Chapter 36: Tricking a Child
Sleep after Star track Guided Meditation worked wonders.
It felt like sinking into a quiet body of water woven from starlight, where the soul was nourished and tightened into something steadier, and fatigue was flattened out without a sound.
When Regulus woke, his mind was clear. His limbs carried a grounded strength, as if someone had reinforced every joint and tendon while he slept. Even his breathing felt different. With every inhale and exhale, magic moved through him more smoothly, less like something that had to be dragged into place and more like something that obeyed.
It was intoxicating, this kind of progress, the sort you could taste in every moment.
Regulus understood what it was.
This was the early stage, the period of rapid adaptation after his body and mind were placed under systematic pressure for the first time. Like dry earth taking its first real rain, everything absorbed greedily and instantly.
He was not foolish enough to believe it would last forever.
Body and soul both had limits. Once the first layer of potential was drawn out and the foundation stabilised, growth would slow. It would taper, then crawl, then slam into a wall.
After that, if he wanted more, it would require something essential, a transformation, or a sharper method.
But that was later.
For now, he advanced step by step, and he allowed himself to enjoy the accumulation.
On Wednesday afternoon, straight after Charms, Regulus gathered his books and turned towards the Library.
Before he could take more than a few steps, Avery Cuthbert called his name.
"Regulus."
Avery's voice lacked its usual casual arrogance.
"Can we talk back in the dormitory? It is about something."
Regulus glanced at him, then nodded.
"Alright."
Back in the Slytherin dormitory, Alex and Hermes were absent. Avery shut the door behind them. For once, he looked serious in a way that did not suit his age, with an awkwardness threaded through it, as if he had rehearsed these words and hated every second of it.
He cleared his throat.
"My father wrote to me last night."
Regulus did not respond. He only listened, already understanding the shape of what was coming.
Avery hesitated, searching for the right order, then blurted everything out as if speed would make it easier.
"He said the atmosphere in the Ministry of Magic has been subtle lately, and a lot of the ancient families are adjusting their stance."
He swallowed, then kept going.
"He heard about what happened at Hogwarts. About your exchange with Travers, that fifth year."
Avery's face tightened around the name, as if he still felt the sting of watching a senior get humiliated by a first year.
"He thinks that with an heir like you, the House of Black might play a bigger role in what is coming."
Then he forced the final piece out.
"He wants me to keep a good relationship with you."
The phrasing was stiff, but the meaning was clear.
The Cuthbert family was old, Pure blood, and its current patriarch held a position inside the Ministry. Such people had a talent for sensing shifts before they became visible to everyone else. Regulus's strength and potential had travelled quickly, carried by letters and gossip and the instincts of families that measured value like coin.
They were re evaluating the Blacks.
And they were reaching for the next generation as a convenient thread to tie.
Regulus gave nothing away.
Avery watched him, tense, as though he expected judgement.
He was already convinced, not by politics, but by reality. The difference in strength had been undeniable. His father's instruction merely gave him permission to do what he had already begun to want.
An eleven year old did not truly understand alliances, investments, or the cold arithmetic of family networks.
His thoughts were simpler.
Regulus was strong.
Standing beside him would not be wrong.
And it would not be humiliating.
Regulus studied Avery's expression, that tangled mix of family duty, personal conviction, and a young boy's stubborn pride that refused to kneel too obviously.
Even with elite Pure blood education, a child was still a child.
He chose his words accordingly.
"Avery. We live in the same dormitory. We attend the same classes. We are already companions."
Avery blinked, as if he had expected something harsher.
"If you want to maintain a good relationship with me," Regulus continued evenly, "that is fine."
Then his tone sharpened, not unkindly, but with an edge of adult seriousness.
"But there are things I need to make clear first."
Avery's back straightened by instinct. It was the same posture he used when his father spoke in that quiet voice that meant an argument had become a lesson.
Regulus's presence did that to him. Not because of age, but because of certainty.
"First. Strength is fundamental."
Regulus did not raise his voice, and yet the words felt heavier than any shout.
"The glory of our family names gives us a starting point. But true pride should be built on the strength we possess ourselves, not on a surname."
Avery's eyes lit with agreement. He wanted that, desperately. Not borrowed importance, but something that was his.
"Second. Learn to observe and think."
Regulus's gaze did not waver.
"Slytherin is full of clever people. Too often their cleverness is spent on the wrong targets. Look further ahead."
Avery did not fully understand the warning, but he nodded hard anyway, as if nodding could turn confusion into understanding.
"Third," Regulus said, and the calm in his eyes made the line feel like a boundary drawn in ink, "keep to the most basic bottom line. At least in front of me."
Avery answered immediately.
"I understand. I will."
And he meant it.
He also felt something loosening in his chest. Regulus was not treating him like a servant who needed orders. This felt more like an agreement.
That mattered to a boy who had never been taught how to be anything except a young master.
Seeing the conversation settle, Avery relaxed a fraction. His voice dropped, and he tilted his chin towards Hermes's bed, where the curtains were drawn tight.
"Regulus, do you not think Mulciber is… strange?"
He hesitated.
"He disappears at night sometimes. And when he comes back, he smells odd. Last time, in that duel, he even used that…"
Regulus followed the gesture to the closed curtains and answered quietly.
"Avery. Everyone has secrets."
His tone was not indulgent. It was practical.
"Basic decency is giving a degree of privacy and respect, unless they reveal it themselves, or they cause real harm."
Then he shifted, not contradicting Avery's instincts, but refining them.
"However, it is sensible to keep some attention on him."
Regulus's eyes stayed on the curtains as he spoke.
"His behaviour is abnormal. It could be a less common field of magic, or something curse related. He may have his own purpose for being at Hogwarts."
He looked back at Avery.
"We do not need to pry. We simply keep limited watch, so we do not stumble into trouble that is not ours."
Avery nodded, thinking.
To him, Mulciber was simply a Dark Arts enthusiast with unpleasant habits. He did not see anything more yet.
Regulus, however, was already weighing the shape of the problem differently.
Hermes Mulciber was gloomy, dangerous, and uncommonly informed. He had knowledge that did not belong to ordinary first years, and he moved like someone who had an objective.
Treating him as nothing more than a roommate to watch warily would be wasteful.
He could become useful.
An executor, perhaps, if controlled, or at least a stable counterpart, bound by interest or deterrence.
Deterrence was already forming. Regulus had made sure of that.
What remained was interest.
Avery was easy. A display of strength and insight could guide him, and a promise of shared advancement could keep him close.
Hermes would require something harder. Stronger pressure, sharper boundaries, and a trade that made cooperation worth his time.
In the same dormitory, privacy was a delicate fiction when absolute power existed.
Regulus had no intention of rummaging through every detail of Hermes's life, but he needed to know the boy's bottom line and his needs, so that when the moment came, he could extend an offer that could not be dismissed.
The conversation drifted naturally to Alex Rosier.
Avery's lip curled.
"Rosier is too soft. Cowardly. His talent is mediocre."
The contempt came easily.
"In our dormitory, he is… out of place."
Even after Regulus's earlier guidance, Avery's arrogance remained. He still looked down on Alex, who came from a lesser branch of an old family and carried a gentle, slow temperament that did not match Slytherin's preferred mask.
Regulus understood that lecturing Avery directly would only harden him into stubbornness.
So he approached from a different angle.
"Avery," he asked, "if you want to accomplish something that requires many people, protecting family honour, achieving a certain goal, is it better to have more people around you, or fewer?"
Avery answered at once.
"More. Obviously."
"Good," Regulus said. "Then consider this."
"Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. Alex might not excel in duelling. But he is meticulous and patient."
Regulus did not embellish. He only listed what was true.
"His Potions and Herbology notes are always the most complete. His grasp of basic theory is solid."
Then he added the point Avery could not ignore.
"And he is a Rosier. Even if he is a branch, the name still represents a connection, an attitude, and a piece of influence."
Avery's expression shifted, reluctant thought pushing against prejudice.
Regulus continued, pressing the lesson into place.
"Power takes many forms. Combat is one form. Reliable information is another. Logistics and consistency are another."
He held Avery's gaze.
"Even someone choosing not to stand against you is a form of power."
The words landed harder than a reprimand.
"Pushing away a potential asset because of dislike is not wisdom. It is waste."
Regulus was showing Avery a kind of pragmatism that sat beyond an eleven year old's instincts.
Avery did not grasp every nuance, but he could not deny the logic.