Regulus woke the next morning sharp and rested.
He rose, washed, moved through his routine with the same unhurried precision as always. No trace of fatigue.
Hermes was up too. The boy had been staying up late since his first year, and this term's nightly training sessions with Regulus had hardened him into something durable. Enough stamina, no alarm needed. He dragged himself out of bed on his own.
The other two were a different story.
Alex had pushed himself to collapse the night before, stung by what he'd seen. Awake now, but aching everywhere, unable to get vertical.
Cuthbert hadn't slept well either. When Regulus brought the other two back to the dormitory, Cuthbert was still tossing in bed.
Walking through the door, Regulus had heard him making a strange sound. Not loud. The kind of laugh you tried to smother but couldn't, leaking out of your throat in weird little squeaks.
He'd tried to sit up and talk when he saw Regulus come in.
Last night had been his moment. Every eye in the room on him, every ear tuned to his voice. For a pure-blood heir, that kind of stage was rare, and it looked exactly like the image of adulthood he'd been carrying in his head.
Worse still, he'd discovered he might be good at it. Standing in front of a crowd, delivering the right words, holding a room. The thrill had kept him wired all night, which meant morning was brutal.
Hermes finished washing up, walked to both beds, and kicked each one. "Up."
Alex groaned and rolled over. Cuthbert pulled a pillow over his head.
Another kick. "Class."
They finally moved, dragging themselves upright with assorted complaints. Alex clutched his lower back, wincing with every shift. Cuthbert's hair looked like a bird had nested in it overnight, eyes barely slits, muttering something unintelligible.
Regulus emerged from the washroom, glanced at them, said nothing, and walked out.
Stepping into the corridor, he spotted Snape immediately.
By the common room fireplace, Snape sat in an armchair. Heavy dark circles under his eyes, exhaustion written across every inch of him. Robes wrinkled. Hair greasier than yesterday.
But there was a brightness in his expression. The kind that came from staying up all night and gaining something for it.
Regulus understood.
A whole night alone with Professor Slughorn. Snape would have come away with plenty. Recognition, perhaps. Appreciation. The feeling of being needed by someone from a higher world.
For Snape, those things mattered more than anything.
Snape saw Regulus emerge and sprang to his feet, then caught himself. The motion had been too quick, too eager. He froze, reached down, and smoothed his robes.
There wasn't much to smooth. The fabric was wrinkled to begin with, hung too large on his frame, and his hair was beyond salvaging. The gesture accomplished nothing.
Regulus walked over.
Snape worked to keep his face blank. He opened his mouth, reaching for that flat, low tone he usually used. But what came out was different. Dry. Slightly too sharp. "Black."
"Snape." A nod. Voice level.
"The Professor wants you at his office after breakfast."
He watched Regulus's face as he said it.
But there was nothing to read. Regulus said, "Noted," turned, and left without another word.
Snape stayed where he was. He watched the retreating figure disappear through the doorway and stood there a moment longer.
He'd expected Regulus to adopt some kind of posture.
Last night had been Regulus's doing. Regulus had put him forward. Regulus had mentioned him to the Professor. He'd spent the whole night assisting Slughorn, earned recognition, earned approval, earned treatment he'd never dared imagine.
All of it traced back to one person.
So he'd expected... something. Magnanimity, maybe. The elevated air of a patron. Perhaps the way one treated a follower, or even a subordinate. A hand on his shoulder, a few encouraging words.
Nothing.
Regulus's expression was the same as every other time they'd crossed paths. As though looking at a stranger.
Something stirred in Snape that he couldn't name.
He was wary of Regulus. He knew this one was different from the other pure-blood heirs. More dangerous, harder to read.
But somewhere deeper, he felt that this was what pure-blood ought to look like.
---
After breakfast, Regulus went to Slughorn's office.
The door was open. He knocked anyway.
"Come in!" Slughorn's voice carried from inside.
Slughorn sat behind his desk and beamed the moment Regulus appeared. "Regulus! Come, sit down."
Regulus took the chair across from him. "Good morning, Professor."
Slughorn led with praise. "Wonderful showing last night. I heard all about it. The guidance, the manner of it. Real Slytherin spirit."
Regulus dipped his head. "You're too kind, Professor."
"Not at all." Slughorn waved a hand. "That Protego of yours. I heard afterward. Rosalie cast it on the spot, fully formed, and she's a first-year. That's no small thing."
Then a look of exaggerated exasperation crossed his face. "Though you've made my life harder."
Regulus looked up, letting a flicker of apology show before shifting to mild confusion. Playing his part, meeting the Professor where he wanted to be met.
"This morning I've already had several students at my door," Slughorn continued, "asking whether Black could give them guidance too. Whether they could learn a spell on the spot, the way Rosalie did."
He spread his hands and shook his head. "I told them to work on their fundamentals first. What Black does isn't something everyone can replicate."
The message underneath was clear. That kind of guidance didn't do young students any favors. It showed them a shortcut and made them neglect the basics.
"I'm sorry for the trouble, Professor."
Slughorn waved it off. "I'm just talking. You did well. Tradition, legacy, all good things. And as you said yourself, it was the outgoing Chief's reward and encouragement to the new one."
He winked.
Regulus smiled. The matter was settled.
And judging by the Professor's manner, this wasn't what he'd been summoned for. Which left only one thing.
Geoffrey Sayre.
Slughorn's expression sobered. "Regulus, the reason I called you here. Did you notice anything else wrong with Sayre? Anything beyond the potion?"
Regulus lowered his gaze.
Of course he had. The person behind the potion. Thorfinn Rowle, lurking in the shadows. Geoffrey had been the one pushed onto the stage, but Rowle was the hand that pushed him.
And behind Rowle, there might be someone else entirely.
But what good would saying so do?
What could the Professor do? Confront Rowle? With what evidence?
Did Sayre even know who'd given him the potion?
And even if the trail led somewhere, the Rowle family stood at Voldemort's core. What could Slughorn possibly do about that?
Silence stretched between them.
Slughorn didn't press. He waited.
Regulus looked up, his tone carrying the cadence of someone asking for guidance. "Professor, in your opinion, was there anything unusual about the potion Sayre took?"
Slughorn's expression shifted. The question was pointed.
Regulus wasn't answering. He was redirecting. Which meant he'd found something but chose not to say it.
Or couldn't say it.
Slughorn studied the second-year sitting across from him. That Regulus was exceptional, he'd known for a long time. But raw talent was one thing. This kind of depth was another.
If Regulus was choosing silence, whatever lay behind it was significant.
Slughorn considered his words. "The potion was odd."
Regulus watched him.
"Crude work," Slughorn said. "Rough formula, cheap ingredients. On an adult wizard, the effect would've been mediocre at best. But the duration was calibrated perfectly, enough for a new student to get through a few duels. The thing is..."
He shook his head and went on.
"The damage is severe. That boy won't be casting properly for months. Until his magic recovers, even a Wingardium Leviosa could go wrong."
Slughorn held Regulus's gaze, searching for something behind those eyes.
Regulus met the look and asked only, "Professor, was the potion crude, or was it clever?"
Something passed across Slughorn's face. He caught the implication.
Crude ingredients. Perfect timing. That wasn't coincidence. It was design.
A low-quality potion, engineered for a specific result: give an ambitious young student a burst of power at the critical moment, enough to perform beyond his natural level.
Enough to be seen. To be noticed. To be pushed forward.
And once he was pushed forward, things would go wrong.
Slughorn's mind ran through Slytherin's family trees.
Whoever had done this wasn't ordinary. Sayre was a tool. The person behind him hadn't been aiming at Sayre.
Then who was the target?
He thought of the duel that had been stopped. Thought of Regulus rising from his seat. Thought of who Sayre's original target had been: the Chief title, the challenge against last year's...
Slughorn looked at Regulus for a long time without speaking.
Regulus sat there, expression placid.
He'd said nothing, and he'd said everything.
After a while, Slughorn shook his head and let the smile resettle on his face.
"Well, never mind all that. The boy was caught in time. Nothing terrible happened. That's what matters."
His tone turned warm again. "Regulus, you did the right thing. Spotted it early, didn't try to handle it yourself, came to your Professor. Good instincts."
"I only did what I should have, Professor."
Slughorn patted the desk. "What I'm saying is, you saved a young wizard last night and prevented an incident. Thirty points to Slytherin."
Regulus inclined his head. "Thank you, Professor."
Slughorn winked again. "And that Protego guidance of yours. When you have time, maybe give the others a pointer or two? Not the instant-mastery version, of course. Just, you know, point them in the right direction."
Regulus smiled. "When the opportunity arises."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Regulus stood. "I should get to class, Professor."
Slughorn nodded. "Off you go. Oh, and stop by for tea sometime. I've come into a few jars of excellent candied fruit recently."
Regulus murmured agreement, pushed the door open, and stepped out.
The door closed behind him.
The corridor was quiet.
---
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