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Even a wasteland of bad food could hide an oasis, and Hogwarts' dinner proved more than satisfying.
As the last plates faded away, the Slytherin seventh-year prefect, Lucretius Burke, rose from his seat and tapped a silver spoon lightly against his goblet.
"Slytherin first years, with me."
Regulus rose along with the other eleven new students, leaving the long table behind as they followed him through a side door of the Great Hall and down a long, spiraling stone staircase.
The deeper they descended, the colder the air became. The walls shifted from rough stone to smooth black marble, polished to a dull sheen, while torches burned with an eerie emerald flame that cast distorted shadows along the passage.
At last, they stopped before a bare stretch of stone wall. There was nothing on it except a single crudely carved stone serpent.
The prefect turned to face them.
"I am Lucretius Burke, seventh-year prefect." His gaze swept over every face in turn, lingering a moment longer on Regulus than on the others.
"Welcome to Slytherin. Before you enter, there are a few things you will understand."
"First, Slytherin values bloodline, ambition, and intelligence. Miss even one, and you do not belong."
"Second, loyalty matters above all else; loyalty to your own. Your dorm mates and your classmates will be your most reliable allies in the future, or your most dangerous enemies."
"Third, Slytherin does not welcome weakness. Tears and tattling will only turn you into a joke."
His eyes flicked back to Regulus once more.
"And finally, remember this. Last year's incident involving the Black family brought disgrace upon Slytherin. I hope that this year, someone will be capable of restoring that name."
The implication was barely veiled. Several first-years stole cautious glances toward Regulus.
Regulus kept his expression calm and his mouth shut. He already knew there would be a 'performance' tonight, and this was only the opening note.
The prefect turned back to the stone wall and spoke clearly, his voice firm and deliberate. "Honor!!"
The serpent's eyes flared red, and the wall slid open without a sound.
The Slytherin common room!
The room stretched out in a long rectangle, its ceiling draped with silver-green hangings that swayed faintly as if stirred by an unseen current. One entire wall was made of enchanted glass, completely transparent, revealing the depths of the Black Lake beyond.
A giant squid drifted past in slow, languid motion. Luminous jellyfish floated like pale ghosts through the dark water. The fireplace burned with green flames that crackled silently, casting an elegant glow across the room.
The furniture was crafted from dark wood trimmed with silver and upholstered in deep emerald velvet. Portraits of notable Slytherins from past generations lined the walls, their expressions severe and appraising as they looked down upon the newcomers.
Plenty of upper year students were already inside. The moment the first-years entered, every gaze turned toward them—curiosity, indifference, and open amusement mingling in the air.
Lucretius walked toward the fireplace. "You're free to move about. The first-year dormitory assignments are posted on the wall over there."
The new students swarmed toward the parchment, eager and restless. Regulus did not hurry; he remained where he was, quietly taking in the room, the eyes, the atmosphere.
Then he heard someone mentioning his name—not calling him but talking about him.
The voice came from the sofa area to the right. A group of fifth-year boys sat there, and the one speaking had black hair and a hooked nose, his lips curled in a mocking smile.
"Another Black," he said lightly. "Why didn't you go to the lions' den with the other one?"
The boys beside him laughed together, the sound pointed and unfriendly.
The common room went quiet. Upper years stopped mid conversation, younger students held their breath. No one stepped in. Everyone waited, watching to see how this newly arrived Black would react.
Regulus turned slowly to face the speaker.
"Are you talking about me?" His voice was calm, level, and unraised.
The hooked nosed boy lifted an eyebrow. "If you're Regulus Black," he said, unbothered, "then yes. I'm talking about you."
"I am. So?" Regulus met his gaze without flinching. He had known someone would jump out; in truth, he had been expecting it.
The boy stood up. He was a full head taller than Regulus, and the cuffs of his robes bore intricate silver embroidery, the crest of the Travers family woven into the fabric.
"I'm just curious," he said, strolling closer at an unhurried pace. "Is this generation of the Black family always so opinionated? Your brother chose Gryffindor. What about you?"
He stopped a few steps away, smiling thinly.
"How long are you planning to last in Slytherin? One term? Or until you find friends you find more interesting?"
His lackeys laughed again and shifted their positions, gradually boxing Regulus in.
Regulus' gray eyes rested on him, devoid of any ripple of emotion.
"Mr. Travers," he said, calmly calling out the surname, "if I remember correctly, the Travers family entered into a marriage with a Muggle merchant in the eighteenth century to salvage their nearly collapsing family business."
The room stilled.
"That incident is recorded in detail in Chapter Seven, Section Three of The Secret History of Pure Blood Families. Would you like me to remind you of the exact paragraph?"
Your pride has a stain!
The boy's face flushed red in an instant.
The murmurs around them grew louder; several upper years exchanged glances.
"What nonsense are you talking about!" His voice suddenly rose, sharp with panic and anger.
"The Secret History of Pure Blood Families," Regulus continued evenly, "by Broderick Bode. It cites surviving commercial contracts and marriage registry records from the period." His gaze did not waver. "Do you need me to recite them?"
The boy opened his mouth, then closed it again. His fist clenched, knuckles turning white.
Regulus watched him and went on, "Of course, that was the past. What matters is the present. You mentioned 'having opinions' just now."
"I don't consider having opinions a flaw. In fact, blind obedience is far more pathetic."
His eyes swept across the entire common room. Several of the boys surrounding him quickly looked away.
"Slytherin values intelligence. Intelligence means independent thinking; it means knowing what is worth pursuing, and what is beneath notice."
"My brother chose his path, and I chose mine. That is what it means to have opinions. And you…"
Regulus looked directly at the boy, his gaze calm, yet carrying a quiet pressure that settled over the space between them.
"…you chose to prove your sense of existence on a first-year's first night through cheap provocation. Is that your idea of having opinions?"
All eyes shifted from Regulus to Travers.
The boy's face went from red to white, then tinged green. His hand lunged toward the inner pocket of his robes, fingers closing around his wand.
But Regulus was faster.
His wand slid into his hand in a smooth motion, and he tapped it lightly through the air.
The space in front of the boy warped without warning. An invisible barrier snapped into existence, and at the exact moment the wand cleared the robe, it struck the unseen surface with a sharp chime, slipping from his grip and spinning upward toward the ceiling…
Then freezing in mid-air, perfectly still.
A precise interception!
With a subtle twist of his wrist, Regulus guided the wand back down. It descended slowly, as if cradled by invisible hands, steady and controlled, until it came to rest upright at the boy's feet, tip down, standing gently on the carpet.
The entire exchange was silent and elegant, devoid of anger, devoid of excess.
"If you really want a duel," Regulus said, putting his wand away, "I'd suggest you at least learn how to hold on to your wand first."
A few younger students were about to gasp when Regulus took a step forward. The lackeys exchanged looks and silently parted, giving him space.
One upper year girl was just about to speak when another caught her arm and shook her head.
"Now," Regulus said. In the common room, only his voice remained. "Pick it up."
His tone was still not loud, yet it was heard clearly by everyone.
Someone glanced toward Lucretius, but he did nothing.
Travers' face was red enough to burst, his hair practically standing on end. His body trembled, and his eyes looked ready to devour someone whole.
Regulus remained composed. Everyone else wore expressions that were harder to name.
A first-year preventing a fifth-year from even drawing his wand—everyone understood what that meant.
Strong! Not someone to provoke!
Ruthless!
The humiliation carried in that gesture was too overwhelming.
In an instant, everyone's impression of Regulus shifted, from "the Black family's disgrace" to something far more dangerous.
Regulus did not actually need a wand to accomplish all this. But he had promised Orion that he would not behave abnormally at school.
So he used one.
Travers' chest heaved violently. Just as some thought he would choose to resist, the next moment, he bent down, snatched up his wand, lowered his head, and shoved his way through the crowd, vanishing around the corner leading to the dormitories.
His followers scattered after him, not a single threat left behind.
Regulus turned and walked toward the dormitory assignment list on the wall; the first-years stepped aside instinctively, clearing a path.
This did not even qualify as a confrontation. It felt more like picking on a child, and Regulus found it dull.
The boy had been weak and foolish. Regulus knew it had been arranged deliberately, but he did not mind. In fact, he welcomed it.
The common room remained quiet until he reached the wall. Only then did whispers begin to rise again, filled mostly with stunned murmurs.
Several upper years exchanged looks.
A seventh-year girl with long dark brown hair, wearing a Rosier family brooch, leaned toward her companion and murmured, "He's interesting."
A boy from the Nott family nodded, his gaze lingering on Regulus far longer than necessary.
An arrogant upper year boy asked softly, "Did you see it clearly?"
A girl with an elegant bearing nodded in silence.
The younger students were completely frozen. A first-year girl clutched her friend's arm, voice trembling with excitement. "That just now… was that a nonverbal spell? In first-year?"
The round-faced boy beside her swallowed. "I… I think so?"
Regulus paid them no attention and found his name on the list.
First Year Dormitory A:
Regulus Black,
Avery Cuthbert,
Hermes Mulciber,
Alex Rosier.
...
...
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[CHAPTER END]