touchnovel Chapter 326 Let Regulus Die
Chapter 326 Let Regulus Die
Chapter 326 The Dream of Regulus' Death (5.3K) (1/2)
After a long while, Lin Qi walked out of the crevice along the original path, and through the Floodway node, returned directly to the top-floor office of the Stone Tower Chamber of Commerce, located high in Diagon Alley.
The green flames of Floo Powder dissipated in the fireplace, and Lynch stepped out, patting non-existent dust off his black coat.
Outside the window, Diagon Alley was bathed in a rare, bright afternoon sun. Pedestrians thronged the cobblestone streets, and the colorful shop signs shone brightly, almost blindingly, in the light. Housewives carrying shopping baskets and shop assistants loudly soliciting customers—the cacophony was filtered through the heavy glass windows, leaving only a muffled background noise.
He took off his coat and stood quietly in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the bustling crowd. The prosperous shops, at this moment, seemed to him like a huge mural that was slowly fading and about to be replaced.
After an unknown amount of time, the office door was silently pushed open and then gently closed again.
Reggie, dressed in an inconspicuous gray robe with his face completely obscured by the shadow of his hood, walked in like a moving silhouette. He didn't speak, but went straight to the liquor cabinet by the wall, took out a crystal glass, and poured in a little less than half a glass of deep-colored Flame Whisky. Then, holding the glass, he walked to a spot a step behind Lynch and stood there, also looking down at the bustling street scene.
"Have you made the arrangements?" Lin Qi asked calmly without turning around.
"Hmm." Reggie's hoarse response was like sandpaper scraping. "Everyone has taken on their tasks. Mr. A and M are reviewing the list of core assets and personnel that can be safely transferred, and the priorities have been clarified as you requested. Ms. A is beginning to adjust the focus of oversight, shifting towards ensuring the divestiture process is seamless. K and V will be responsible for the concealment of technology and channels in their respective areas. The rest is—to implement it slowly." He took a small sip of his drink. "Ten months isn't a long time, but it's enough for us to remove the most important things, leaving behind a shell that appears intact but is hollowed out inside and targeted by many."
Lynch nodded almost imperceptibly.
After a moment of silence, he spoke again, shifting the topic to another seemingly routine direction: "How are the arrangements for the Chamber of Commerce's routine participation in this year's World Cup going?"
Reggie seemed to have anticipated the question, and his flat, hoarse voice proceeded smoothly, as if reading a standard report: "The total amount of direct and indirect contracts is estimated to exceed 170,000 Galleons. It is mainly divided into several parts:"
"First, the supply of materials. We provide 40% of the basic potion ingredients for the medical tents, some of the plant-based cleaning agents used for stadium maintenance, and the energizers procured in bulk. As for Floo Powder, the Ministry of Magic has built twelve temporary communication points for the World Cup, and all the powder is supplied exclusively by our workshop. This part has the highest profit margin, but it is also the most conspicuous."
"Secondly, business partnerships. We rented the largest multi-purpose tent at the Magic Market outside the main stadium, selling everything from commemorative binoculars for the Irish team to mascot dolls for the Bulgarian team, and of course, our own basic telescopes and portable message boards. Additionally, we launched a World Cup special edition for our news section, taking advantage of this opportunity to make it independent. We also bought out six pages of the 'Prophet's Daily' as a package deal, mainly featuring joint promotions of industries under the Chamber of Commerce."
"Thirdly—some non-public dealings." Reggie's tone softened slightly, but his wording remained precise. "The appointment letters for the two deputy directors of the Department of Magical Sports, and the special advisors to the officials from the Department of International Magical Cooperation responsible for receiving these foreign guests—were issued by a foundation affiliated with the Chamber of Commerce, with very generous salaries. Furthermore, we sponsored one-third of the top-tier viewing packages reserved for the families of Ministry of Magic officials. And some families, such as the Nott and Carol families, expressed their desire through intermediaries to obtain the best locations in the commercial district," for which we granted them exceptionally low rent reductions and complimentary access to the VIP reception hall."
After Reggie finished speaking, he downed the remaining whiskey in his glass in one gulp, the bottom of the crystal glass gently tapping against the windowsill with a soft, crisp sound.
"All arrangements comply with the Ministry of Magic's current regulations and can withstand routine scrutiny. Even if someone were to conduct an in-depth investigation, the only conclusion they could draw would be that the Stone Tower Merchant Guild hoped to expand its commercial influence through the World Cup. This provides our people with reasonable, multi-layered cover for their operations."
The sunlight outside the window began to slant westward, casting long shadows on the buildings of Diagon Alley. Lynch continued to gaze down at the street below, the place he had personally prospered, yet which was about to be strategically placed in danger.
"Very good," he finally said, his voice as soft as a sigh. "Let the 'regular' parts of this grand event proceed as planned. Let the real performers—enjoy the stage they are about to step onto."
The quiet inside continued, with only the faint noise from Diagon Alley outside the window rising and falling like the tide in the distance.
Lin Qi's gaze remained fixed on the shadows that were gradually being lengthened by the setting sun, as if he were calculating the precise scale of the alternation between light and darkness.
"The Chamber of Commerce's private room," he suddenly spoke, breaking the silence, "I remember we had a seat on the top floor?"
"Yes," Reggie replied hoarsely, like an automated magical phonograph, "Based on our long-term sponsorship agreement with the Department of Magical Sports and this additional donation, the Stone Tower Chamber of Commerce has the perpetual right to use Box No. 3 in the penthouse viewing area until the agreement expires. It's of medium size and offers a panoramic view of the entire venue."
"How many people can it accommodate?"
"Officially approved for a maximum of twelve people to sit comfortably, equipped with basic services, real-time game status magic projection, and independent access to the FlooNet connection point. In practice, it can temporarily accommodate up to fifteen people, but that will feel crowded."
Lynch nodded slightly, seemingly satisfied with the number.
He turned around: "In my personal capacity, or—using a suitable shell that's connected to the Stone Tower Merchant Guild but not directly conspicuous, I'll request a small box from the Department of Magical Sports. It doesn't have to be on the top floor, a mid-level location will do, but it needs to be relatively private and quiet, preferably near the regular spectator access for easy entry and exit." His voice was steady. "I want it."
Reggie didn't ask why, but simply nodded, the shadow of his hood shifting slightly. "Use the excuse of providing a unique family-friendly viewing experience as a thank you to the family of an important business partner. The Ministry of Magic, especially the current Director of Sport, Ludo Bagman, is incredibly greedy. Using your name directly is practically asking to be extorted."
"You can arrange it." Lin Qi nodded.
"Understood," Reggie replied hoarsely. "Small private rooms are usually for four to six people. How many seats do you need to reserve?"
He hesitated for a moment, then said, "Let's expand the scope a bit, preparing for a maximum of ten people, but we might actually need one or two fewer. The private rooms don't need to be luxurious, but basic comfort and privacy must be guaranteed."
"Do we need to arrange special security or evacuation routes?" Reggie asked, this was the real practical question he was concerned about.
Lynch shook his head. "No need. The World Cup stadium itself is the Ministry of Magic's top priority for security; on the surface, it's perfectly safe. Our people can simply be deployed throughout the stadium according to the existing plan. This box is just a place to watch the game." He paused, then added, "A place where Harry can temporarily leave the Dursleys and enjoy the game with his friends and—trustworthy adults. That's all."
"I'll arrange it." Reggie nodded again, his hoarse voice devoid of any emotion. "We should have news from Bagman within three days."
"There's one more thing," Lynch said again, turning his gaze from the window for the first time to the outline of Reggie's head, which was completely obscured by the gray robe's hood. "Sirius ran into me the other day and gave me a long rant."
Reggie's figure under his gray robe seemed unchanged, but the air in the room seemed to freeze slightly.
Lynch continued, "Specifically, it was Bagman and Fudge's idea at the Ministry of Magic—to ask him to give a short opening address before the World Cup final. As a 'war hero,' an 'innocent victim,' and a 'tragic hero,' to say a few inspiring words that demonstrate the Ministry of Magic's magnanimity and unity."
"He complained to me that the Ministry of Magic was trying to exploit my status as the 'legitimate representative of the return of an ancient family.'"
"This reminds me of something else," Lynch's voice rang out again, "about what we discussed..."
When and how do you plan to let him know that Regulus Black is not dead?
This question is like a cold stone thrown into a still pond.
Reggie Regulus Black's figure froze, as if instantly turning to solid stone. Even the faintest breath seemed to vanish in the shadow of the hood. Faint laughter drifted from Diagon Alley outside, only serving to accentuate the deathly silence inside.
Time passed slowly, second by second, almost suffocatingly.
Finally, the hoarse voice rang out again, even drier than usual: "—I have no such plans."
He paused for a long time, so long that Lynch thought he wouldn't continue.
But Reggie continued, each word seemingly squeezed from the depths of his throat, rusty and resolute: "Regulus Black is dead. Dead in the cave, dead at the hands of the Infernal, dead in his own insignificant, belated awakening. This ending—fits him perfectly. A cowardly, blindly obedient second son of the Black family, who finally did the right thing, buried at the bottom of the lake, his remains never found. This is how the story should end."
There was no sorrow in his voice, only an almost cruel calmness, as if he were recounting an ancient legend that had nothing to do with him.
"The one alive now is Reggie." A tool with no past, no face, and a broken voice. This identity—is enough. He shifted slightly, his grey robes rustling softly. "Sirius—he needs a missing brother. Someone he can hate, pity, someone he might think of on some drunken night..."
And a symbol of complex emotions was sensed. A living ghost, crawling out of the mire, yet choosing to forever hide in the shadows—this brought him no benefit.
“Recognition,” Reggie concluded hoarsely, his tone resolute, “would only bring chaos. An inexplicable past, unpredictable risks, emotional burdens—and another kind of harm that could be done to him. He’s just left Azkaban, just begun to reclaim a part of his life. Letting him believe that his brother died for the Dark Lord is the best outcome. Some wounds shouldn’t be reopened.”
Lynch listened quietly, without interrupting or trying to refute or comfort him.
He could understand everything that might be intertwined behind this resolute decision: deep guilt, a distorted protective instinct, the extreme pride of the Black family, and a complex sense of severing ties with his brother that perhaps even Regulus himself had not fully understood.
Letting Regulus die completely is an act of atonement, a farewell, and also a twisted form of liberation that he can offer Sirius, and himself.
After a long silence, Lin Qi slowly nodded.
"This is your choice, Reggie." His voice was calm and solemn. "I respect it."
He didn't say more. "Respect" means accepting the decision, not interfering forcefully, but also leaving room for possible future changes.
"—Thank you," Reggie replied hoarsely, his stiff frame seeming to relax almost imperceptibly. He didn't say anything more about the topic, instead asking, "If there are no further instructions regarding the private rooms and other arrangements, shall I go and take care of them now?"
"Go ahead," Lin Qi nodded.
Reggie turned away silently, just as he had come, his gray robe blending into the darkness outside the door as if he had never existed.
The office fell silent again, with only Lin Qi remaining. He looked out the window once more and sighed softly.
The start of summer vacation seemed no different for Harry than any other summer before—he returned to Privet Drive 4.
At the Dursleys' house, they endured Aunt Petunia's cold indifference, Uncle Vernon's disgusted grumbling, and Dudley's ubiquitous, irritatingly large body and the noise of video games.
The fire bolts were carefully hidden under the bed, and the wand was always kept close to his body; it was his only and fragile connection to the real world.
However, this summer vacation was completely different.
In his pocket were several thick letters from Ron and Hermione, detailing their plans for the famous Quidditch World Cup holiday and their visit; in his bedside table drawer was a photograph—a group photo of him with his teammates, Wood, Sirius Black who rushed down from the stands to join the celebrations, and Uncle Lynch standing by with a smile after the Quidditch final.
More importantly, he knew he was no longer alone.
He has a godfather, a powerful and reliable elder whom he can call "uncle".
But this sense of security was shattered on a sweltering, suffocating midnight.
He sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as if it would burst his ribs. The lightning-shaped scar on his forehead burned with a pain sharper and more profound than he could remember.
No, it wasn't a dream; those incredibly real fragments still flickered before his eyes: an impenetrable darkness, with only the eerie green flames leaping in the fireplace providing a strange light. A thin, blurry figure knelt on the ground, convulsing in agony. Pleading cries, distorted and twisted, filled with unimaginable terror. Then, a blinding, cold, all-consuming green light flashed. It wasn't the incantation of "Avada Kedavra," but something far more ancient…
A hoarse, hissing whisper, like a viper's tongue—followed by the sound of someone falling to the ground, and then—laughter. The laughter was high-pitched, manic, filled with twisted pleasure and pure malice, drilling into his ears and freezing his blood.
It's Voldemort.
He was killing someone. He was torturing someone and then killing him.
Harry was breathing heavily, his fingers pressing hard against the throbbing, aching scar.
Outside the window, the night was still deep and dark, and Privet Road was deathly silent.
But that laughter, that green light, and that near-death pain were so vividly imprinted on his senses.
This was no ordinary nightmare.
His scars wouldn't hurt as much as ordinary nightmares.
The last time this happened was when I first met Voldemort.
Voldemort is on the move.
Although I don't know why I dreamed about him, he was regaining his strength, and he was—killing.
Fear clung to him like cold vines, but another, stronger emotion surged up and he could not stand idly by.
Thanks to his Uncle Lynch's repeated teachings, he knew that he had to tell others, to tell the adults he could rely on.
But who should we tell?
Professor Dumbledore?
Of course, but the principal is always busy and always seems to have bigger plans.
Tell Ron and Hermione? They'll worry, but there's not much they can do.
Almost without thinking, Harry groped his way out of bed and turned on the desk lamp, the dim light dispelling a small patch of darkness.
He pulled out two pieces of parchment and the quill pen he had brought back from Hogwarts.
He wants to write a letter.
He wrote this to the person he felt was most capable of taking immediate action and who best understood the danger.
He took a deep breath and began to write: "Dear Uncle Lynch (Sirius):"
I hope this letter hasn't bothered you at an inappropriate time.
"I just had a very—real dream," and my scars hurt terribly, just like when I first met Voldemort in first grade.
I saw Voldemort, or I thought it was him.
In a very dark place, illuminated only by the green glow of a hearth fire, he was torturing a person before using a killing curse.
But the incantation I heard was different; it sounded more like the hissing of a parrot, a very ancient and evil sound. Finally, it was his terrifying laughter.
This feels awful, I'm worried. This isn't just a dream, is it? Is he regaining his power?
I think this might mean that his resurrection process has entered a new phase, or that he is completing some necessary dark step. The location details are vague, but the green magical flames could be a feature. I will try my best to recall more details if needed.
I'm telling you this because I don't know who else to tell. I hope to see you soon, or at least know what to do.
Love you, Harry.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief after writing the last word.
He carefully folded the parchment, sealed it into envelopes, and wrote down two addresses in the recipient's section: 12 Grimmauld Place and the Diagon Alley Stone Tower Chamber of Commerce headquarters. He remembered this address; Uncle Lynch should have been there during the summer vacation.
Hedwig walked to the window and quietly stayed in the cage.
He opened the cage door, and the white owl landed gracefully.
"These two letters are very important, Hedwig," Harry whispered, securing the letters firmly to her leg. "Take them to Uncle Lynch first, and if he's not here, take them to Sirius. Be careful."
Hedwig gave his hand a serious peck, then spread her snow-white wings and silently glided into the deep night sky.
Harry stood by the window until the owl's silhouette completely disappeared into the night before he went back to bed and tried to fall asleep again.
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