to read.

After reading it, she looked up, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Given by Slughorn?"

Orion's hand was still on her shoulder as he nodded.

Walburga's fingers gripped the edge of the letter, she glanced down at it again, and then the letter dissolved in her hand, turning into a few Light Point that drifted into the air.

She flicked her fingers, her face warmed by the firelight, a hint of doubt in her eyes. "Why would he give something like this to Reggie?"

Orion lightly pressed his finger on her shoulder, his tone casual. "Slughorn values things differently from others."

He turned his head, gray eyes meeting gray eyes. "Clearly, he values Regulus's future more than that one."

Walburga nodded in agreement; the old man's eye for detail was getting better and better, but he was still somewhat puzzled. "But something of this caliber..."

"It is unusual," Orion continued, "But given the current situation, it's not too surprising."

Walburga turned slightly toward him, the collar of his robe swaying slightly. "When will we be able to gather all these materials?"

"It's hard to say," Orion said casually. "We need to work on the Permafrost Layer in the next two weeks, and we need to send someone to Uagadou to negotiate first. The Volcano didn't say that it couldn't be erupted intentionally. The rest is up to the people below. We'll take it one step at a time. It will take some time, but not too long."

Walburga's brow relaxed, then furrowed again after a moment. "So Reggie didn't prepare anything before Christmas?"

Orion pulled her closer to him. "He'll have plenty of ways to handle that day."

Walburga leaned closer, propping himself up on a pillow with one hand, and lightly pinched his skin with his fingernail. "When did you find out that Reggie is going to see that the Dark Lord for Christmas?"

Orion shifted his gaze from her face to the fireplace, his voice softening. "She told me about it a couple of days ago, the day before school started."

"A couple of days ago?" Walburga rolled his eyes and patted him on the shoulder. "He didn't tell me again."

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry. Regulus knows what he's doing."

Walburga snorted, lowered himself back down, rested his head on Orion's shoulder, and stared at the ceiling.

After a moment, she turned her head again. "Slughorn, can he be trusted?"

Orion turned his gaze back from the fireplace, thought for a moment, and said, "The fact that he's bringing something like this to Regulus at this time means he's thought things through."

Walburga nodded in agreement, then asked, "Are you sure?"

Orion looked at him.

"Are you confident that you'll be meeting that the Dark Lord at Christmas, Reggie?"

Orion looked at her for a moment, then said calmly, "Don't worry."

Before the worry in Walburga's eyes had completely dissipated, Orion's mind had already begun to wander to other things.

Horace Slughorn, Slytherin Head of House, UK's most renowned Potions Master, and head of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

In terms of family size, the Black family is larger than the Slughorn family, but in terms of personal social status, reputation, prestige, and connections, he knows in his heart that the Slughorn is superior to him.

This man has been operating in the UK Wizarding World for most of his life, with connections everywhere. Nobody knows who he can contact.

His students are scattered across the country, his collection could fill several Gringotts vaults, and he has attended more parties and banquets than any Pureblood families.

He has now chosen to cooperate with Regulus.

This level of cooperation, given the current situation and specifically targeting Voldemort, is practically strategic.

Walburga's voice rang out again. "So what are your plans? Once all the ingredients are gathered, who will cook them? Will he have to do it himself?"

Orion muttered, "We'll see."

My mind wandered, and my thoughts took a turn, leading me to Sirius.

Having raised Sirius for so many years, I still don't experience the joys of raising a son. That kid has been going against me ever since he could walk.

He left Gryffindor, went against his family, and was eventually expelled, going to the other side.

This was arranged by the family; he and Regulus made the arrangements together, but if there's any regret, it's a little bit.

If Sirius himself were willing to accept this arrangement and shoulder the family's honor, he wouldn't have to leave. But he simply refused to leave.

"Are you even listening to me?" Walburga slapped his hand again.

"Listen up."

My thoughts took another turn, and I thought of Regulus.

This child has never caused him any trouble since he learned to walk. He learned what he was supposed to learn, practiced what he was supposed to practice, fought what he was supposed to fight, and set up what he was supposed to set up.

Now, Regulus is so independent that he makes all the decisions himself and is fully capable of handling things on his own.

There are many things he can't get involved in, such as his cooperation with Slughorn and his relationships with Dumbledore. Regulus is handling these things on his own, and the help he can offer is becoming increasingly limited.

Then I thought of Voldemort.

When he was in school, Voldemort was in the same school, in a different grade, but their student lives overlapped, and he had seen what Voldemort looked like when he was young.

That talent, that wizard who surpassed everyone else in school, he always felt was the strongest talent he had ever seen in his life.

Regulus's performance now far surpasses that of Voldemort at the same age.

But Orion was a sensible man. No matter how amazing one's performance is during their student years, it does not equal their final achievement. Even talent itself cannot determine the final outcome.

What to do next, what to encounter, and which direction to choose—these are the truly decisive factors.

Voldemort's rise to his current status was decades in the making, while Regulus's rise to true power has only occurred in the last few years.

He had confidence in Regulus, believing the kid would eventually reach that level, or even surpass it.

But that's for the future. Right now, Regulus is facing Voldemort, and the objective gap between them remains.

Then he thought of Andromeda, the news he had received a few days ago that she had given birth to a child, a natural-born Metamorphmagus.

The Black family's talent has been passed down from generation to generation, with each generation producing a few unexpected talents.

Black's bloodline is indeed significant; it shouldn't be wasted.

"Are you even sure you're in the right place?" Walburga's voice pulled him back to reality.

Orion looked up from the ceiling and at her.

Walburga pressed on, his voice growing urgent. "Tell me the truth."

Orion remained silent for a moment, a thoughtful look flashing in his eyes.

"Walburga."

Walburga propped himself up.

"Let's have another one."