**September 1, 1972**
The rain stopped an hour before sunset. The heavy clouds over the Scottish Highlands tore open, allowing the last of the evening light to spill through, bathing the Hogwarts Express in a warm, bruised orange.
The outline of the mountains was faint in the twilight, a jagged horizon of dark green pine and grey stone.
A woman's voice crackled over the speakers, announcing their arrival.
Regulus closed his notebook. He slid it into the inner pocket of his robes.
The train slowed. The rhythmic *clack-clack-clack* of the wheels deepened into a grinding screech as the brakes engaged.
It was 7:00 PM exactly.
They stepped out into the night. The sky was a vast, glittering dome. There was no moon, but the stars were bright enough to illuminate the rising mist that curled around their ankles.
The air was cold and clean, carrying the distinctive scent of the Highlands—wet earth, pine resin, and the ozone tang of ancient magic.
"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!"
A booming voice cut through the chatter.
Regulus moved with the crowd toward the source. A giant of a man stood at the end of the platform, holding a lantern high. Rubeus Hagrid looked like a mountain that had decided to walk. His face was hidden behind a wild tangle of beard, but his beetle-black eyes crinkled with warmth.
"C'mon, now! Follow me! Mind yer step!"
Regulus followed the group of nervous first-years down a steep, narrow path.
It was pitch black. The path wound through dense woods, the pebbles slippery underfoot. The only light came from the lantern swaying ahead and the occasional luminescent fungus glowing on the tree trunks.
They turned a sharp corner.
The trees suddenly parted.
There was a collective intake of breath.
A vast, black lake stretched out before them, its surface smooth as obsidian, reflecting the galaxy above.
And perched atop a high cliff on the other side was the castle.
Hogwarts.
It was a forest of stone towers and turrets piercing the night sky. Warm yellow light spilled from hundreds of windows, looking like captured stars. It glowed softly, ancient and solemn, a fortress of secrets waiting to be unlocked.
Regulus stood by the water's edge, looking up.
He had read the descriptions in *Hogwarts: A History*. He had dreamed of this moment for a decade. But reality was heavier. It was more magnificent, more terrifying, and more beautiful than any book.
*It is a dream,* he thought. *And it is where the dream begins.*
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called out, pointing to a fleet of small wooden skiffs bobbing at the water's edge.
Regulus climbed into a boat. Three other boys scrambled in after him. One was a redhead with a constellation of freckles—a Weasley, undoubtedly. Another was a dark-haired boy who looked like he might be sick, and the third was a blond adjusting his collar nervously.
"Forward!" Hagrid shouted from his own boat.
The fleet moved all at once, gliding across the glass-smooth water without oars or sails.
Regulus looked down into the depths. The water was pitch black. Something large moved beneath them, a shadow darker than the dark. A dorsal fin broke the surface for a second, gleaming wetly in the starlight, before submerging.
"The Giant Squid," the Weasley boy whispered, his voice trembling with delighted terror. "My brother says it eats first-years."
The boat rocked. The dark-haired boy gripped the gunwales, his knuckles white.
Regulus sat perfectly still. He watched the reflection of the stars in the water, distorted by the ripples of their passage.
He looked up at the castle looming closer.
Through the high windows of the Great Hall, he could imagine the scene inside. Four long tables laden with gold plates. The enchanted ceiling. The staff table where Dumbledore sat like a king.
And the stool. The hat. The song.
The boats crunched against the pebbles of a subterranean harbor. They clambered out, climbing a flight of stone steps to a massive oak front door.
Hogwarts.
Hagrid raised a fist the size of a ham and knocked three times. *BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.*
The door swung open.
Professor McGonagall stood there. She wore emerald-green robes, and her hair was pulled back into a severe bun. Her expression was serious, the look of a woman who tolerated no nonsense.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. Her voice was crisp and clear, carrying effortlessly over the heads of the nervous children. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses..."
Regulus listened with half an ear as she explained the House system, points, and the House Cup. His gaze drifted past her, through the open doors behind her.
He could see the Great Hall. Thousands of floating candles hovered in mid-air. The four long tables were filled with students, a sea of black robes punctuated by splashes of color.
Scarlet and gold. Yellow and black. Blue and bronze. Green and silver.
He saw the staff table. Dumbledore sat in the center, radiant in purple robes, his eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. Slughorn, looking remarkably like a walrus in velvet, was chatting animatedly. Flitwick sat on a stack of books.
Regulus scanned the tables.
The Slytherins sat with practiced poise, backs straight, expressions guarded.
The Gryffindors were louder. James Potter sat near the front, craning his neck to see the new arrivals. Beside him sat Sirius.
Sirius wasn't looking at the door. He was talking to Remus, deliberately avoiding watching his brother walk in.
"Form a line," McGonagall commanded. "And follow me."
Regulus smoothed his robes. He stood in the middle of the line, sandwiched between a girl who was sniffing quietly and a boy who was vibrating with anxiety.
They marched into the Great Hall.
Hundreds of faces turned to watch them. The whispers started immediately, rising like a tide. Regulus felt the weight of their scrutiny—curiosity, judgment, expectation.
He walked calmly, eyes fixed straight ahead.
They stopped before the High Table. On a three-legged stool sat the Sorting Hat. It was patched, frayed, and extremely dirty.
A rip near the brim opened like a mouth.
It began to sing.
The song was ancient and rusty, a ballad of unity and division. Regulus tuned it out. His mind drifted back to the train ride. The look on James's face. The silence of Sirius.
*We are here now,* he thought. *No turning back.*
The song ended. The hall erupted in applause. McGonagall unrolled a scroll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."
"Abbott, Alice!"
A girl stumbled forward. The hat dropped over her eyes. A pause.
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
Cheers from the right.
One by one, the names were called. The line dwindled.
"Black, Regulus!"
The whispers intensified instantly. The Hall seemed to lean in. Everyone knew the name. Everyone knew his brother had broken a five-century tradition just last year.
*Where will the spare go?* they wondered.
Regulus walked forward. His steps were measured. He sat on the stool.
McGonagall dropped the hat over his head. Darkness swallowed the Hall.
*"Hmm,"* a small voice whispered in his ear. *"Another Black. Interesting. Very interesting."*
Regulus waited.
*"You have a sharp mind,"* the Hat murmured. *"Intellect... yes, plenty of that. Ravenclaw would suit you well. You seek knowledge."*
*"But... I see ambition. Not for glory. Not for power in the traditional sense. You are looking further. You are looking... up."*
*"You have courage, too. A quiet kind of courage. But your path... your path requires resources. It requires a foundation."*
*"Better be..."*
"SLYTHERIN!"
The shout echoed through the silence.
The green and silver table erupted in applause. Rabastan Lestrange was clapping loudly. Avery and Mulciber joined in, though their eyes were calculating.
From the Gryffindor table came a smattering of boos, led by James Potter.
Sirius remained silent. He didn't clap. He didn't boo. He just stared at his plate.
Regulus took off the hat. He handed it back to McGonagall and walked to the Slytherin table.
He sat down next to Rabastan.
"Welcome home," Rabastan said, slapping him on the back.
"Thank you," Regulus said.
He shook the hands offered to him. He nodded at the upper years. He played the part.
But his mind was already elsewhere.
He looked up at the enchanted ceiling.
It was a mirror of the sky outside. The Milky Way stretched across the vast darkness, a river of diamond dust reaching into infinity.
The stars didn't care about Houses. They didn't care about blood. They just burned.
*That,* Regulus thought, *is where I belong.*