Regulus climbed the spiral staircase at an unhurried pace, heading for the Owlery.
The situation had escalated. The school portion was finished.
But beyond Hogwarts, it was only beginning.
He'd elevated the conflict to the level of family honor, which meant it couldn't be resolved within these walls alone. The House of Black needed to make a statement, needed to ensure the Belmonts and every family watching from the sidelines understood that the line he'd drawn was absolute.
He needed to write to his father.
The content would be straightforward. A summary of the evening's events: Arnold Belmont had publicly adopted a condescending posture to pressure the Black heir into a declaration of loyalty, his language carrying unmistakable disrespect toward the House of Black. As the heir, Regulus had responded appropriately and recommended the family apply pressure on the Belmonts to remind them of their station.
No need for excessive detail. Orion would understand.
An incident of disrespect like this could be treated as large or small within Pure-blood circles. If the Blacks let it slide, someone bolder would test the waters next time. If they responded firmly, it established authority and sent a signal to every other family: the House of Black remained the House of Black. Don't provoke it.
Regulus kept the letter calm and measured. Facts only, no emotion.
He closed with a single line: I believe this presents an opportunity to establish clear boundaries.
He rolled the parchment, tied it with cord, and walked into the Owlery.
The family's tawny owl recognized him and fluttered down to his arm. He fastened the letter to its leg and smoothed its feathers.
"Grimmauld Place."
The owl hooted once and launched into the night sky.
---
After Regulus left, the Slytherin Common Room sat in silence for a full three minutes.
No one spoke. Every pair of eyes was fixed on Arnold Belmont.
He knelt before the fireplace, hands bound behind his back, head tilted upward. A statue of disgrace.
His eyes were open, but the focus had drained from them. He stared at nothing.
The Langlock jinx still held. No sound escaped his lips, only the ragged push of breath through his nostrils.
The younger students pressed against the walls, barely daring to breathe.
For the first time, they'd witnessed the brutal calculus of Pure-blood hierarchy up close. No dueling, no spells traded back and forth. Something colder than that.
The upper-years began to move.
Several girls gathered around Narcissa, speaking in low tones.
A sixth-year leaned in. "Will the Black family really..."
Narcissa cut her off with a shake of her head. "Don't ask questions you shouldn't."
The girl fell silent, but the avid gleam in her eyes betrayed her.
On the other side of the room, Lucretius Burke had become the center of gravity. Several seventh-years clustered around him. Someone pressed a fresh drink into his hand. Others settled into nearby seats.
A seventh-year boy kept his voice low. "He doesn't pull punches."
"When punches need throwing, you don't hold back." Lucretius sipped his drink, eyes on the fireplace. "The Belmonts have been getting ideas these past few years. Made some money, opened a few channels in Knockturn Alley, and started thinking they belonged at the top table. Tonight was a reality check."
"But wasn't it a bit..." Another boy hesitated. "This is still a school. The professors..."
"Professors?" A short laugh from Lucretius. "Professor Slughorn is head of Slytherin and patriarch of the Slughorn family. You think he doesn't understand how this works?"
Glances circled the group. Everyone got it.
Slytherin had its own rules, and Slytherin's rules were Pure-blood rules.
Professors would intervene in student brawls. They'd enforce school regulations. But they wouldn't insert themselves into a contest of standing between Pure-blood families.
That was a different game entirely. Interference would only make things worse.
The younger students had swarmed Cuthbert, Alex, and Hermes.
"Is Regulus always like this?" A second-year boy's eyes shone.
Cuthbert puffed up his chest, affecting a casual tone. "That was nothing. Last time we were at..."
A glare from Hermes shut him down mid-sentence. He pivoted smoothly. "Point is, don't cross him. That's all you need to know."
Alex stayed quiet, but his eyes carried the unmistakable glow of reflected glory.
Hermes watched the kneeling figure by the fireplace, his thoughts running a different track.
If it had been him facing that situation, the only solution he'd have come up with was blasting the other person into the ground with dark magic. Hit them until they couldn't speak.
Regulus had chosen another path. Smarter, more thorough and completely free of consequences.
Power mattered. But how you wielded power mattered more.
That was the lesson Hermes took from tonight.
---
Regulus left the Owlery and didn't return to the common room. He went straight to the Room of Requirement.
Tonight wouldn't be quiet. What he'd done would draw attention from multiple directions.
He'd told them not to notify a professor, but professors would find out eventually. A student would let something slip, or a house-elf would report it, or a portrait would talk.
Rather than sit in the common room fielding probing questions and whispered speculation, he'd take his peace elsewhere.
Inside the Room of Requirement, he replayed the evening.
Everything he'd done had cause behind it.
He hadn't started this. Arnold Belmont had stepped forward of his own volition, trying to co-opt him, trying to climb on his back. All Regulus had done was take the knife Arnold handed him, flip it around, and drive it home.
The results spoke for themselves.
He'd told everyone in that room exactly what the House of Black was.
He'd told everyone with ulterior motives to stay away.
One chicken slaughtered, and a hundred monkeys took note.
It might even ripple into the purge campaign itself. After tonight, the younger students who'd been swept up in the frenzy might think twice the next time someone rallied them to a cause. If I jump when someone tells me to jump, does that make me look weak? Does that make me someone else's tool?
Even if the purge had Death Eater leadership behind it, even if Voldemort himself had given the nod, Regulus wasn't worried.
In this conflict, he was the injured party.
He'd done nothing more than what any Black was obligated to do: defend the family's dignity. The moral high ground was entirely his.
The clever ones could see his intent plainly enough, but none of them could call it out, because he was in the right.
His actions might even earn tacit approval from other Sacred Twenty-Eight families. What Regulus had defended wasn't just the Black name. It was the dignity and standing of every family at the top of the hierarchy.
If the House of Black could be treated that way by a Belmont and not respond, the Parkinsons would be next. Then the Notts. Then the Malfoys.
This was a defensive line, and Regulus had held it. That benefited everyone.
The rest depended on how things developed.
Tonight might remain a minor ripple inside Hogwarts, or it might trigger a larger chain reaction.
Either way, Regulus would enter more people's awareness now. That wasn't a bad thing.
In Pure-blood circles, reputation required strength to sustain it, and events to build it.
After tonight, the name Regulus Black would carry new weight.
He spent two hours in the Room of Requirement practicing Space Warp, another hour on Fiendfyre, then ran several attempts at spell-warping: routing a Disarming Charm through a spatial corridor to strike a practice dummy. The spell arrived with roughly eighty percent of its original force.
At four in the morning, he left and returned to the Slytherin Common Room.
The stone door slid open. The fireplace still burned. Arnold Belmont still knelt in the same position.
His face was chalk-white, forehead slicked with cold sweat, body trembling in small involuntary spasms. The spells held. He couldn't move.
Regulus didn't spare him a glance. He walked straight to the dormitory corridor and pushed through his door.
Cuthbert was already asleep, sprawled across the mattress with one leg dangling over the edge.
Alex had burrowed into his blankets, only the crown of his head visible.
Hermes's bed curtains were drawn. No movement from within.
Regulus shed his outer robe and lay down.
Beyond the window, the glow of the Black Lake filtered through the glass, casting rippling patterns across the ceiling.
Regulus drifted to sleep inside those shifting waves of light.
At half past six, Cuthbert was the first one up.
His eyes lit up and his grin stretched ear to ear. He bounded to Regulus's bedside, mouth already open, but when he saw Regulus's eyes were still closed, he swallowed the words and settled for pacing circles around the room.
Alex stirred next, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
Hermes pulled back his curtains looking gloomier than usual. He'd slept poorly, and the dark circles under his eyes showed it.
Regulus opened his eyes.
"You're awake!" Cuthbert was at his side instantly. "Do you know what they were saying after you left? Those younger kids were all over me, asking if you're always like that. I told them that was nothing, remember the time you..." He caught himself before the words spilled and covered with a cough. "Anyway, they look at you now like you're Merlin reborn."
He struck a pose, dropping his voice in mimicry of Regulus: "Has the Black family, in your estimation, declined so far that it requires you, a Belmont, to instruct us on how to conduct ourselves?"
Cuthbert acted it out with dramatic arm gestures. Alex laughed along, eyes bright and fixed on Regulus.
Hermes was still half in a daze.
Regulus ignored Cuthbert's excitement. He got out of bed, dressed, made his bed, every motion as methodical and unhurried as any other morning.
At seven, the four of them walked out of the dormitory.