Even a culinary wasteland has its oases. Hogwarts's dinner was, by all standards, satisfying.
Once the meal ended, the seventh-year Slytherin Prefect, Lucretius Burke, rose from his seat and tapped his silver spoon lightly against his goblet.
"Slytherin first-years, with me."
Regulus and the other eleven new students stood and followed him away from the long table, out through a side door of the Great Hall, and down a long spiral staircase of stone.
The deeper they went, the colder the air became. The walls shifted to smooth black marble, and the torches burned with an eerie emerald flame.
They stopped before a bare stone wall. The only decoration was a roughly carved stone serpent.
The Prefect turned to face them.
"I am Lucretius Burke, seventh-year Prefect." His gaze passed over every face, lingering a moment longer on Regulus.
"Welcome to Slytherin. Before we enter, there are a few things you need to understand."
"First, Slytherin values bloodline, ambition, and intelligence. You need all three."
"Second, loyalty is paramount. Loyalty to your own. Your roommates and housemates will be your most reliable allies, or your most dangerous enemies."
"Third, Slytherin has no patience for weakness. Tears and tattling will only make you a joke."
His eyes swept back to Regulus.
"And finally, remember this. What happened with the Black family last year brought shame to Slytherin. This year, we expect someone to restore that reputation."
The implication was barely disguised. Several first-years glanced toward Regulus.
Regulus remained calm and said nothing. He already knew there would be a performance tonight.
The Prefect turned to the stone wall and said clearly, "Glory."
The stone serpent's eyes flared red. The wall slid open without a sound.
The Slytherin Common Room.
The space was long and rectangular. Silver-green drapes hung from the ceiling. One wall was made entirely of enchanted glass, revealing the depths of the Black Lake beyond.
The Giant Squid drifted past at a leisurely pace. Glowing jellyfish floated like ghosts. The fireplace burned with green flames that made no sound at all.
The furniture was dark wood trimmed with silver, upholstered in deep green velvet. Portraits of famous Slytherins from past generations lined the walls, their gazes sharp and appraising as they studied the newcomers.
Quite a few upperclassmen were already present. As the first-years entered, every conversation stopped. Curiosity, indifference, and open amusement flickered across their faces.
Lucretius stopped by the fireplace. "You're free to move about. The first-year dormitory assignments are posted on the wall over there."
The new students surged toward the parchment lists. Regulus didn't hurry. He stayed where he was, calmly taking in the room.
Then he heard his name.
Not someone calling him. Someone talking about him.
The voice came from the sofa area to the right. A group of fifth-year boys lounged there. The one speaking had black hair and a hooked nose, his smile sharp with mockery.
"Another Black. Why not just head straight to the lion's den together?"
The boys around him laughed, not kindly.
The common room fell quiet. Upperclassmen paused mid-conversation. Younger students held their breath. No one intervened. Everyone was waiting to see how this new Black would respond.
Regulus turned slowly to face the speaker.
"Are you talking about me?" His voice was calm, not raised.
The boy arched an eyebrow. "If you're Regulus Black, then yes. I am."
"I am," Regulus replied evenly. "So what do you want?"
He'd expected someone to step forward. In fact, he'd been hoping for it.
The boy stood. He was a head taller than Regulus. Fine silver embroidery marked the cuffs of his robes, the crest of the Travers family.
"I'm just curious," he said as he approached, unhurried. "Is this generation of Blacks especially independent? Your brother chose Gryffindor. What about you?"
He leaned in slightly.
"How long do you plan to last in Slytherin? A term? Or until you find more interesting friends?"
His followers laughed again, spreading out to loosely surround Regulus.
Regulus's gray eyes met his without a ripple.
"Mr. Travers," he said, using the surname deliberately. "If I remember correctly, the Travers family entered a marriage with a Muggle merchant in the eighteenth century to salvage a failing business."
He paused.
"That incident is recorded in chapter seven, section three of A Secret History of Pure-blood Families. Would you like me to remind you of the exact passage?"
Your pride has a stain.
The boy's face flushed scarlet.
The whispers around them grew louder. Several upperclassmen exchanged glances.
"What nonsense are you spouting?" the boy snapped, his voice shooting upward.
"A Secret History of Pure-blood Families, by Broderick Bode," Regulus replied, tone unchanged. "Citing original trade contracts and marriage registries. Shall I recite it?"
The boy opened his mouth, then closed it. His hand clenched, knuckles whitening.
Regulus looked at him and continued.
"Of course, that's the past. What matters is the present. You mentioned 'independence.' I don't see independence as a flaw. Blind obedience, on the other hand, is."
His gaze swept the common room. Several of the boy's followers avoided eye contact.
"Slytherin values intelligence. Intelligence means independent thought. Knowing what's worth pursuing, and what isn't."
"My brother chose his path. I chose mine. That's independence. And you…"
Regulus looked back at the boy, his expression calm, the pressure unmistakable.
"…you chose to announce your existence on a first-year's first night with cheap provocation. Is that your idea of independence?"
Every gaze shifted from Regulus to Travers.
The boy's face cycled from red to pale to a sickly green. His hand shot toward his inner pocket, reaching for his wand.
Regulus was faster.
His wand slid into his hand and flicked lightly through the air.
The space in front of Travers twisted. An invisible barrier snapped into place. The instant his wand cleared the robe, it struck the barrier with a sharp clink, flew from his grasp, spun upward toward the ceiling…
…and froze there, motionless.
A perfect interception.
Regulus rotated his wrist. The wand began to descend, slow and controlled, as if held by an unseen hand. It settled upright at Travers's feet, tip resting gently on the carpet.
The entire exchange was silent and precise, without a hint of temper.
"If you really want a match," Regulus said, pocketing his wand, "I suggest you start by learning how to hold onto yours."
A few first-years were on the verge of gasping. Regulus took a step forward. The companions exchanged looks and parted without a word.
One older girl started to speak, only to be stopped by another, who shook her head.
"Now," Regulus said. His voice was still quiet, yet everyone heard it. "Pick it up."
Someone glanced toward Lucretius. The Prefect remained completely still.
Travers's face looked ready to explode. Even his hair seemed to bristle. His body shook, his eyes burning with hatred.
Regulus remained calm. Everyone else wore complicated expressions.
A first-year, making a fifth-year unable even to draw his wand. Everyone understood what that meant.
Strong.
Not someone to provoke.
And cruel.
The humiliation was unmistakable.
In that instant, the common room's impression of Regulus shifted, away from "the one with a traitor in the family," to something far more dangerous.
Regulus didn't need a wand to do this. But he had promised Orion not to act out of the ordinary at school.
So he used one.
Travers's chest heaved. Just as some thought he might lash out, he suddenly bent down, snatched up his wand, and shoved his way through the crowd, disappearing around the corner toward the dormitories.
His companions followed in silence, without even a parting threat.
Regulus turned and headed for the dormitory list. The first-years stepped aside to clear a path.
This barely counted as a confrontation. It felt like bullying a child. Regulus found it dull.
The boy had been weak and foolish. Regulus knew the encounter had been arranged on purpose. He didn't mind.
In fact, he welcomed it.
The common room stayed quiet until Regulus reached the wall. Then whispers resumed, tinged with shock.
Several older students exchanged glances.
A seventh-year girl with dark brown hair, wearing a Rosier family brooch, murmured to her companion, "He's interesting."
A boy from the Nott family nodded, his gaze lingering on Regulus.
One proud-looking older student asked, "Did you see it?"
Another girl with an elegant air nodded silently.
The younger students were completely stunned.
A first-year girl grabbed her friend's arm, whispering excitedly, "That just now… was that a nonverbal spell? In first year?"
A round-faced boy swallowed. "I… I think so?"
Regulus ignored them. He found his name on the list.
First-Year Dormitory A:
Regulus Black,
Cuthbert Avery,
Hermes Mulciber,
Alex Rosier.