By the time Regulus left the small garden, the sky had already darkened. Lights flickered on one by one in the castle windows. Dinner was close.
He quickened his pace, only to run into someone at the entrance to the greenhouse area.
A Hufflepuff girl. Second year, maybe third. Light brown hair twisted into a loose bun. She was crouched in front of a row of pots, carefully loosening the soil around a white dittany whose leaves were starting to droop.
"You'll damage the lateral roots if you do it like that," Regulus said without thinking, stopping short.
The girl looked up and blinked. "What?"
"The angle of your trowel," Regulus said, pointing at the small metal spade in her hand. "White dittany roots spread outward. They don't grow straight down. Digging vertically cuts the side roots."
She glanced back down, then her eyes lit up. "That explains why it's been struggling… thank you."
She adjusted her grip, sliding the trowel in at an angle and gently loosening the surrounding soil.
"You're a first-year Slytherin, right?" she asked as she worked. "It's rare to see Slytherins who know Herbology this well."
"Regulus Black. First year," he said.
"I'm Eleanor Bones. Third year." She smiled, one canine tooth peeking out. "The Bones family. You've probably heard of us."
Then, with open curiosity rather than caution, she added, "I know who you are too. Hogwarts' second Black.
Before you arrived, a lot of people were guessing whether you'd follow five hundred years of Black family tradition and go to Slytherin… or end up in Gryffindor like your brother."
Regulus lifted a brow, mildly surprised.
He knew his Sorting had been watched closely. By students, by pure-blood families, even by some professors.
Sirius's choice hadn't just been personal rebellion. It had shattered a five-century pattern.
Five hundred years was long enough for "Black equals Slytherin" to become an unspoken rule in the wizarding world.
And in a time when old families were quietly reassessing their positions, the Sorting of a Black heir could easily be read as a signal.
Regulus had known all that from the start. He also knew the speculation wouldn't stop.
In the original timeline, it wouldn't stop until the Black family was nearly gone.
Still, this was the first time someone had brought it up to his face so directly.
Eleanor Bones was more straightforward than any other pure-blood he'd met so far.
And of course, he knew the Bones family. One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Moderately aligned, with many members working at the Ministry of Magic.
Eleanor was likely related to Amelia Bones, the future head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Regulus didn't dodge the topic. His gray eyes met hers calmly. "Looks like the answer's Slytherin. People can stop guessing now."
Eleanor blinked, then laughed. "Fair enough. And it seems you're doing just fine there."
Regulus didn't pursue the subject. Instead, he gestured at the pot. "White dittany likes loose soil, but it hates being disturbed too often.
You should add a layer of broken clay shards at the bottom for drainage. The soil in this pot holds too much water. The roots will rot."
She stared at him. "How can you tell the soil's holding too much water?"
"The leaf edges are curling slightly and the color's gone too dark. That's poor root respiration. And when you loosened the soil earlier, it clumped together. That means excess moisture."
"Merlin, you're right." Eleanor stood, brushing dirt from her hands. "I've been using the standard soil mix, but maybe this batch of leaf mold was bad.
Thank you for the advice, Mr. Black."
Regulus gave a small nod.
Under the fading light, they spent a few minutes trading tips.
Eleanor showed him how to judge soil density by touch, and talked about cultivating a few uncommon magical plants.
In return, Regulus shared several simple soil-testing charms from household garden magic. Practical little tricks.
Once she packed up her tools, Eleanor glanced toward the castle. "We should head to the Great Hall. Walk together?"
"Sure."
They headed back side by side. A few Hufflepuffs passed them on the path, surprise flickering across their faces at the sight of Eleanor chatting with a Slytherin, but no one said anything.
At the hall entrance, Eleanor waved. "Good night, Mr. Black."
"Good night, Miss Bones."
Regulus went to the Slytherin table. As he sat down, Cuthbert leaned over. "What were you talking about with someone from the Bones family?"
"Herbology," Regulus said, reaching for the roast meat. The earlier experiment had drained him more than expected.
"The Bones family's not bad," Cuthbert said. "But that Amelia Bones at the Ministry is too rigid. My father can't stand her."
"Maybe she can't stand Mr. Avery either," Regulus said.
Cuthbert thought it over, then shrugged. "You've got a point."
---
Just past midnight, Regulus snapped awake.
A ripple in magic.
He instantly drew in his magic, slowed his breathing, and lay still, one eye barely open.
Across the room, Hermes Mulciber's bed curtains lifted soundlessly.
A black-robed figure slipped out, landing without a whisper.
Hermes stood in the dark, checking something. He even paused beside each bed, including Regulus's.
After a minute, he left the dormitory.
Regulus waited three minutes before sitting up.
He crossed to Hermes's bed. The curtains were still parted slightly. He didn't touch anything. He scanned with magic alone.
The bed was neatly made. A book lay under the pillow, bound in dark red leather with no title. Protective charms layered it. Forcing a look would trigger an alarm.
On the bedside table sat an empty glass vial. A trace of black liquid clung to the bottom. Regulus couldn't identify it, but it wasn't a standard potion.
Hermes's schoolbag rested near the window, zipper not fully closed. A corner of parchment showed.
No protective magic.
Regulus slid a thin probe of magic inside.
A hand-drawn map.
Crude lines, but clear labels. Hogwarts' main structure sat at the center. Several areas were circled.
A corridor on the right side of the fourth floor, marked: "searched, nothing found."
An abandoned classroom area on the west side of the dungeons: "wards present, need to break."
And a room beneath the Astronomy Tower, labeled: "possible entrance, unverified."
Beneath the Astronomy Tower?
There shouldn't be a room there. Just the outer wall.
Unless it was hidden. Or a passage.
Regulus withdrew his magic and returned to his bed.
What was Hermes Mulciber searching for?
Or who was he searching for it for?
An hour later, at 1:14 a.m., the door opened again.
Hermes slipped back inside. His steps were heavier this time. Fresh scorch marks marred the hem of his robe. A thin red cut crossed the back of his left hand, like a slice from something sharp.
He paused in the doorway, eyes moving over the three beds.
Satisfied, he went to his own. As he removed his outer robe, a faint sulfur smell reached Regulus.
Magical flame. Or residue from some alchemical reaction.
Hermes closed the curtains. Soft rustling followed. Then silence.
Regulus stared up at the dark canopy above him.
First year. Eleven years old. Already involved in dangerous secrets.
The Mulciber family is a pure-blood family.
For generations, they'd dealt in rare magical artifacts. In reality, that meant brokering dark objects, smuggling, and private collections.
They specialized in operating along the edges of the law, with quiet ties to shops in Knockturn Alley. No interest in politics. Only in forbidden knowledge and dangerous items.
They didn't openly support Voldemort, but they supplied the Death Eaters under the table.
Was Hermes acting on personal curiosity?
Or carrying out a family task?
If it was the latter, then whatever he was searching for was likely tied to the coming war.
An owl hooted somewhere outside, distant and indistinct.
Regulus let the thought settle. He would keep watching.
He closed his eyes and began another cycle of Magic Circulation.
In his mind, Orion's geometric form lit up once more, starlike magic flowing along carefully calculated paths.