Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Regulus watched quietly, then flicked his wand again. The werewolf suddenly found it could breathe.

It gulped air greedily — lungs expanding, oxygen flooding the bloodstream, the dizziness receding.

It lay face-down, gasping like a drowning man hauled from the water, each inhale driven to its absolute limit, each exhale trembling with the aftershock of survival.

But the werewolf didn't notice: the air it was drawing in, after completing gas exchange — after the carbon dioxide was expelled — left behind residual waste in the alveoli that had begun to change.

The material was transitioning from gas to solid, from formless to physical.

Into tiny crystalline particles — edges sharp, hardness approaching quartz. Essentially the same debris from the ground moments earlier, only finer, with keener edges.

The first wave of stabbing pain arrived on the tenth breath.

The werewolf coughed violently, trying to expel the foreign bodies, but the crystals had already embedded in the alveolar walls. Every cough drove them deeper.

It felt as though its lungs had been packed with crushed glass — every breath accompanied by a tearing agony.

Regulus released his Transfiguration hold. The werewolf kept coughing. Fresh air was normal again, but the crystals already inside remained — and would stay.

Unless removed by magic or surgery, but a Knockturn Alley werewolf could obviously afford neither.

It lay prone, spitting blood-streaked saliva, the pain curling its body into a ball, both hands clawing at its chest, nails gouging into skin.

Regulus observed calmly, satisfied. This was the point of live combat — to validate theory.

The cold wizard saw the werewolf go down and blanched.

He whipped his wand, summoning a dozen black shadow-tentacles from the ground. They crawled from the darkness — surfaces covered in suckers, each sucker lined with tiny teeth.

The tentacles converged on Regulus from every angle, cutting off every evasion route.

They moved with startling speed, reaching him in a blink.

Regulus stood where he was. Left hand swept casually — the gesture as simple as brushing dust from his eyes.

Magic surged from within. His entire body became a source of light — silver-white radiance seeping through his skin, forming a gentle yet absolutely impenetrable barrier before him.

The shadow-tentacles struck the barrier and sizzled.

Every portion that touched the silver-white glow began to disintegrate — from solid to shade, from shade to nothing at all.

One after another, all dozen tentacles dissolved in under two seconds, without leaving a trace.

The cold wizard's eyes went wide. Terror — for the first time. He tried to retreat, but his legs were locked to the ground.

"That's impossi—"

His words died unfinished. Regulus Apparated and materialized directly in front of him.

He stowed his wand. Right index finger extended — its tip condensing a point of searing scarlet light, vivid in the dim alley.

The Cruciatus Curse. Regulus would never cast it with his own wand — certainly not at a living person.

Not yet, at any rate.

His fingertip reached toward the cold wizard's forehead. The scarlet light flowed from the tip, burrowed through skin and skull, and sank straight into the brain.

The cold wizard's body seized rigid.

Eyes bulged to their limits — almost out of the sockets — pupils contracted to pinpoints, irises laced with livid veins.

Every muscle in his face convulsed. Mouth wrenched sideways, left eyelid twitching wildly.

Under the skin, something like tiny waves rippled — as though countless insects crawled between flesh and bone.

He tried to scream. The vocal cords seemed utterly locked — not a sound emerged, only a faint clicking deep in the throat.

Saliva spilled from the corner of his mouth, running down his chin, darkening the front of his black robe with wet stains.

Regulus held the posture for three seconds.

Three seconds during which the full tidal agony of the Cruciatus flooded through the cold wizard's body — every nerve shrieking, every bone being ground, every cell burning.

Then Regulus withdrew his finger. The scarlet glow faded from the tip.

The cold wizard collapsed. His body jerked in spasms, limbs convulsing irregularly, fingers curling into claw-like rictus.

Drool, mucus, and tears smeared across his face. His eyes had lost focus — staring blankly at the leaden sky, pupils dilated, consciousness shattered.

Regulus looked down at his right hand.

No mark on the fingertip. Skin smooth; nails neatly trimmed. The scarlet light might as well have been a hallucination.

A textbook Cruciatus. Excellent results.

The Cruciatus was Unforgivable, certainly, but not hard to cast. Harry Potter had managed it on Bella in fifth year — how was he any less capable?

Regulus scanned the battlefield in a quick sweep.

Four hostiles — all combat-ineffective.

Start to finish, the fight had lasted under two minutes.

Regulus stood in the center of the alley. Breathing even. Robe immaculate. Not a hair out of place.

......

Orion stood in the shop doorway, hands clasped behind his back, watching in silence.

From the moment Regulus stepped out alone to the moment all four went down, he'd seen every detail.

He was satisfied. Regulus's combat performance exceeded expectations.

Magical technique polished, spell application versatile, environmental exploitation sharp, timing impeccable — and a cold-hearted decisiveness well beyond what he'd anticipated.

Yet Orion hadn't relaxed his guard. He kept his attention locked on the four downed figures — especially the cold wizard who'd taken the Cruciatus.

The Cruciatus inflicted agony, but it didn't necessarily annihilate fighting capacity.

Some wizards, with specialized training, could even counterattack while enduring it.

Complacency leading to capsize happened everywhere — especially in Knockturn Alley.

Regulus stood in the middle of the alley, studying his handiwork.

The tall wizard still struggling feebly — movements growing weaker as the barbed rope drained the bulk of his blood.

The stocky wizard cradling his severed wrist, eyes glazed, mouth muttering incoherently.

The werewolf on its knees, every breath racked by violent coughing, spittle threaded with blood.

The cold wizard splayed on the ground, body twitching at intervals, eyes aimed skyward, pupils blown.

He waited about ten seconds, then looked toward the shop doorway — toward Orion.

His father stood exactly as before: hands behind his back, no approach, no word. Just watching.

Regulus understood the message.

Combat was not the entire objective. His father also wanted to see how he handled downed enemies.

How he dealt with prisoners. How he assessed remaining threat. How he reached a verdict. These, too, were part of live combat — arguably the more important part.

Fair enough.

Regulus raised his wand again, tip aimed at the nearest body — the Cruciatus-shattered cold wizard.

He drew a deep breath and, in a clear, steady, emotionless voice, spoke the incantation: "Avada Kedavra."

Green light gathered at the wand tip.

But the instant before it could fire — with a soft crack of displaced air — Orion appeared at Regulus's side.

His right hand rose, catching Regulus's wand wrist, and pressed down.

The green bolt went wide, skimming the cold wizard's shoulder, striking the wall behind.

The point of impact turned ash-grey on contact, then blew apart.

Orion held the wrist. He turned to look at his son — eyes full of bewilderment and barely disguised shock.

'Is there something wrong with this child?'

The Killing Curse?

He didn't care where the boy had learned it — books abounded, and so did the books.

What baffled him was how Regulus could be so... decisive.

Then he saw Regulus's expression. Something faintly teasing — almost amused.

Those grey eyes glinted. The corner of his mouth curved in nearly imperceptible arc.

Orion blinked — then understood. He'd been played.

Regulus had never intended to kill with the Killing Curse. Much less with his own wand.

The casting motion, the spoken incantation, the gathering green light — all real. But performed strictly for his father's benefit.

No deeper motive. Just fun.

The Killing Curse, after all — so long as it wasn't aimed at a person, a bit of practice never hurt.

Orion released his grip. His face returned to its usual blank state, though inside he was — just a little — pleased.

His son had actually pranked him. In eleven years, this was the first time.

Regulus was too mature, too composed, too unlike a child. A fleeting glimpse of age-appropriate mischief — even expressed this way — felt, to Orion, just right.

"The Killing Curse isn't meant to be used like that." Orion kept his voice deliberately neutral.

"I know." Regulus pocketed his wand, thought a moment, then offered an explanation: "The family library has records. So does the Hogwarts Restricted Section. If you want to learn it, you can.

Besides, the spell itself isn't hard. The hard part is having the resolve to kill."