Hermes nodded and didn't press further.
He could tell Regulus didn't want to elaborate, and he could guess that certain threads ran too deep. As for how Regulus knew what he knew, that part didn't puzzle him at all.
Silence held for a few more seconds.
Cuthbert glanced between Hermes and Regulus, fingers tapping the armrest of his chair.
Alex still stood by the window, angled sideways, gaze resting on the center of the room.
Regulus could feel the change in Hermes.
Before, there'd always been something sullen about him. A loner by habit, carrying a quiet contempt for everything around him.
That contempt had faded, replaced by something more layered. Gratitude, wariness, and something else beneath both.
But Hermes was still Hermes. A Mulciber-born wizard raised on Dark Arts since childhood, with an attachment to power that ran bone-deep.
His pride was different from Cuthbert's.
Cuthbert's pride lived in bloodline and status, in the weight the name Avery carried in pure-blood circles.
Hermes took pride in what he could do. In the Dark spells that could maim and kill. In the parts of his family's legacy that most wizards feared.
Regulus had a fair idea what was running through his head.
Hermes believed he wielded real power. Believed that in an unrestrained fight to the death, armed with those Dark Arts, he might not lose.
Abros Mulciber had probably told his son to follow Regulus Black at school.
But left it to Hermes to verify whether Regulus was worth following.
So when Hermes raised his head, locked eyes with Regulus, and said what he said, none of it came as a surprise.
"I want to fight you again."
Cuthbert sat bolt upright, eyes bright, the corner of his mouth splitting into an eager grin.
Alex turned from the window, brow creasing. His lips moved as if to speak, but nothing came out. He looked to Regulus instead.
Regulus studied Hermes.
Pale face, steady eyes. His fingers trembled slightly at his side, and Regulus could tell it wasn't fear.
Hermes was running hot. Wizards had adrenaline too.
"Why?" Regulus asked, tone flat.
"Do I need a reason?" Hermes shot back, an edge of cold iron in his voice. "I want to know how strong you are. Last term didn't count. I wasn't ready, and you weren't trying."
Regulus heard what he was really saying.
Hermes needed a total defeat, or an unexpected victory, to settle where he stood.
He wasn't fully convinced yet. Still thought he had cards left to play. Still thought he had a chance.
"Fine." Regulus nodded.
Cuthbert nearly launched out of his chair. Alex muttered something under his breath, but no one paid attention.
"Not here," Regulus added. "No room to work."
He turned toward the door, hand on the handle, and glanced back.
Hermes was already on his feet. Cuthbert fell in close behind. Alex hesitated a beat, then followed.
The four of them left the Slytherin Common Room and headed up through the underground corridor.
A few upperclassmen passed them on the way. The formation drew curious looks, but nobody asked.
Regulus walked at the front. He'd agreed for one reason only.
Hermes needed to be broken. Words wouldn't do it. Shared interests weren't enough. He had to feel the gap firsthand.
Feel that helplessness. The despair of not even being able to see how far behind he was.
Only then would Hermes set his pride aside and give real thought to what following meant.
Eighth floor. Across from the tapestry.
Regulus paced the corridor three times, thinking: I need a dueling space. Large enough for a real fight.
A wooden door materialized. He pushed it open.
Inside lay a standard dueling arena.
Cuthbert stepped in first, his footsteps thudding dully against the wooden floor.
He looked around, eyes wide. "The Room of Requirement... it's real!"
Alex followed, testing the floor with careful steps, as if checking whether it was solid. He looked up at the ceiling, then the walls, lips parting slightly.
Hermes entered last.
The room itself didn't interest him. One quick sweep of the layout: open space, no obstacles, good for movement and spellwork.
All his attention was on Regulus. His wand had risen halfway before he forced it back down.
"Rules?" Hermes asked. His voice carried a faint echo in the cavernous space.
"Your call." Regulus walked to the center of the arena and turned to face him.
Cuthbert and Alex retreated to the wall without being told, pressing themselves into the corner.
Alex stood a bit farther back, body tense, eyes flicking between the two.
Hermes stopped ten meters out. He drew a deep breath, chest rising and falling, and his wand hand steadied.
"I want to know the real gap," he said, voice firm. "So..."
The sentence died unfinished.
Regulus raised his right hand. A small curl of the fingers, nothing more. The air shimmered with faint ripples.
A sting bit into Hermes's throat.
A stone spike had appeared from nowhere, its tip resting half a centimeter below his Adam's apple. Not deep. Just enough to break skin, drawing a single bead of blood.
It hung there, perfectly still, as though it had always belonged in that exact spot.
Hermes froze.
He hadn't seen the spike form. No flash of spellwork. No casting tell of any kind.
One second the air was empty. The next, something that could kill him occupied it.
Alex sucked in a breath. Cuthbert's eyes went wide, body leaning forward, trying to catch every detail.
Regulus hadn't moved. Hadn't even drawn his wand.
He watched Hermes with an expression so calm he might have been brushing dust off his sleeve.
Hermes's throat bobbed. The swallow pushed the spike's tip another half-millimeter into his skin.
Warm blood crept down his neck, soaking into his collar.
He eased backward, steps feather-light, cautious.
The spike didn't follow. It stayed fixed in place, tip still wet with his blood.
Two meters back, Hermes finally dared to touch his neck. His fingers found the wound, and the slick warmth made his heart slam.
Now he could see it clearly. About fifteen centimeters long, roughly wand-thick, surface rough, tip razor-sharp.
It hung in the air without bobbing or drifting, pinned there by some invisible nail.
He'd barely begun to exhale when the spike started spinning.
Slowly at first, each rotation still trackable by eye. Then faster. And faster. A blurred gray smear.
The surface began to glow red. Friction against the air at that speed generated heat, enough to make stone radiate light.
Cuthbert's mouth hung open, breathing forgotten. Alex retreated half a step, back flat against the wall.
Hermes watched the glowing, screaming, spinning spike.
His mind flashed to last term in the dormitory. Regulus making the air stop working. The suffocation. Collapsing to the floor.
He'd asked his father about it afterward. Abros had called it an advanced application of Transfiguration.
He hadn't believed it at the time. But when he'd felt that suffocation a second time, he'd believed.
So what was this?
Transfiguration again?
Transfigured from what?
His peripheral vision swept the arena. Empty. The floor didn't even have dust on it.
Regulus obviously hadn't meant to kill him. If he had, the spike would've punched through his throat the instant it appeared.
Or now, spinning fast enough to heat stone to a glow, a casual flick would cave his skull in.
This was a demonstration.
I can end you whenever I want. No wand. No incantation. Without even letting you see how it's done.
The spike stopped.
The transition from screaming velocity to dead stillness was so abrupt it defied physics. One second, shrieking and glowing. The next, frozen in the air without a trace of inertia.
The red light drained away. Stone cooled. Gray-white color returned.
Then the spike dissolved.
The arena fell quiet again.
Hermes still stood in place. The blood on his neck had stopped flowing. Only the sting of the wound reminded him any of it had happened.
His throat was dry. He wanted to speak but couldn't find his voice.
Regulus watched him, waited a few seconds, and spoke again. "Now. How do you want to do this?"
Hermes took ten seconds to steady his breathing.
He reached up and wiped the blood from his neck. His fingers paused over the wound. Barely a scratch. Didn't even need a healing charm.
Everything he'd walked in expecting had shattered in a single moment.
---
Join my Patreon for early access to chapters: patreon.com/rivyura
and next target is 1400PS...