The last day of September. Dinner had just ended when the seventh-year Prefects — Lucretius Borgin and Narcissa Black — stood at the far end of the Slytherin table and tapped silver spoons against goblets.
"All Slytherin students, please return directly to the common room after dinner." Narcissa rose gracefully. "First-years — your attendance is mandatory."
The mont her words fell, the mood at the Slytherin table shifted.
Upperclassn exchanged knowing looks. A handful of fifth-year boys were already smirking in anticipation.
Pure-blood students — especially the core heirs of the ancient houses — wore expressions that said "at last."
Avery Cuthbert set down his knife and fork at once, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, a spark of excitent in his eyes.
Hers Mulciber slowly raised his head. His dark gaze swept across the Prefects, then settled on Regulus beside him.
Only Alex Rosier — the boy from the mild pure-blood branch — blinked blankly and whispered: "What's happening? Why do we have to go back?"
Avery snorted, his tone dripping with superiority and a touch of pity. "Your family didn't tell you, Rosier? Right — your family... hmph.
It's tradition. The Slytherin welco event. To see which little snakes this year have the sharpest fangs."
Alex blanched. He clearly understood the implication and looked uneasily toward Regulus, then toward the other first-years.
The commotion had drawn the attention of the other three houses. Students chattered as upperclassn explained Slytherin's peculiar tradition to the younger years.
Regulus felt more than one pair of eyes from the staff table settle on him. What caught his attention most was that one of them belonged to Dumbledore.
Gazes arrived from the Gryffindor table as well — Lily Evans, Jas Potter, and Sirius among them. He did not acknowledge any of them. He simply stood in silence.
By the ti the procession filed into the underground common room, the atmosphere had transford entirely.
Erald flas danced in the fireplace, their glow playing across dark green drapes and silver fixtures — and across the dozens of faces wearing every shade of expression.
Upperclassn lounged in clusters around the sofas and armchairs, conversing in low tones, eyes scanning the ten incoming first-years.
The first-years instinctively drew together yet had already sorted themselves into small cliques.
The pure-blood core — Avery, Hers, and the like — stood together, bearing either haughty or brooding expressions.
A few other newcors, including two visibly nervous half-blood students — a boy and a girl — in slightly plainer robes, looked isolated and helpless.
Their eyes darted through the crowd and, almost by shared instinct, ca to rest on Regulus.
Over the past month, Regulus's conduct had been markedly different from the other high-born pure-blood students.
He displayed none of that deliberately conspicuous arrogance, never joined in the tedious sneering about blood status or background, and handled class questions and group assignnts with rigor and fairness.
To the newcors who were not part of the pure-blood inner circle, or whose families were unremarkable, the younger Black son was practically the only first-year in Slytherin who could be called reasonable and dependable.
Now they edged unconsciously toward where Regulus stood, as though proximity alone provided a sliver of safety.
Regulus registered their quiet gravitation. He gave no outward sign of it — simply walked calmly to the edge of the cleared central space, stood still, and let his grey eyes sweep the room.
"Quiet." Lucretius Borgin stepped in front of the fireplace. His voice was asured, his bearing solemn.
The common room fell silent instantly.
"Standard procedure." He was concise. "First-years. Paired duels. Any spell you can cast is permitted — as long as it won't send Madam Pomfrey knocking on our door.
The purpose is for you to know yourselves and to know each other. Slytherin respects power. It also respects the wisdom to wield it."
Even before he finished, whispered comntary and snickers rippled through the senior students.
"Book's open! Book's open!" A grinning sixth-year boy whipped out a small notebook. "Wager on which little fledgling is still standing at the end — live odds! I'm putting ten Galleons on the Black kid."
"No kidding, you need a bet for that?" The girl beside him rolled her eyes. "Look at him. Does that look like an eleven-year-old? I say he flattens every opponent in under three minutes."
"Let's not be hasty," a bespectacled seventh-year boy countered, adjusting his glasses with a mock-analytical air. "That Mulciber boy's eyes are dark as a well. Word is his family has so... unorthodox collectibles.
And the Cuthbert kid isn't exactly a pushover, either."
"Please." The sixth-year jutted his chin toward Regulus.
"Everyone else is either shaking with nerves, over-caffeinated with adrenaline, or putting on a brave face like Avery.
Now look at him — he's standing there like he's waiting for soone to bring him tea in his own study. I'm doubling down. I bet his robes won't even wrinkle."
Every word carried clearly to the first-years' ears. Avery flushed — part thrill, part indignation.
Alex grew more nervous still, fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his robe. The two half-bloods went white.
Hers remained inscrutable, his gaze fixed on Regulus with a sharper edge.
And the subject of all the comntary — Regulus — simply stood there, face blank.
"Now then. Draw lots to determine the first-round pairings." Narcissa held out a small silver cup filled with slips of parchnt.
The results ca quickly. Alex was matched against an equally nervous boy from a minor pure-blood branch.
A half-blood girl drew Avery; her already pale face went whiter still. And Regulus — he drew another pure-blood boy, whose expression upon reading his slip looked as though he might cry.
"Wait."
A low voice cut through the room.
Hers Mulciber stepped forward from the crowd. He fixed his gaze on the two Prefects, then turned it to Regulus. "I request to duel Regulus Black."
A beat of silence, then louder buzzing. Requesting a swap of opponents was uncommon but not against the rules — provided both parties agreed.
Lucretius raised an eyebrow and looked at Regulus. "Black?"
Every eye in the room converged.
Regulus looked at Hers. In those dark eyes there was no challenge — only an almost obsessive earnestness and sothing suppressed beneath.
He recalled the scent of scorch marks on a returning night-wanderer's robes, the titleless book in dark red leather.
"Agreed." Regulus nodded calmly, then added: "However, since the bouts are one at a ti, we can go last. Let the others finish first."
The boy who had been swapped out looked as if he had been granted a pardon. He nodded frantically and scurried aside.
No one else objected. It was obvious to all that a match between Regulus and Hers was likely on a different level from the rest.
The two Prefects exchanged a glance and nodded. "Very well. We start with the other groups."
The duels began at once. The floor was cleared; spectators packed the periter.
Alex and his opponent were virtual mirror images of floundering — incantations stamred, Disarming Charm trajectories wobbling every which way.
Alex ultimately lost when he tripped over his own feet in a mont of panic, drawing a round of laughter.
Avery dispatched the half-blood girl with ease, landing a clean Impedint Jinx to knock her off-balance before following up with a precise Disarming Charm. Several upperclassn nodded approvingly.
The remaining bouts followed a similar pattern.
As Regulus had observed, even first-years carefully grood by pure-blood families were, at this age, limited by immature magic, weak control, and virtually zero combat experience.
The contents of "The Standard Book of Spells" already stretched their limits.
Disarming Charm, Impedint Jinx, Jelly-Legs Curse, Locking Spell, Full Body-Bind, Fire-Making Spell — the most basic practical spells. Casting one fluently and landing it on target was considered comndable among peers.
For Regulus, however, these spells held no difficulty whatsoever.
Any charm that required only precise wand work, clear enunciation, and basic magical channeling was sothing he could pick up at a glance and master with minimal practice.
His formidable magical control and computational ability more than compensated for any shortfall due to age, letting these elentary spells display stability and power far beyond his years.
Of course, magic was far from that simple.
Spells driven by intense emotion, involving complex conceptual understanding, or requiring special talent and components — those remained fields for study and exploration.
After several rounds, the first-years were spent. So were elated, others dejected. At last, only Regulus and Hers stood in the center of the floor.
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