Near the end of dinner, two figures rose at the far end of the Slytherin table.
Polius Greengrass, the newly appointed Prefect, tapped a silver spoon against his goblet.
"All Slytherin students are to return directly to the common room after dinner."
His gaze swept the hall, lingering on the first-year section. The younger students straightened their spines on instinct.
Veronica Yaxley, the new female Prefect, stood across from him and waited until he'd finished.
"First-years, attendance is mandatory. This is Slytherin tradition."
A murmur rippled down the Slytherin table.
Among the upper years, a cluster of sixth-year boys traded looks. Less of the amused spectator energy from last year. More genuine anticipation.
One dropped his voice. "Think anyone this year can match what Black did?"
The boy beside him scoffed. "Don't hold your breath. One of those in a decade and Merlin's smiling on you."
"Smiling on who? Black, or..."
Someone started a quip, didn't finish. Got tugged back by a companion.
"I heard Greengrass and Yaxley run it strict. Wonder if they'll change the format."
"How much can you change? It's a fight."
A seventh-year girl jerked her chin toward the second-year section. "Honestly, I just want to see the expressions on these first-years' faces when they realize they're being measured against last year's winner."
Several heads turned to follow her gaze.
Regulus sat in the second-year section, poking his last roast potato with a fork.
His reputation was enormous. Last year's Chief challenge had spread from one person to ten to a hundred. What should have stayed inside Slytherin had leaked to every House.
Some said he'd beaten his opponent in a single move. Others claimed he'd barely lifted his wand. A few insisted it wasn't the kind of magic a first-year should possess.
The story mutated with each retelling.
But one thing was true. No one in Slytherin dared challenge his position now.
Over time, the entire House's behavior had shifted around him. No one raised their voice when he was near. No one failed to step aside when he passed.
It wasn't fear, exactly. More like... an acceptance that had settled into the walls.
The first-years' reactions were simpler.
The ones from core Pure-blood families stood with rigid backs, faces tight with nerves and eagerness. They'd been raised on the gospel of strength and honor, and tonight was their first stage.
The rest, half-bloods or families that didn't rank in pureblood circles, looked worse. Their eyes darted through the crowd, searching for something to anchor to.
Searching, searching, until they landed on the second-year section. On Regulus.
He was still eating his potato.
The first-years stole a glance or two and snapped their eyes away.
Regulus finished the last bite, set down his cutlery, and stood.
The moment he moved, every second-year around him moved with him. A cascade of scraping chairs.
It wasn't normally like this. People finished and left at their own pace. Nobody waited.
But tonight was different.
The first-years were watching. The upper years were watching. And Slytherin instincts kicked in.
The second-years needed to show they had a center. Needed to be seen as a unit.
Nobody planned it. It was the kind of thing that happened on its own in moments like these.
The movement drew attention. A few upper years exchanged glances. One shrugged and stood. Others frowned but said nothing, rising half a beat behind.
---
The common room.
Upper years gathered in loose clusters around the sofas, voices low. First-years spilled in after them, instinctively clumping together before slowly splitting into smaller groups.
The Pure-bloods drifted forward. The half-bloods hung back.
Regulus walked to an empty sofa section and sat.
Cuthbert took the seat on his left. Alex on the right. Hermes claimed a single armchair nearby and said nothing.
Regulus leaned back, fingers laced across his stomach, eyes on the first-years.
Polius Greengrass strode to the fireplace, scanned the room, and the common room fell silent.
Veronica Yaxley stood just behind his shoulder, gaze severe.
Polius spoke without inflection, measured and controlled. "Welcome to the Slytherin welcome gathering."
"The tradition is simple. First-years, paired duels."
"The rules are as follows. First, no restriction on spells, so long as you can cast them successfully and Madam Pomfrey doesn't need to make a midnight visit. Second, the purpose is to understand yourself and to understand your peers. Slytherin respects strength, but respects the wisdom to wield it even more."
"Victory is decided by the Prefects."
Veronica produced a silver cup filled with folded slips of parchment. "Draw for your opponent."
One by one, the first-years stepped forward and reached in.
Some opened their slip and exhaled.
Others' hands shook so badly the parchment nearly hit the floor.
The boy who drew the Nott kid went white on the spot.
The one who drew the Selwyn girl showed no reaction, but the girl herself frowned, as though the opponent disappointed her.
By the time every slip was drawn, the common room hummed with tension.
Those who'd been relieved were sneaking looks at their matchups. The one who'd been shaking was still shaking. The ones in the back had already started edging toward the corners.
The upper years came alive. A sixth-year boy whipped out a small notebook and waved it.
"Bets are open! Who's taking Chief this year? I've got five Galleons on the Nott kid!"
A girl beside him sneered. "Please. Nott? I'm backing the Selwyn girl. She looks steady."
Someone else cut in. "What about the Flint kid? He's massive."
"What good is massive? If size mattered, you'd be marrying a Troll."
The boy coughed, dropping his voice. "Speaking of pressure, with Black's performance last year, these kids must be sweating."
He tilted his chin toward the first-years. "Look. They keep glancing at the second-years."
It was true. After drawing their slips, the first-years kept stealing looks at Regulus.
Quick glances. Lingering ones.
Regulus sat there, motionless.
Polius raised his hand. "Begin."
---
The first pair stepped forward.
Two boys. One from the Fawley family, one a distant relation of the Macmillans. Ordinary Pure-bloods, the kind who didn't rank high in their own families.
Fawley struck first. "Impedimenta!"
A jet of light shot across the circle. Macmillan sidestepped, fired back with a Locomotor Mortis.
It connected. Fawley's legs snapped together and he toppled backward like a plank.
Before Macmillan could celebrate, Fawley was already chanting on his way down. "Stupefy."
Red light lanced upward from the floor and caught Macmillan square in the chest.
His eyes rolled back. He collapsed, landing directly on top of Fawley.
The two of them piled up in a heap. Laughter broke out from the crowd. The Prefects called it a draw.
Second pair.
Girl against girl.
One cast Rictusempra. The other fired back with Tarantallegra. One crumpled, howling with laughter. The other's legs kicked into an uncontrollable jig.
Both ended up on the floor, gasping and glaring at each other. Another draw.
Third pair.
A tall, thin boy against a short, stocky one.
They traded Knockback Jinxes and Impedimenta for what felt like ages, neither landing a clean hit.
Then the thin one changed tactics. A flick of the wrist. Silencio.
His opponent opened his mouth for the next incantation and nothing came out. Lips moving, throat working, but silence.
He froze. His face flushed crimson.
The thin boy seized the opening. Stupefy. Down he went.
Scattered applause from the upper years.
Someone remarked, "That was clever."
---
Regulus watched the matches, but his mind was already in the Room of Requirement.
The spatial network exercises were holding steady at five simultaneous spells. Time to push higher. With the sixth star integrated, his mental capacity had ticked up another notch. One or two more layers should be manageable.
The next first-year stepped into the circle.
Thin, unremarkable and wearing Slytherin robes that looked a size too big.
Standing in the crowd beforehand, he'd been nervous and excited in equal parts, no different from the rest.
Regulus started to look away, then stopped.
The boy's magic was wrong. It churned inside him, restless, like something burning, surging, hammering to get out.
Not surging. Erupting.
His eyebrow twitched.
He hadn't spread his magical perception deliberately. He'd only been looking. But at his current level, wherever his gaze landed, perception followed on its own.
Regulus didn't let anything show. He tilted his head slightly toward Alex on his right and spoke, voice pitched so low only Alex could hear.
"Find Professor Slughorn. Tell him something's happening in the common room."
Alex blinked, confused.
But a year at Regulus's side had taught him that moments like these didn't come with explanations attached.
He nodded. His expression didn't change. He eased back in his seat.
Behind Alex stood Samuel Vance and Lina Costa.
The two half-blood second-years had, naturally, gravitated toward Regulus in a setting like this. Not bold enough to sit near him directly. Close enough to stand in his orbit.
They didn't sit. There was no seat for them here. But standing nearby counted as being on his side.
Alex turned and murmured something to Lina.
She didn't hesitate. A quick nod, and she slipped away through the back of the crowd, bent low, steps light. With everyone's attention on the dueling circle, no one noticed.
Samuel caught the words too, but wavered for a beat.
He looked around. Looked at Regulus's back. Then followed her out.
Regulus didn't turn. His eyes stayed on the circle.
The boy made his move.
"Flipendo!"
Red light erupted from his wand tip, faster than it should have been. Brighter.
His opponent couldn't dodge. The spell hit clean and sent the boy flying, slamming into the wall.
Gasps rippled through the spectators.
Upper years exchanged glances. Someone whistled.
"That jinx had some bite."
"Serious power behind it."
"Whose kid is that? Never heard of him."
The boy stood in the center, chest heaving, face lit with excitement.
Regulus watched his magic.
After the spell, the turmoil hadn't settled. If anything, it had worsened. Wilder now, like a fire burning too hot, already eating into things it shouldn't reach.
He looked away and leaned back into the sofa.
Cuthbert leaned in, voice low. "What is it?"
He'd caught Alex's movement.
Regulus said nothing. A slight shake of the head.
Cuthbert dropped it. He looked at the boy still riding high in the circle, then back at Regulus, something turning behind his eyes.
Alex's expression had gone serious. He stayed quiet.
In the circle, the boy waited for his next opponent.
No one noticed that two half-blood second-years had slipped out.