Even a food desert has oases; the dinner at Hogwarts was satisfying.
Lucretius Boke, the seventh-year Slytherin prefect, had already stood up and was tapping a goblet with a silver spoon.
"Slytherin first-years, follow me."
Regulus and eleven other first-years left the long table, following him through the side door of the Great Hall and down the long spiral stone steps.
The further down they went, the cooler the air became. The walls turned into smooth black marble, and torches burned with eerie emerald-green flames.
Finally, they stopped before a bare stone wall, upon which was only a crudely carved stone snake.
The prefect turned to face the first-years.
"I am Lucretius Boke, the seventh-year prefect." His gaze swept over every face, lingering a moment longer on Regulus.
"Welcome to Slytherin. Before we enter, let me make a few things clear."
"First, Slytherin values bloodline, ambition, and wisdom—all three are indispensable."
"Second, loyalty is paramount here—loyalty to our own. Your roommates and classmates are your most reliable allies, or your most dangerous enemies."
"Third, Slytherin does not welcome weakness. Crying and tattling will only make you a laughingstock."
His gaze swept over Regulus once more.
"Finally, remember that the Black family's accident last year brought shame upon Slytherin. I hope that this year, someone can redeem that reputation."
This was practically a direct hint; several first-years stole glances at Regulus.
Regulus's expression remained calm as he met the words with silence. He knew there would certainly be a "program" tonight.
The prefect turned to the stone wall and said clearly, "Honor."
The stone snake's eyes glowed red, and the wall slid open silently.
The Slytherin Common Room.
The room was rectangular, with silver and green hangings suspended from the ceiling. One wall was entirely made of transparent magic glass, revealing the depths of the Black Lake outside.
A giant squid swam slowly past, and glowing jellyfish floated like ghosts. The fireplace flames were emerald green, burning soundlessly.
The furniture was made of dark wood with silver decorations, upholstered in dark green velvet. Portraits of famous Slytherins throughout history hung on the walls, watching the first-years with stern gazes.
There were already many upper-year students in the room. When the first-years walked in, all eyes turned toward them—curious, cold, or mocking.
Lucretius walked to the fireplace. "You are free to move about. The first-year dormitory assignment list is on that wall over there."
The first-years swarmed toward the parchment on the wall. Regulus was in no hurry; he stood where he was, surveying the common room.
Then he heard someone mentioning his name—not calling him, but talking about him.
The voice came from the sofa area on the right, where several fifth-year boys were sitting. The speaker was a black-haired boy with a hooked nose and a mocking smile.
"Another Black. Why didn't you go to the lions' den with the other one?"
The several people around him laughed together, none too kindly.
The common room fell silent. Upper-years stopped their conversations, and lower-years held their breath. No one intervened; everyone was waiting to see how this new Black would react.
Regulus turned slowly to face the speaker.
"Are you talking to me?" His voice was calm, his tone not raised.
The hook-nosed boy raised an eyebrow. "If you are Regulus Black, then yes, I am talking to you."
"I am. So, do you have a problem?" Regulus knew someone would jump out; he was actually hoping for it.
The boy stood up; he was a head taller than Regulus. His robe sleeves had exquisite silver embroidery—the Travers family crest.
"I'm just curious," he said, approaching slowly. "Is this generation of the Black family all so opinionated? Your brother chose Gryffindor, and you?
How long do you plan to stay in Slytherin? A semester? Or until you find more 'interesting' friends?"
Several lackeys laughed again, gradually surrounding Regulus.
Regulus's grey eyes watched him, devoid of any ripple of emotion.
"Mr. Travers," he said, addressing the other by his surname. "If I recall correctly, the Travers family married into a Muggle merchant family in the eighteenth century to save their nearly bankrupt family business.
That incident is recorded in detail in Chapter Seven, Section Three of *The Secret History of Pure-blood Families*. Do you need me to remind you of the specific passage?"
*Your pride is tainted.*
The boy's face flushed red instantly.
The whispers around them grew louder; several upper-years exchanged looks.
"What nonsense are you talking about!" His voice suddenly rose.
"*The Secret History of Pure-blood Families*, by Broderick Bode, cites the commercial contracts and marriage registration records of the time." Regulus's voice remained calm. "Do you need me to recite it?"
The boy opened his mouth but made no sound. His fists clenched, knuckles turning white.
Regulus looked at him and continued, "Of course, that's in the past. What matters is the present. You just mentioned being 'opinionated.'
I don't believe being opinionated is a flaw. In fact, it's blind following that is pathetic."
His gaze swept across the entire common room; the lackeys all averted their eyes.
"Slytherin values wisdom. Wisdom means independent thinking; it means knowing what is worth pursuing and what is not worth mentioning.
My brother chose his path, and I chose mine. That is having a mind of one's own. But you—"
Regulus looked at the boy, his gaze calm yet carrying an underlying pressure.
"—you chose to prove your sense of existence with low-level provocation on the first night of the new students' arrival. Is this your idea of having a mind of your own?"
Everyone's gaze shifted from Regulus to Travers.
The boy's face turned from red to white, then to blue-green. His hand suddenly reached into his robe's inner pocket, about to draw his wand.
But Regulus was faster. His wand slid into his hand instantly, and he gave a light tap in the air.
The air in front of the boy suddenly distorted, and an invisible barrier formed instantly. The moment he drew his wand, it was as if it hit a glass wall. With a crisp "ting," it flew out of his hand, spinning toward the ceiling—
—and then was fixed in mid-air, motionless.
A precise interception.
Regulus flicked his wrist slightly. The other's wand began to descend slowly, as if supported by an invisible hand, landing steadily and at a constant speed back at the boy's feet. The tip pointed down, standing lightly on the carpet.
The entire process was quiet and elegant, showing no anger.
"If you really want to compete," Regulus said, putting away his wand, "I suggest you at least learn how to hold onto your wand first."
Several lower-years were about to exclaim, but Regulus took a step forward. The lackeys looked at each other and silently moved aside.
An upper-year girl was about to speak, but another girl stopped her, shaking her head.
"Now," only Regulus's voice rang in the common room, "pick it up."
His voice was still not loud, yet it was heard clearly by everyone.
Someone looked at Lucretius, but he made no move.
Travers's face was so red it looked ready to explode; his hair seemed to stand on end. His body trembled, and his eyes looked as if they wanted to devour someone.
Regulus's gaze was calm, while others had inscrutable expressions.
A first-year student making it impossible for a fifth-year to even draw his wand—everyone understood the implications of this.
Powerful, not to be trifled with.
Ruthless.
The insulting nature of this behavior was too intense.
In an instant, everyone's impression of Regulus shifted from "having a traitor in the family" to this.
To achieve this level, Regulus didn't actually need a wand, but he had promised Orion not to act abnormally at school.
So, he used a wand.
Travers's chest heaved violently. Just as some thought he would choose to resist, the next moment, he suddenly bent down to pick up his wand, lowered his head, and rushed through the crowd, disappearing around the corner of the dormitory entrance.
The lackeys also vanished, without even a single harsh word.
Regulus turned and walked toward the dormitory assignment list on the wall; the first-years cleared a path.
This wasn't even a confrontation; it was just bullying a child. Regulus felt rather bored.
This person was not only weak but also stupid. He knew this was a deliberate setup, but he didn't care; he welcomed it.
The entire common room remained quiet until he reached the wall, then whispers broke out again, but most were low exclamations of shock.
Several upper-years exchanged looks.
A seventh-year girl with long dark brown hair and a Rosier family brooch whispered to her companion, "He's interesting."
Another boy from the Nott family nodded, his gaze lingering on Regulus for a long time.
A haughty-looking upper-year boy asked, "Did you understand what happened?"
Another girl with an elegant aura nodded in silence.
The lower-years were completely stunned. A first-year girl grabbed her companion's arm, her tone excited. "Was that… a non-verbal spell just now? A first-year?"
The round-faced boy beside her swallowed and said with some hesitation, "I… I think so?"
Regulus ignored them and found his name on the list.
First-year Dormitory A:
Regulus Black,
Avery Cuthbert,
Hermes Mulciber,
Alex Rosier.
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