Lina rounded the corridor corner, slowed, and glanced back. She waited. A moment later, Samuel caught up.
His expression had changed completely from the hesitation he'd shown in the common room. Calm now. Like a different person.
"We should play this differently," he said.
Lina raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"In front of Black, you heard the order and moved immediately. No hesitation. So I needed to be the one who paused, who thought it over." He kept his voice even. "Whether it matters or not, in his eyes we might register as two different people. If something else comes up later, we're two options instead of one."
Lina studied him for a beat. The logic tracked.
She and Samuel were the same kind of person.
Half-bloods. Slytherin. Marginalized by default in a House where the Pure-blood families looked at them with the same expression every time: Why are you here?
Among the second-years, they were the weakest faction. Two people huddling together for warmth.
But warmth wasn't enough. You had to climb.
Toward Alex. Toward his circle. Toward Black.
They didn't have the standing to wedge themselves in directly. Not yet. But they could linger at the edge, make themselves visible when it counted, prove they were useful.
Survival instinct. Lina understood it. Samuel understood it.
She let out an irritated huff. "You pulled the same thing last time."
Samuel's brow creased. "I told you. Never bring that up again. Even when it's just us."
Lina shut her mouth. He was right. That one stayed buried.
Last term, three Gryffindors had cornered them. Disarmed them. Locked them in an abandoned washroom.
The humiliation still burned when she thought about it.
But being picked on could become an opportunity, if you used it right.
They'd gone to Alex. Asked for help.
Not because they wanted Alex to fight their battles. They wanted Alex to know, and through Alex, they wanted Black to know. Two half-blood first-years, stuck at the very bottom of Slytherin's pecking order, getting pushed around.
They needed a reason to appear on Black's radar.
Being victims was that reason.
Black found out. He had Alex handle it.
To Black, it was probably the smallest thing imaginable. He might not even remember.
To them, it was the first win. The first time they'd used that kind of maneuvering to make themselves seen.
After that, they'd positioned themselves behind Alex. Never crowding in. But present when needed. Not too close, not too far.
Lina drew a deep breath and shoved the memories down.
"Fine." She switched to business. "You check the material processing room. I'll try his office."
Samuel nodded.
"Find him fast and get back."
One look between them, and they split.
Lina ran. The corridors stretched empty ahead of her, nothing but her footsteps echoing off stone.
She turned the instructions over as she moved. Black had told Alex to find Professor Slughorn and say something was happening in the common room.
That was it. No explanation. No reason. No script for what to say.
But it was enough. She didn't need to know why. She just needed to get it done.
Get it done, get seen.
Fail, and you're nobody.
Slytherin was that simple.
She ran faster.
---
Back in the common room, the atmosphere crackled.
Two people stood in the center of the circle.
Rosalie Selwyn. Darius Nott.
Regulus sat on the sofa, watching.
Upper years gathered in loose knots around the space, some holding goblets, some leaning against sofa backs, all eyes on the pair.
Rosalie was a Selwyn. Her cousin, a sixth-year, sat dead center of the upper-year section, turning a wine goblet between his fingers, gaze locked on the circle.
Darius was a Nott. The Notts ranked well among the Pure-bloods. Two had enrolled this generation; the elder had already graduated, leaving him the sole representative.
His face was overcast, nothing like the nervous energy the other first-years wore. Just dark and still.
They squared off. Darius moved first. "Stupefy!"
Red light lanced from his wand, quick, at a sharp angle.
Rosalie sidestepped clean, already firing back. "Impedimenta!"
Purple light caught Darius mid-stride. His body locked for a heartbeat.
He wrenched free, stepped back, changed his angle. "Locomotor Mortis!"
Rosalie jumped it. The instant her feet touched stone, she was already casting. "Rictusempra!"
Darius's face spasmed. He didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched violently. Jaw clenched, fighting it, he forced a spell through gritted teeth.
"Tarantallegra!"
Rosalie's legs kicked into a wild, jerking dance. She danced her way past Darius's next curse, spinning through the center of the circle, eyes never leaving him.
Darius pressed the advantage. Another Stunning Spell.
She dodged while dancing. It looked absurd, graceless, but every dodge landed exactly where it needed to.
Then she stopped. Dead still. As if everything before had been an act.
Her wand snapped toward Darius. "Expelliarmus!"
Red light struck him square in the chest. His wand tore free, tumbling end over end through the air before clattering to the floor and rolling to the crowd's feet.
Darius stood there, staring at his empty hand. Then he lowered his head.
Applause and whistles erupted. The upper years came alive.
"The Selwyn girl. Solid."
"Knew it. She was never actually hit."
"Nott's kid doesn't cut it. Broods like a storm cloud and can't even tell when a spell didn't land."
"Mulciber brooded last year too, but that was real talent behind it. This one? What's he got, a mean stare?"
Glances exchanged.
Regulus watched Rosalie.
Darius Nott reminded him a little of Hermes from last year. Same brooding energy, same few words, same don't-mess-with-me aura.
But if last year's Hermes, fresh off the train, had fought this kid, Hermes would've won without breaking a sweat.
Nott wasn't much.
Rosalie Selwyn, though. She had something.
No shouting when she cast. Every incantation came low, controlled.
Her footwork was clean. She knew where to dodge, when to press, when to pull back.
And she'd faked being hit to lure her opponent in, then finished it in one move.
Regulus looked away.
He leaned against the sofa back, fingers tapping lightly on his knee.
Boring. But boring or not, he had to watch.
Polius Greengrass stepped to the center and raised his hand. "Rosalie Selwyn!"
In the upper-year section, the sixth-year Selwyn rose.
He lifted his goblet and gestured around the room, wearing a smile he kept carefully restrained. Not too broad. Not too smug.
Congratulations flowed in from every side.
"Your girl's impressive!"
"Rock solid. She'll go far."
"Selwyn family's looking good this year. The Nott kid can't hold a candle."
"Come on, drink up!"
The sixth-year Selwyn nodded along, mouth saying "she's got a long way to go, long way to go," but the satisfaction on his face wasn't fooling anyone.
He clinked goblets with the group, took a sip, sat back down, and let his gaze settle on Rosalie with an approving nod.
Veronica Yaxley walked to the center, roster in hand.
She stood straight, swept the room with her eyes, and called out: "Next match. Geoffrey Sayre versus Rosalie Selwyn."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
"Sayre? Who's that?"
"The one with the overpowered Knockback Jinx earlier?"
"Yeah, him. Hit hard."
"Against Selwyn, though. Now that's a match."
Someone in the upper years whistled.
"Taking bets! One Galleon on Selwyn!"
"Two on Sayre!"
"Please. Sayre's little trick won't last three minutes against Selwyn."
"Don't be so sure. That kid's spells pack a punch. Might have more up his sleeve."
Others shook their heads.
A seventh-year boy, slouched deep into a sofa, turned to the person beside him. "These two aren't bad, but compared to last year? Miles off."
His companion nodded. "Different league entirely. Mulciber wasn't weak either. Everyone thought he was impressive, and then..."
"Then Black pinned him down. One Protego and every attack bounced off."
"And after that, Travers..." A pained exhale. "That was ugly."
In the center of the circle, Rosalie and Geoffrey faced each other.
Rosalie's expression hadn't shifted. Calm, composed, wand hanging loose at her side, eyes on the boy across from her.
Geoffrey kept his head down, toe tracing circles on the floor.
Sayre.
Regulus turned the name over. Probably some minor family. A generation or two of Pure-blood status at most. Nobody anyone had heard of.
Then he saw it. The turbulence in the boy's magic had grown worse.
Rosalie and Geoffrey were about to begin, both raising their wands at the same time.
Regulus spoke. Not loud. But clear enough to carry.
"Stop."
The entire common room went silent. Every head turned toward him.
Rosalie's wand froze in midair. She looked over. Geoffrey went still.
Polius Greengrass frowned and turned. "Mr. Black, what is it?"
His tone was measured. No annoyance, no urgency. Just a question.
Regulus didn't answer directly.
He stayed where he was, leaned back on the sofa, hands still laced across his stomach, eyes meeting Polius's.
"Mr. Greengrass. After they determine a winner, is there anything else planned?"
Polius blinked. Then: "Yes. The winning first-year may choose whether to challenge the current Chief."
He added, "It's not mandatory. Simply an opportunity to receive guidance."
Regulus nodded. He'd guessed as much.
This part was new. Polius and Veronica were new Prefects, looking to add their own touch to the welcome gathering. Nothing unusual about that.
---
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