This Transfiguration class was shared with Hufflepuff, so both houses crowded in to watch.
Cuthbert sat beside Regulus, looking unbearably proud.
Alex looked both stunned and impressed, eyes wide like he couldn't blink.
Hermes made a face, but his gaze kept flicking over anyway.
A few Hufflepuffs wore complicated expressions, equal parts envy, curiosity, and something that looked suspiciously like greed.
Professor McGonagall strode over. She took one look and saw straight through it.
"This is not a magical creature," she said, voice sharp enough to cut through the chatter.
"Transfiguring a magical creature involves changes at the deepest level. It requires going beyond standard Transfiguration, and that is an advanced field. At your current level, it's impossible."
She studied the winged rabbit closely, and there was the faintest hint of approval in her eyes.
"Mr. Black has only altered this rabbit's existing physiology," Professor McGonagall continued. "He added flight organs and adjusted the related muscles and skeletal structure. The transformation itself is not especially advanced, but it does require a very thorough understanding of the target form.
You must know what a rabbit's normal structure is. You must know how to modify it without destroying the overall balance. You must know how to keep it alive after the modification."
She looked at Regulus. "Very good Transfiguration. Precise control, sound structure, and an imaginative result. Slytherin gains ten points for creative Transfiguration."
"Thank you, Professor," Regulus said politely.
Professor McGonagall nodded and moved on to help the other students.
But as she turned away, a fleeting expression crossed her face, almost confused.
She had the odd sense that this Black boy felt… livelier.
Not in personality, she thought. More like a liveliness of mind.
Last term, his questions had always been serious, all about the strict mechanics of matter and transformation. That discussion about diamonds and graphite had stuck with her. It had even pushed her into a direction she'd never considered.
On the first day back this term, he'd asked that bizarre question about cnidarians, and she still vividly remembered the look on Filius's face when he told her about it.
Now he'd produced this winged rabbit. Technically flawless, yes, but it carried something else.
A hint of playfulness.
Professor McGonagall couldn't decide if that was good or bad.
But she was certain of one thing. Something had changed in Black over the holiday.
Maybe an experience.
Maybe a spell.
Or maybe something.
She only hoped it was for the better.
Regulus had no idea she'd just gone through an entire train of thought about him. He was simply putting ideas into practice, letting rational analysis and intuitive creativity exist side by side.
He used logic to break down a rabbit's physiology. He used imagination to come up with the amusing idea of a rabbit that could fly.
Then he combined the two and made the transformation happen.
The result was excellent.
He planned to wait until he'd fully absorbed everything in Professor McGonagall's notes before asking a more advanced question, something that might earn him access to deeper Transfiguration knowledge.
The last discussion, turning graphite into diamond, had benefited him enormously. Next time, he should push further.
For example, where the limits of living Transfiguration really were. Where the boundary lay between Transfiguration and creating life.
Thinking like that deepened his understanding, and it steadily strengthened his ability.
When the bell rang, students began packing up and leaving.
Regulus turned the winged rabbit back into a handkerchief, folded it neatly, set it back on the desk, and headed toward the Slytherin Common Room with Cuthbert and the others.
The corridors were busy.
First-years hurried along in mild panic, trying to find their next classroom. Older students clustered in small groups, talking in low voices.
Portraits dozed in their frames or chatted with their neighbors. Suits of armor stood motionless in alcoves, as if they'd never moved in their lives.
As Regulus reached the stair landing on the second floor, he felt something.
A subtle shift in space.
About ten yards behind him, the air rippled, so faint most people would never notice.
Regulus recognized it instantly.
A house-elf.
Hogwarts had hundreds of them, working in the kitchens, cleaning dormitories, running errands all over the castle. They came and went freely, Apparating with their own peculiar style of space magic. That alone was nothing unusual.
Except Regulus kept walking, and that ripple followed.
It held at roughly the same distance. When he turned, it turned. When he climbed stairs, it climbed. When he stopped and pretended to tie his shoe, it stopped too.
Regulus understood.
He was being watched.
But why?
Possibilities flashed through his mind.
Had something from Knockturn Alley been exposed over the holiday? The Cruciatus Curse?
Unlikely. People died in places like Knockturn Alley and no one cared, and his father would have cleaned it up thoroughly.
The conversations at the Malfoy dinner?
Those had all been careful, indirect. Nothing concrete enough to justify surveillance.
What else had he done?
Then another thought surfaced. This kind of attention might have started last term.
He'd been too conspicuous at Hogwarts. The Chief status. Crushing fifth-years. Having high-level discussions with professors. Any of that could draw notice.
And in Hogwarts, who was the most likely, and most justified, person to keep an eye on a gifted student?
There was only one answer.
Dumbledore.
Regulus thought of Dumbledore's history with Voldemort. The way the headmaster had taken notice of Tom Riddle early, and how that attention had eventually turned into open conflict.
A headmaster like that would absolutely observe a student who showed unusual talent.
Not out of malice, necessarily. More out of caution, planning and for preparation.
Regulus didn't care.
If anything, it might even be useful.
Let him watch.
Regulus had no intention of hiding much, at least not in public.
In class, he was an excellent student, diligent, curious, thoughtful.
In front of professors, he was polite and respectful, eager to learn.
Around classmates, he kept his housemates in check, discouraged conflict, maintained order within Slytherin.
Those were all things that could withstand observation.
And it wasn't truly surveillance so much as observation. Dumbledore wanted to see what kind of person he was, what road he'd choose, what decisions he'd make.
Fine.
Let him see Regulus attending lessons properly. Studying magic. Maintaining basic relationships.
Let him see how a normal student, talented enough to potentially affect the future of the magical world, grew up.
All of that was acceptable.
The dormitory was not.
Regulus trusted Dumbledore wouldn't cross that line. The headmaster had limits. He wouldn't invade a student's most basic private space.
Besides, there were too many things in the dormitory that could never be seen. Star Guided meditation practice. Digestion of inherited magic. Dangerous knowledge pulled from the Restricted Section. His own notes and thoughts.
None of that could be exposed to Dumbledore.
If his roommates noticed bits and pieces, it wouldn't matter. They wouldn't understand what they were looking at.
Then Regulus thought of a place.
The Room of Requirement.
He'd known it existed for a while, but he'd never gone. Partly because he hadn't truly needed it, partly because he didn't want to touch secrets too early.
But now, it felt like the right time.
On Halloween night, The Bloody Baron had mentioned that Hogwarts hid a place only someone who truly understood the nature of magic could find.
That place held clues left behind by Rowena Ravenclaw, clues about wisdom, about the soul, about the possibility of surpassing death itself.
If it was tied to Ravenclaw, then the Room of Requirement was very likely one of the entrances.
Still, Regulus wasn't in a hurry to chase those clues. His understanding of soul magic wasn't deep enough yet, and the idea of surpassing death was even further away.
And the Room of Requirement held other things too.
Voldemort's Horcrux.
Ravenclaw's diadem.
He didn't want to touch any of that yet.
For now, he only needed one simple thing from the Room of Requirement. A practice space that was absolutely private, where no one could interrupt him.
He didn't want to hide anything. He didn't want to search for anything.
He just needed space.
That would be enough. A normal room for practicing magic, nothing that would disturb a Horcrux.
Regulus made his decision. Tonight, he'd go.
When he reached the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, the space ripple vanished.
The house-elf had probably finished this round of observation and gone back to report to Dumbledore.
Regulus stepped inside. The fireplace crackled warmly. A few seventh-years were talking in low voices in the corner. When they saw the first-years come in, they gave a brief nod.
Narcissa wasn't there. She was probably in class, or out doing Prefect rounds.
Regulus returned to the dormitory and set his books down.
Hermes was already back, sitting on his bed with an old book in his hands. The cover had no title at all.
He glanced up when Regulus entered, then dropped his gaze and kept reading.
Regulus noticed the book gave off a faint, unusual magical presence.
It felt like a curse. And the book itself, judging by the texture, might have been bound in human skin.
He didn't ask.
Everyone had secrets. As long as Hermes's secret didn't affect him, Regulus didn't care.
He stayed in the dormitory for about half an hour. When he was sure the house-elf hadn't returned, he got up and headed to the Great Hall for dinner.
After that, he'd spend a little time in the library, and around curfew, he'd go see the Room of Requirement.