The Wednesday after Hogsmeade weekend, at two in the morning, Regulus pushed open the dormitory door. His boots brushed lightly over the carpet. He had just returned from the Room of Requirement.
He slipped off his robe and draped it over the edge of his bed, only to realize Cuthbert and Alex were still awake.
Cuthbert was propped against his headboard, fingers tapping restlessly against the bedframe, his brows drawn tight.
Alex was curled beneath his blankets, clutching the edge so hard his knuckles had gone pale, eyes wide open in the dark.
Regulus pulled over a chair and sat down, his gaze moving between them. "What happened?"
Cuthbert stopped tapping at once and straightened up, irritation clear in his voice. "Hermes is in the Hospital Wing. We went to see him this evening. He's still unconscious."
"Madam Pomfrey wouldn't say much. Just that he needs several days of treatment. Professor Slughorn went too. When he saw Hermes, his face went dark. Said it was a Dark magic injury."
Regulus tapped a finger lightly against his knee and said nothing.
Cuthbert continued, fists clenching. "He's been drifting away from us for ages. Sneaking around at night, acting shady, who knows what he's been up to.
Getting himself into trouble isn't surprising. But he's still our dorm mate. If word gets out that someone did this to him, people will think we're easy targets."
Alex lifted his head from the blankets. His voice was soft, edged with fear, yet there was a thread of resolve beneath it. "Madam Pomfrey said the Dark magic used was… twisted."
"He was lying there, pale as paper. We asked if we could help, but she told us to wait for news."
He swallowed. "I think… we need to find out who did it. Otherwise, the next one could be us."
Regulus studied them.
Hermes was injured. Cuthbert burned with anger. Alex was afraid, but determined.
Cuthbert came from a long line of Pure-blood pride. To him, an attack on a dorm mate was an attack on their territory. His anger was instinct. What he cared about most was Slytherin's reputation, its dignity.
Alex was different. A weaker branch of the Rosier family, always cautious, always careful. Avoiding conflict was second nature. Wanting to find the culprit was less about justice and more about survival. Self-preservation outweighed anger.
Regulus knew Alex had never liked Hermes. Few people did. The boy had always carried a gloomy, unsettling air.
As for Hermes himself, the clues had already lined up in Regulus's mind.
The Mulciber family had long been known for their obsession with Dark magic. Since arriving at Hogwarts, Hermes had shown unusual fervor for it.
This term he had suddenly separated from them, wandering the castle at night more and more often. Perhaps he had received instructions from home. Perhaps a family task had reached a critical stage.
It could also be something simpler. Perhaps he had simply refused to follow Regulus's lead.
But now that Hermes had been injured by Dark magic, pride hardly mattered.
Slytherin was a complicated place. Several extreme Pure-blood cliques operated in secret, delving deep into Dark arts, excluding outsiders, fighting ruthlessly over resources.
Hermes might have stumbled onto the interests of one such group while exploring some hidden corner of the castle.
Or perhaps a family mission had triggered a trap someone else had laid.
It was even possible that a Dark magic experiment had spiraled out of control.
If someone had done this deliberately, then it was likely to push him out and claim whatever he had discovered.
Regulus looked at Cuthbert, his tone steady and precise. "Anger won't help. Hermes is unconscious. We don't even know if this was a failed Dark magic attempt or an attack."
"Professor Slughorn's reaction tells us one thing. The spell that hurt him wasn't simple. Not something an average student could control."
He turned to Alex. "Finding the culprit requires evidence. Guessing without proof will only expose our intentions and give whoever's behind this time to erase their tracks."
Cuthbert frowned. "So we just wait?"
"We go to the Hospital Wing in the morning," Regulus replied evenly. "Hermes's symptoms. Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis. There will be information in that.
For now, stay calm. Don't discuss it in the Common Room. We don't need rumors spreading and causing unnecessary trouble.
There are plenty of people in Slytherin watching our dorm. Don't hand them an opportunity."
Cuthbert opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He knew Regulus was right. Acting blindly would only make things worse.
Alex let out a small breath, his shoulders loosening. "Okay," he murmured.
Regulus lay back on his bed.
He could hear Cuthbert turning over again and again, sheets rustling. He could feel the uneven rhythm of Alex's breathing. Neither of them was truly asleep.
Both were holding something in.
This wouldn't end here.
Tomorrow morning they would see Hermes for themselves. Assess the nature of the injury. If it was man-made, then decide whether to intervene and how.
Eventually Cuthbert went still, his breathing deepening. A faint snore drifted from Alex's bed.
Regulus closed his eyes and let his awareness sink inward.
The model of Orion's four and a half stars flared to life in the depths of his mind. Bellatrix shone as a steady halo of light. Not yet fully ignited, but stable enough to provide structural support for the system.
His magic cycled with the rhythm of the stars, tempering his body, reinforcing his mind.
Outside, the Black Lake grew calm again. The green glow steadied. In the dorm, only three sets of breathing remained. Two sunk in sleep. One measured and deliberate.
He maintained his meditative state for two hours before finally allowing his consciousness to rise and surrender to sleep.
---
When Regulus woke, the dorm was still tinted in the dark green light of the lake.
Cuthbert was already up, sitting at the edge of his bed pulling on his robe faster than usual.
Alex was still lying down, eyes open, staring at the rippling reflections on the ceiling.
"What time is it?" Regulus asked, sitting up.
"Six thirty," Cuthbert said, his voice hoarse. "Visiting starts at seven."
Regulus said nothing and got dressed.
The fabric of his robe whispered softly as he fastened it. Silver buttons clicked into place. He adjusted his cuffs and slipped his wand into his inner pocket, movements unhurried.
Alex climbed out of bed more slowly, fumbling with his buttons before finally securing them.
By the time they finished washing up, the Common Room was already filling.
The magical fire in the hearth had just been lit, casting flickering orange light across the carpet. Armchairs sat at uneven angles. Empty teacups and scraps of parchment from the night before still littered the low tables.
Cuthbert reached the door, then hesitated and looked back at Regulus. "We're just going like this?"
Regulus raised a brow. "We're visiting a dorm mate. Do we need an excuse?"
"Madam Pomfrey said not to disturb him…" Alex said quietly.
"We'll stay a few minutes," Regulus replied, pushing the door open. "Clarify the situation and leave."
The Hospital Wing was on the first floor. The door was closed, carved with reliefs of healing wands and potion bottles.
Cuthbert reached for the handle, but Regulus caught his wrist lightly. "I'll do it."
He knocked three times, steady and measured.
Footsteps approached. The door opened.
Madam Pomfrey stood there, a white healer's coat pulled over her morning robes, hair neatly arranged, faint signs of exhaustion beneath her eyes.
"Mr. Black." Her gaze shifted to the others. "And Mr. Cuthbert. Mr. Rosier. It's too early. The patient needs rest."
"We'll only take a few minutes," Regulus said politely. "Hermes Mulciber is our dorm mate. We'd like to know his condition."
She studied them for several seconds, her eyes passing over each face.
"Five minutes. Keep quiet. Do not touch the patient."
They stepped inside.
The Hospital Wing smelled of disinfectant and layered potions. Curtains were drawn. Only a few enchanted lamps glowed, bathing the room in soft light.
Six beds stood in two neat rows. Only the farthest one was occupied.
White sheets.
White blankets.
Hermes lay in the center.
Regulus slowed as he approached.
Hermes looked worse than he had expected.
His face was ashen, skin stretched tight over his cheekbones. His eye sockets were hollowed. His lips were cracked and peeling.
His hair had lost its luster, lying dull and brittle against the pillow.
Though his eyes were closed, the eyeballs beneath his lids moved rapidly, as if trapped in a nightmare.
The blanket covered him to the chest. Dark blotches stained the skin along his neck and collarbone, like patches of spreading rot.
The edges of the stains blurred into the surrounding flesh.
One arm lay outside the covers. Dark gray, web-like veins crawled across it, twisting along his blood vessels.
It looked as if countless tiny serpents had coiled around his limbs. At the intersections of those lines were small ulcerated points, coated with layers of herbal salve.
Regulus stopped three steps from the bed and did not move closer.
He extended his magical senses.
Hermes's magic was faint and chaotic.
The core still functioned, but the outer layers were collapsing, his magic fractured into shards, flowing through his body without order.
And then there was the foreign magic clinging to him.