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The heavy cumulonimbus clouds covering the night sky were blown eastward by a biting Scottish wind. Clear, piercing starlight poured down through the greenhouse's enormous Alchemic glass ceiling, casting a layer of hazy, silver-blue glow over the pulsing magical plants of varying heights.
Deep within the humid greenhouse, seated in front of a magical fireplace emitting a steady orange-red firelight, Regulus adjusted the strap of his headlamp. He aimed the focused beam of light at the small, tough leather case resting in his hand and began to meticulously carve complex, profound spatial runes into the hide using a sharp silver stylus.
Several identical cases were piled carelessly at his boots—all of them failed experimental materials from previous nights.
Recently, he had been attempting a rather tricky, advanced Alchemy project: constructing an artificial environment suitable for living creatures inside a portable case that had been subjected to a heavy Undetectable Extension Charm.
And the master giving him tactical guidance was none other than the owner of the greenhouse, Professor Sprout. She had even graciously lent him her private, heavily warded Alchemic workbench.
Yes, this unassuming, dirt-smudged Herbology Professor was a hidden Alchemy master. All the magical devices, big and small, operating in the greenhouse, including the extremely transparent, weather-resistant Alchemic glass panels and the self-regulating magic fireplace, were her personal masterpieces.
According to Professor Sprout, researching and cultivating rare magical creatures and flora was extremely expensive. Only by mastering certain niche magic item crafting techniques could she barely maintain a balance between her departmental income and expenditure.
But Regulus, analyzing her spending with his CEO mindset, felt that given Professor Sprout's lavish style when purchasing premium teaching plants, it was probably not just a simple matter of barely balancing the books. She was running a highly profitable side business.
In fact, creating stable spatial cases capable of housing living creatures was incredibly difficult.
For example, the kind of legendary multi-compartment trunk that could imprison Alastor Moody for an entire school year—even Uncle Alphard only possessed a partial understanding of its intricate crafting method. It was clearly the work of a seasoned Alchemy master. As for Newt Scamander's famous suitcase, which could honestly be classified as a divine artifact, its spatial engineering was even more beyond his current reach.
Although Regulus's current tactical goal sounded quite simple—putting a hundred or so angry roosters into the case for a boss raid—flawlessly achieving this operation was far from easy. A single misdrawn rune could collapse the pocket dimension and crush the poultry.
Despite this, Regulus, who had failed repeatedly, remained enthusiastic and full of unshakeable confidence.
Confidence only when successful is false confidence. True confidence comes from being able to stand up and fight again after repeated failures.
Even more importantly, besides transporting livestock, his gamer mind had generated a much bolder goal—an idea inspired by Barty Crouch Jr.'s future.
If he could forge a portable "Azkaban"—a deployable prison for capturing dark wizards—wouldn't that be a fantastic tactical advantage?
Heh heh...
Keep grinding!
Midway through his carving, a soft pop echoed over the hum of the plants. Creevey the house-elf, feeling sorry that Regulus always ate cold sandwiches during his R&D sessions, specially brought him a warm, steaming dinner of roasted beef and a heavy book titled A History of Modern and Contemporary Architecture at Hogwarts.
"Mr. Black," the house-elf bowed cheerfully, his large ears flapping. "Mr. Black asked me to deliver this book to you."
"Thank you, Creevey," Regulus said, accepting the hot plate and the book.
As soon as his fingers brushed the large, Dragon-hide bound volume, Regulus noticed it was firmly locked from the side by an intricate, brass Dragon-shaped lock. There wasn't even a keyhole.
The enchanted developing paper in his pocket just happened to heat up against his thigh. He pulled it out:
"Regulus, you said you're researching the Castle's pipes recently. This book is very good, the new edition of 'Hogwarts, A History' also cited it, highly recommended! — Sirius" "ps: You'll definitely like its password."
Purely out of interest and tactical necessity, Sirius and the other faction members had never stopped searching for the Castle's hidden secrets and had achieved quite a few results. Their strategy was naturally not to blindly bump around the corridors like headless flies, but to specifically inquire about old news, search for local legends, and cross-reference documents, almost like conducting a rigorous corporate audit.
He admired this thoroughness from the bottom of his heart.
After finishing his warm dinner, Regulus decided to clear his head. He picked up his hawthorn wand and began studying the brass lock on the book.
As expected, Alohomora had no effect; the spell simply bounced off the metal scales. It seemed he had to try the "password" Sirius mentioned. What kind of password would I definitely like?
"Ten points to Slytherin?" Regulus guessed dryly.
The little brass Dragon on the lock merely yawned lazily, blowing a tiny puff of metallic smoke. Regulus, amused by the artifact, suddenly had a flash of gamer inspiration.
"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."
With the string of clear Latin, the little Dragon on the lock tilted its heavy head with a sharp "click," spread its brass wings, and the closed pages fell open in response.
Hey, my brother really does understand me. Regulus chuckled softly and began to seriously flip through the yellowed parchment pages.
"What many people don't know is that Hogwarts underwent a major renovation in the eighteenth century—Wizards, in a rare imitation of Muggles, improved Hogwarts' piping system to be more intricate."
"Before that, Wizards mostly relieved themselves wherever they pleased and 'destroyed the evidence'."
Regulus wrinkled his nose. What kind of disgusting dark history of the Wizarding World is this? Pureblood arrogance at its finest.
"One student named Corvinus Gaunt made a certain contribution to the renovation—including suggesting converting a specific bathroom into a washroom."
Shush!
Even if a massive secret was buried in the most inconspicuous, mundane corner of history, it could never escape the calculating eyes of those who purposefully sought it out. Reading this specific name, Regulus couldn't help but sigh inwardly.
I wonder if Tom Riddle also sat in the library and read this exact book back then?
Just as Regulus was seriously flipping through the architectural records of the Castle's renovation, pondering the massive structure and operation of the ancient sewers, the developing paper heated up again. A line of familiar, rough, sprawling handwriting bled into the page:
"Regulus, this is Hagrid. I have to go on a long trip, maybe leaving first thing tomorrow morning. I don't know how long it will take, so I'm asking you to help me look after Fang and the hut."
What's going on, so suddenly?
Regulus stood up, quickly gathered his carving tools and the heavy book, and headed straight out into the cold drizzle, marching towards Hagrid's hut on the edge of the forest.
In the deep shadows of the night, a tall, silent figure who had been watching him through the greenhouse glass for a long time also quietly followed, his footsteps making no sound on the wet grass.
Arriving at Hagrid's hut, Regulus pushed open the heavy wooden door. He looked at the half-Giant, who wore a thick traveling coat and an expression that clearly screamed, "I'm going to do something secret, don't ask anything."
Regulus didn't waste time asking probing questions. Instead, he silently pulled out a large pile of survival supplies from his expanded pockets, laid them out on the massive wooden table to show Hagrid, and then began packing them into one of his successful prototype cases enchanted with spatial magic:
"This is dried salted fish, hard cheese, black bread, dried fruit, dark chocolate, and light beer—best for travelers to eat on the road. Magic can't create food from nothing, so take these just in case. These—"
Regulus paused, his eyes sweeping over Hagrid's massive physique to calculate the caloric intake.
"Should be enough for you to eat comfortably for two months, right?"
Hagrid stared at him, his beetle-black eyes wide and dumbfounded.
"Here are also a few bottles of Potion with clear labels. They can cure minor illnesses and infections. Make sure to keep this bezoar in your pocket at all times, in case of poisoning," Regulus instructed, his tone brisk and efficient.
"Here are also a magical fire starter, an expanded small tent, a thick thermal blanket, Alchemic healing bandages, and some gold coins—"
This kind of incredibly targeted, comprehensive wilderness survival supply pack made Albus Dumbledore, who had been secretly watching Regulus through the muddy windowpane, momentarily stunned.
And this raw surprise then slowly transformed into much more subtle, complex emotions as the old Headmaster observed the boy's genuine care.
Unaware of his audience, Regulus checked the supplies one by one, making sure everything was in perfect order. He locked the brass latches and pushed the sturdy leather case towards Hagrid, whose eyes had turned a watery, blotchy red.
"Keep these safe, Hagrid."
Looking at the young Slytherin's clear, calm grey eyes, Hagrid's lips moved slightly, trembling beneath his bushy beard. For a long moment, he couldn't speak.
"Th-this is too valuable!" Hagrid finally found his booming voice, waving his massive hand with a flushed face. "And this enchanted case—"
"It's just some basic food and supplies, it's nothing." Regulus smiled indifferently, waving off the concern. As for these semi-finished 'Caban' spatial cases, his inventory was well-stocked.
"Hagrid," Regulus said, looking calmly and firmly into the half-Giant's eyes. "I've always considered you a loyal member of our Hog Gang. No matter where you are in the world, I want you to know you have the unwavering support of your companions."
Hagrid blinked rapidly, then suddenly sniffled loudly, wiping his nose with the back of a sleeve the size of a ham.
"Worst case, you can just give the empty box back to me when you return."
Regulus smiled, his CEO persona softening into genuine warmth, and blinked.
"Have a safe trip!"