Wednesday afternoon found Regulus Black seated in the Slytherin Common Room with a book open on his lap.
The fire in the hearth burned bright, its light glinting coldly off the silver-and-green decor.
In one corner, a few second-years played wizard's chess, the sharp crack of pieces striking one another echoing through the room.
On the sofas, several seventh-years were speaking in low voices about their N.E.W.T. exams.
Regulus sat in an armchair by the window, Advanced Principles of Transfiguration resting against his knees.
He sensed someone at the entrance and looked up.
Severus Snape stood there, tall and motionless, like a shadow that had learned how to take shape.
Snape did not step inside. He remained at the doorway, his dark eyes fixed in Regulus's direction.
Their gazes met. Snape gave the faintest nod, so slight it was almost imperceptible, then turned and left.
Regulus closed his book and followed.
The corridor outside lay empty. Snape waited in the shadows at a corner, leaning against the stone wall, fingers unconsciously brushing the handle of his wand.
"Black," Snape said quietly.
"Snape."
The exchange was brief. Snape stepped out from the shadows, his eyes sweeping both ends of the corridor to ensure they were alone before he spoke again.
"The atmosphere among the upper years… it's off."
Regulus waited.
"There have been gatherings over the past few weeks," Snape continued carefully, glancing down the corridor once more. "Not official ones. Small classrooms. Empty rooms on the eighth floor. I'm half-blood, so I wouldn't normally qualify, but someone vouched for me."
He paused, as if weighing how much to reveal.
"Professor Slughorn mentioned my talent in potions. A few seventh-years know about it. They needed someone to handle certain materials, so they brought me in. In exchange, I'm allowed to sit in."
Regulus gave a small nod. That made sense.
Snape's value lay in his ability. The Pure-blood circles might be arrogant, but they were not foolish enough to waste useful talent.
"They're discussing," Snape said, lowering his voice further, "cleaning out the trash."
Trash.
Regulus repeated the word silently. He did not need clarification.
Muggle-borns.
Those deemed to have tainted magical bloodlines.
"Any concrete plans?" he asked.
"Not yet." Snape shook his head. "It's more the atmosphere. A kind of… urgency. A sense that they're meant to do something significant. The rhetoric's becoming more extreme. The attitudes more fanatical. Some mention support from their families. Others hint at the will of higher powers."
Higher powers.
Voldemort?
"Are they planning to act within Hogwarts?" Regulus asked, his tone level.
"Possibly." Snape hesitated. "Or maybe this is preparation. Shaping their attitudes. Aligning their thinking. So when they graduate and formally join, they're already properly molded."
Regulus fell silent.
He could picture it clearly.
A group of sixteen and seventeen year old Pure-blood boys, steeped in family pride and blood supremacy, stirred by Voldemort's ideology and convinced they were part of something grand.
Purifying the magical world.
Erasing impurities.
Fanaticism spread easily in closed circles. It created echo chambers where only one voice remained. We are right. We are righteous. Opposition is evil.
When an individual dissolved into a group, personal responsibility thinned.
Moral hesitation weakened.
The collective will replaced individual judgment.
And when that collective will grew extreme, people would do things they might never consider alone, not because they had suddenly turned cruel, but because they no longer felt like individuals. They were pieces of a greater cause.
A cause rooted in hatred and violence.
"Why tell me?" Regulus asked.
Snape pressed his lips together. After several seconds, he said one word.
"Evans."
Lily Evans.
Muggle-born and Gryffindor.
Would she become a target?
Not necessarily.
Not yet.
But if the atmosphere continued to harden, every Muggle-born would eventually be treated as an enemy. Words would give way to exclusion. Exclusion would escalate into sabotage. Sabotage would turn into open hostility.
Snape did not care about most Muggle-borns.
Immersed in that environment, even he might grow radical.
But he cared about Lily.
And he understood that he could not protect her alone. He needed allies, someone stronger and someone with status.
Regulus Black fit that description.
And the Christmas gift exchange had proven something else. Regulus honored his bargains and paid fairly.
"The potion formula you gave me last time was useful," Snape said, locking eyes with him as if offering justification. "And that dark spell helped me understand a few things."
He was offering goodwill. Information in exchange for knowledge and resources.
Regulus could see the tension beneath Snape's composure. He inclined his head slightly.
"I'll keep watch. If you hear more, tell me. You know the rate."
Snape's eyes flickered with brief satisfaction before settling back into their usual gloom.
"Understood."
He hesitated.
"Evans?"
Regulus regarded him calmly, his expression unreadable.
Snape waited. When no answer came at once, he seemed ready to turn away.
Then Regulus gave the slightest nod.
Barely perceptible.
For a fleeting moment, gratitude flashed across Snape's face, tinged with something like embarrassment. He said nothing further and left without another word.
Regulus remained where he was, turning over what he had learned.
Something was brewing within Slytherin. It might not yet be a concrete plan, but it was ideological preparation.
Voldemort did not merely need enforcers. He needed believers.
Hogwarts was the incubator. Slytherin the testing ground.
If Pure-blood heirs began absorbing the ideology within school walls, by the time they graduated, they would already be fully formed Death Eaters in spirit.
This kind of ideological infiltration was more dangerous than overt violence. Violence invited resistance. It exposed itself. It drew the attention of Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic.
But ideas spread quietly.
Slowly.
Like a frog in warming water.
By the time anyone noticed, an entire generation of Pure-blood wizards might have accepted that logic as natural.
---
Regulus returned to the common room.
For now, he had no intention of intervening. It was not his responsibility.
If the Pure-blood zealots wished to posture and whisper, that was their affair, so long as it did not touch him.
Still, information held value. Knowing what others intended was always better than ignorance.
He settled back into his armchair, the book open on his knees, though his eyes no longer followed the text.
During the earlier Quidditch match conflict, he had stepped forward for a reason.
That moment had been calculated. A performance.
A demonstration aimed at potential observers like Dumbledore, Voldemort and The Pure-blood families.
He had shown composure and control. The ability to steady a volatile situation.
That kind of display was not mere strength. It suggested leadership. The capacity to maintain order within chaos.
Voldemort required fighters, yes, but he also needed those who could manage fighters.
If the House of Black produced only reckless warriors, its value would be limited. But if it produced someone capable of consolidating power and stabilizing internal dynamics, that was far more significant.
The Quidditch incident had been a controlled exhibition.
What Snape described now was different.
This was not a single clash. It was long-term ideological shaping.
The older students might not act immediately, but the atmosphere would spread. It would seep into conversations, into attitudes.
Today it might be verbal exclusion. Tomorrow, subtle sabotage. Eventually, open aggression.
Regulus considered the motives.
Some of it could be spontaneous. A handful of adolescent boys intoxicated by blood supremacy rhetoric and convinced they were destined to cleanse the magical world. Self-righteousness could easily mutate into extremism.
More likely, their families were involved. Encouraging them to rehearse ideology at school, preparing them for eventual initiation into the Death Eaters.
Direct orders from Voldemort seemed unlikely at this stage. The Dark Lord would not concern himself with student squabbles. His focus would be on recruiting adult wizards and advancing broader operations.
Still, the ideology spreading among these students almost certainly traced back to him, passed down through Death Eater families to the next generation.
Regulus chose observation.
He was no savior. He had no obligation to shield every Muggle-born, so long as the conflict did not spill into his own affairs.
As for Lily Evans…
He shook his head faintly.
The greatest harm she would suffer at Hogwarts might come from you calling her Mudblood yourself, Snape.
---
Room of Requirement.
Training chamber.
Regulus stood in the center of the room, a silver Sickle balanced on his palm.
"Space Warp."
His perception expanded. The structure of space revealed itself in a web-like pattern within his mind. The Sickle's node stood out, clear and distinct.
He focused. Magic flowed along the subtle grain of space, extending, guiding.
The coin vanished.
It reappeared three meters away on the wooden floor.
Regulus walked over to examine the result.
The landing point had deviated about forty centimeters from his intended target.
An improvement. Last time, the error had been fifty.
The Sickle's surface felt warm to the touch, a residual heat from spatial friction.
There was progress.
The distance had increased. The margin of error had decreased. The magical cost had not fallen, but control had grown more refined.
He picked up the coin and slipped it back into his pocket.
His family was wealthy, but that did not mean he should waste money.
---
Today's and tomorrow's bonus chapters will be uploaded together. Sorry for the delay!