Chapter 173: Voldemort's Nothing Special [bonus]
The next ten days passed without incident. The Abyssal Whispers never resurfaced.
For Regulus, it was a rare stretch of quiet.
Three patrols a day, morning, noon, and evening, always with Freya. They'd walk the perimeter of the town, check the protective runes, confirm no unusual magical fluctuations. The rest of the time was his.
He wandered the town when the mood struck, working his way through every shop lining the cobblestone streets.
The magical materials shop carried pearl powder and seaweed extract unique to the North Sea. The owner was a taciturn old wizard who acknowledged Regulus with a nod and went back to sorting his stock.
The general store was run by a woman with more to say. She spoke English thick with accent and wanted to know where he was from, how old he was, how long he'd be staying.
Regulus answered politely and told her he was eighteen. She studied his face, shook her head, and muttered something in German he didn't catch.
Most of his hours were spent in the cottage. There was no shortage of things to practice.
The Decomposition Curse needed refinement. Switching between its two forms had to become instinctive, seamless, with no hesitation in the transition.