Hermes had already moved to the practice dummies.
A low incantation, and a thin dark-red thread shot from his wand tip, coiling around the wooden figure's neck, biting half an inch into the wood with a hissing, corrosive sizzle.
"A variant of Bone and Blood Stripping?" Regulus walked over.
"Weakened version." Hermes didn't stop. The thread split into three more strands, each binding a different limb. "I want to see if I can control multiple targets at once."
"Right idea, but your distribution's off." Regulus studied the strands. They looked the same thickness, but the one on the left leg was clearly underpowered. "You're still funneling most of your magic into the first strand without realizing it. Try splitting your focus. Imagine you have four independent hands, each controlling one."
Hermes released the spell. He stood thinking for a moment, then closed his eyes, brow furrowing tight.
After a while, he opened them and cast again. "Bone and Blood Stripping."
Four dark-red threads. The power distribution was more even this time, biting into the wood at nearly identical depths.
Training continued.
Cuthbert drilled the Impediment Jinx, aiming at a copper ring hanging on the far side of the room. Alex's wand tip flickered on and off like a half-dead firefly. Hermes was already attempting a fifth strand.
Regulus backed up to the wall, leaning against the padding to watch.
Cohesion wasn't built only in battle. It was also built in failing together, in watching someone's wand spit sparks and laughing about it.
But he needed to train too. Standard magic could wait. The things he didn't want seen, though...
A thought, barely more than a nudge.
Deep in the training room, a stone wall slid silently into place, partitioning off a smaller chamber. The door was tucked into shadow, nearly invisible.
If the need arose, he could slip inside to practice Verdant Magic, his Patronus, Space Warp, all the things that weren't ready for an audience yet.
Cuthbert finally hit the copper ring.
"Got it!" He spun toward Regulus, grinning wide. "Did you see that?"
Regulus nodded. "Good. Keep going. Moving targets next."
A flick of his wand, and a dozen small wooden balls dropped from the ceiling on thin cords, swinging in unpredictable patterns.
Cuthbert groaned but raised his wand anyway.
Alex's Lumos had finally stabilized at the fifth brightness level. He wiped the sweat away and asked quietly, "Is this right?"
"It is," Regulus confirmed. "Tomorrow, try rapid switching between different levels."
By half past nine, Hermes was drained. His face had gone pale.
Cuthbert and Alex were too spent to lift their arms.
The four of them left the Room of Requirement.
No one spoke on the walk back to the dungeons. Footsteps echoed through the stone passageways, overlapping and fading.
Near the Slytherin entrance, Hermes broke the silence. "When's the next session?"
"Friday." Regulus looked at him. "Wednesday too, if you can handle it."
"I can handle it." Hermes nodded firmly.
The common room fire was still burning. A handful of seventh-years huddled in a corner, speaking low. They glanced up as the four came in, then turned back to their conversation.
Through the archway, down the dormitory corridor.
Regulus pushed open the door. Green light from the Black Lake rippled through the window, wavering across the walls.
The beds were already made. House-elves had been through.
He hung up his outer robe, sat on the edge of his bed, and raised his right hand.
Palm up. The faintest shift of intent.
A point of orange-red flame kindled from nothing, no larger than a fingernail, hovering three inches above his skin.
White-hot at its core, edged in gold. The temperature was perfectly contained. Not even the fine hairs on his palm curled.
Fiendfyre.
He watched it for five seconds, then let it dissolve.
Lying back, he caught movement beyond the glass. A Giant Squid glided past, tentacles trailing across the window.
His eyes closed. Consciousness sank into that familiar field of stars.
The four stars of Orion's constellation glowed in the dark.
The fifth, Bellatrix, was growing denser by the day.
It's his first night back at school. He should sleep well.
---
The first Monday of May dawned absurdly clear. Sunlight poured through the Great Hall's high windows, scattering gold across the silverware on the long tables.
That was when the owls flooded in.
Along with the mail came stray feathers and the occasional dropping. One unlucky student caught a hit, drawing laughter from the tables nearby.
Regulus was spreading jam on his toast.
Cuthbert was copying his Charms essay. Alex had his face buried in a bowl of porridge. Hermes dragged his fork through scrambled eggs, staring at some invisible point on the table.
The owls landed.
Parcels, letters, the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.
For a few moments there was only the rustle of paper. Then a strangled sob rose from the Ravenclaw table.
Regulus looked up.
A second-year girl had pressed a hand over her mouth, shoulders beginning to shake.
The students beside her leaned in to read the paper. Their faces changed too.
Someone reached out to rub her back. Someone else scooted their chair away.
The murmuring spread like a tide, rolling from Ravenclaw to Hufflepuff to Gryffindor.
"Let me see that." Cuthbert reached toward a fourth-year nearby, who handed the paper over with an odd expression.
Cuthbert flipped to page three.
The headline ran across the middle of the page: Wizarding Family Attacked in London Suburb; Victims Receiving Medical Treatment.
The article was short, crammed between a broomstick advertisement and a Ministry budget notice.
Last night, a wizarding residence near Hampstead Heath was broken into. Significant magical damage was found inside the home, and a small number of magical items were stolen. The homeowner, Callen Thorne, and his wife, Lyra Thorne, sustained injuries and have been transferred to St Mungo's, where their condition is reported as stable. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has opened an investigation. No information regarding the attackers' identity or motive has been released.
Two lines tacked onto the end: Strong traces of Dark magic were detected at the scene. Several defensive enchantments had been violently breached using methods described as highly destructive.
Cuthbert pushed the paper toward Regulus.
Alex leaned over to read, then said quietly, "I know her. Ileana Thorne. Second-year Ravenclaw. Her father works in the Ministry's Magical Items Review department. Her mother does clerical work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
His voice went heavy. "Our families had dinner together last year."
Regulus nodded and let his gaze sweep the hall.
At the Ravenclaw table, seven or eight people had gathered around Ileana. The half-bloods and Muggle-borns were the ones comforting her, passing handkerchiefs, speaking softly. The Pure-blood students sat where they were. Some continued eating. Others turned to whisper to their neighbors, eyes flicking toward Ileana and darting away again.
That deliberate distance carried something colder than indifference.
Hufflepuff wore its sympathy openly, though the voices stayed low. A few seventh-years shook their heads. Middle-year girls huddled together to whisper. The way they looked toward Ravenclaw held concern, but more than that, the relief of thank God it wasn't us.
Over at Gryffindor, James Potter was already on his feet. His fist slammed the table hard enough to rattle the silverware.
"It's those lunatics again!" Loud enough for half the hall to hear. Sirius rose with him. Lupin grabbed his arm and said something, but couldn't hold him back. More students crowded around their section of the table, boys and girls alike, the same anger written across every face.
The Slytherin table was quiet.
But it was the wrong kind of quiet. They were holding something in.
A cluster of sixth and seventh-years sat at the far end, exchanging glances. The faintest curve at the corners of their mouths. They didn't look toward Ravenclaw, didn't join the discussion, barely touched the newspaper. But the air of I know exactly what this is about clung to them, unmistakable from ten feet away.
The middle-years were less subtle.
A few struggling half-bloods and some Pure-bloods kept their heads down, forks poking mechanically at their plates. But the students from core Pure-blood families, their eyes were bright, bodies leaning forward, like hounds that had caught the scent of blood.
Narcissa Black cast a single look from the head of the table. Her gaze swept over the restless middle-years, and they straightened immediately, expressions smoothing out.
Lucretius Burke rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. Not loud, but everyone in his radius heard it. Then he went back to buttering his toast, slow and unhurried.
Dumbledore tapped his goblet. The clear chime cut through every sound in the hall.
The headmaster stood. Blue eyes behind spectacles swept the room. He waited until the last whisper died before speaking.
"Hogwarts is a school." His voice carried, firm, not gentle, edged with warning. "Within these walls, you are students. A student's duty is to learn, to grow, and to understand that magic is not merely power. It is responsibility."
His gaze lingered on the Gryffindor table, then passed over Slytherin. "The outside world holds conflict, suffering, and injustice. But none of that belongs inside this castle. At Hogwarts, you have one identity and one only. You are students."
He turned toward Ravenclaw. "Professor Flitwick."
Professor Flitwick slid from his chair and walked briskly to Ileana Thorne. He patted her shoulder, murmured a few words, then guided her toward the doors.
As they passed the Gryffindor table, James opened his mouth to speak. A single look from Professor McGonagall pinned him in place.
The doors of the Great Hall opened and closed.
---
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