The remainder of the winter holidays passed in a blur of formal gatherings and carefully orchestrated appearances. In the wake of the solstice ritual, Black Manor had become a revolving door of pure-blood society—ostensibly to celebrate Bellatrix's engagement, but increasingly focused on political maneuvering as news from outside confirmed escalating conflict.
"Three more disappearances reported yesterday," Father commented during breakfast in the final days of December, scanning the Daily Prophet with practiced neutrality. "Ministry officials from the Muggle Relations department. No bodies found, but the Dark Mark was seen over one residence."
"How unfortunate," Mother remarked with perfect aristocratic detachment, though her eyes flickered momentarily to where Regulus and I sat, silently assessing our reactions.
I maintained the carefully composed expression expected of a Black heir, offering neither approval nor condemnation of the implied Death Eater activity. Regulus followed my lead, though I noticed his hand tighten slightly around his teacup—a small tell revealing his discomfort with the violence.
"Minister Jenkins is facing a vote of no confidence after the new year," Father continued. "The Wizengamot considers her response to recent events... inadequate."
The political developments matched my timeline knowledge—Eugenia Jenkins would soon be replaced by Harold Minchum, whose hard-line security policies would prove largely ineffective against Voldemort's rising power. The Ministry's gradual destabilization was proceeding on schedule, though the intensity seemed accelerated compared to the history I remembered.
"Orion believes Minchum will likely succeed her," Mother observed. "A more... vigorous approach to security concerns."
"Indeed. Though vigor without proper direction merely creates new problems." Father folded the newspaper precisely. "Speaking of direction, Corvus, Bellatrix has expressed interest in providing additional magical instruction during your summer holidays. Something to consider, given your demonstrated aptitude."
The casual mention of what amounted to Death Eater recruitment disguised as family tutoring sent ice through my veins, though I maintained outward composure.
"I'm honored by her interest," I replied carefully. "Though I had hoped to focus on independent study of certain branches of magic that complement The Serpent's Fang's natural affinities."
Father's expression revealed nothing, though I detected subtle approval in his slight nod. "A reasonable priority. Family artifacts often require dedicated study to utilize properly. I'll convey your academic focus to Bellatrix."
The diplomatic deflection satisfied appearances while postponing direct involvement with Voldemort's inner circle. Such delicate navigation had become our daily reality—maintaining connections with Death Eater relatives while avoiding explicit commitment to their cause.
The crescent-shaped scar on my palm—legacy of the solstice ritual—had faded from its initial silver glow to a more subdued pearlescent sheen, though it still brightened noticeably whenever I handled The Serpent's Fang. The wand itself had undergone subtle transformation following the ritual, the crystalline chamber exhibiting new properties—occasional swirls of silvery light moving within its depths, responding to my emotional states and magical intentions.
"The wand absorbed essence beyond mere blood during the ritual," Narcissa explained when I consulted her about these changes. "Family magic has memory, carries intention. The Serpent's Fang now connects more deeply to Black legacy than before."
Her explanation aligned with my observations—the wand performed even more intuitively now, anticipating my magical needs with uncanny precision during private practice. Spells flowed more naturally, required less conscious direction, as if the boundary between wandbearer and instrument had partially dissolved.
Most concerning, however, was its apparent hunger for more advanced magic. When practicing basic first-year spells, The Serpent's Fang responded sluggishly, almost reluctantly. But when attempting more complex magic from Father's private library—particularly spells with combat applications—it practically sang with eagerness, enhancing effects beyond my intended power.
This evolving relationship with the wand would require careful management upon returning to Hogwarts, where magical performance was constantly observed and evaluated. The enhanced connection offered advantages but also risked exposing capabilities inappropriate for my apparent age and experience.
"Ready to return?" Regulus asked as we packed our trunks on the final evening of holiday break. "Feels strange, doesn't it? Going back to homework and curfews after... everything here."
The understatement captured our shared experience—transitioning from blood rituals and Death Eater politics back to the relative innocence of first-year studies created cognitive dissonance difficult to reconcile.
"The contrast is certainly stark," I agreed, carefully packing The Serpent's Fang's maintenance kit—special polishing cloths, essence of basilisk scale for conditioning the chamber, and other specialized materials Father had provided. "Though Hogwarts has its own complications."
"Sirius," Regulus said quietly, naming the most obvious complication for him personally. "He'll have questions about the holidays. About who visited, what happened."
"You're not obligated to report family matters," I reminded him. "Even to a brother."
Regulus sighed, folding a set of school robes with mechanical precision. "He has ways of knowing things anyway. And I—" he hesitated, then continued more softly, "Sometimes I miss just talking to him. Before everything got so complicated."
The admission revealed lingering attachment despite the family schism—a potential opening for the reconciliation that had never occurred in the original timeline. I made mental note to encourage this fragile connection; keeping Regulus from total isolation within pure-blood ideology might prove crucial to altering his fate.
"Perhaps limited communication serves both your interests," I suggested carefully. "Information flows both ways, after all."
Regulus considered this perspective, his expression thoughtful. "A practical approach. Very Slytherin of you, cousin."
"We contain multitudes," I replied with a slight smile. "Even within House affiliations."
Our return to Hogwarts bypassed the Hogwarts Express entirely. Father arranged private transportation directly to Hogsmeade—partly for convenience, partly to avoid Ministry observation of who collected which students from Platform 9¾. Professor Slughorn once again met us at the village boundaries, his jovial greeting masking keen assessment of our holiday experiences.
"Welcome back, welcome back!" he exclaimed, ushering us toward the waiting carriages. "I trust your family celebrations were appropriately festive? Your father mentioned a particularly significant solstice observance this year."
His casual fishing for information about the ritual confirmed my suspicions that Slughorn maintained connections across political divides—gathering intelligence while carefully avoiding explicit alliance with either side of the growing conflict.
"Traditional family gathering," I replied noncommittally. "The Serpent's Fang performed as expected in its ceremonial capacity."
"Fascinating artifact, truly exceptional," Slughorn nodded, his walrus mustache quivering with genuine interest. "I've been researching similar focused conduits since our discussion last term. Perhaps you might visit during office hours to compare observations? Purely academic interest, of course."
"Of course, Professor. I'd welcome your insights."
As the thestral-drawn carriage carried us toward the castle, I observed Hogwarts with fresh perspective—its ancient towers rising against the winter sky represented both sanctuary and battlefield. In the timeline I remembered, these walls would eventually witness terrible conflict, become final resting place for too many bright futures extinguished prematurely.
Could those fates be altered through careful intervention? Or would attempts to change established events create worse outcomes through unintended consequences? The responsibility of foreknowledge weighed heavily as we passed through the castle gates, returning to the comparative innocence of school life.
The Slytherin common room hummed with subdued conversation as students settled back into term routines, exchanging heavily edited holiday stories while assessing subtle shifts in alliances and affiliations. I noted several older students now clustered in exclusive groups, their left forearms carefully concealed beneath rolled-down sleeves despite the room's warmth—newly made Death Eaters returning with fresh marks and missions.
"Feels different, doesn't it?" Barty Crouch Jr. observed quietly, approaching where Regulus and I had claimed a corner table for reviewing holiday assignments. "Everyone's more... divided than before break."
His perceptiveness remained impressive for an eleven-year-old, particularly one seemingly caught between opposing influences—his father's Ministry position versus his house's increasing Death Eater sympathies.
"Political developments accelerating outside inevitably affect internal dynamics," I agreed, gesturing for him to join us. "How was your holiday, Barty?"
"Quiet." His expression revealed deeper complexity beneath the simple description. "Father worked through most of it—emergency Ministry sessions, new security protocols. Barely saw him."
The subtle loneliness in his tone reminded me that Barty's eventual turn to Voldemort stemmed partly from paternal neglect—seeking approval and recognition his career-obsessed father never provided. Another potential intervention point to consider if I hoped to prevent his dark future.
"The Ministry seems increasingly reactive," I commented, providing opening for him to share insider information while appearing merely conversational.
Barty glanced around before responding, his voice barely above whisper. "Father says they're implementing new measures for tracking magical signatures associated with dark magic. Experimental monitoring charms throughout wizarding areas. That's why..."
He hesitated, then continued with obvious internal conflict. "That's why certain people are accelerating their plans. Before new detection methods are fully operational."
The intelligence was valuable—suggesting Death Eater activities might intensify in coming months, creating deadline pressure for Voldemort's operations. Such acceleration could explain the heightened recruitment I'd observed during the holidays.
"Interesting timing," I noted neutrally. "Changes in Ministry leadership often prompt such adjustments on both sides."
Our conversation was interrupted by Lucius Malfoy's arrival in the common room, his prefect badge gleaming as he posted new notices on the announcement board. His customary aristocratic aloofness had acquired additional edge since the holidays—subtle indicators of increased importance and purpose in his bearing.
"First Hogsmeade weekend scheduled for February," Rosier commented, joining our table uninvited after checking the notices. "Not that it matters to first-years."
"Unless accompanied by older students," Lucius corrected smoothly, approaching with measured steps. "Prefects may escort younger housemates with appropriate permission. I'll be accompanying several third-years whose families have... requested special consideration."
His gaze rested meaningfully on Regulus and me, the implication clear—special privileges extended to those from families aligned with Voldemort's interests. The preferential treatment served dual purpose: reward for loyalty and enticement for potential recruits.
"A generous offering of your time," I acknowledged with appropriate respect.
"Family connections warrant certain courtesies," Lucius replied. "Should your parents send permission, I'd be pleased to include you in the arrangements."
The offer presented complex considerations—accepting would strengthen connections to future Death Eaters while providing valuable observation opportunities; declining might create suspicion about my alignment. Before I could formulate response, Regulus spoke.
"Most appreciated, Lucius. I'll write to Mother tonight."
His quick acceptance simplified my position—family unity suggested I should join him, while providing plausible explanation for my involvement without signaling personal eagerness.
"As will I," I confirmed. "Thank you for the consideration."
Lucius nodded with the satisfaction of political maneuvering successfully executed. "Excellence deserves recognition," he observed before departing to continue his prefect duties.
When sufficient distance ensured privacy, Barty leaned closer. "Be careful," he murmured. "Father says Malfoy is under specific observation. His 'escorted' Hogsmeade visits have purposes beyond shopping."
The warning confirmed my assumptions—Lucius was already facilitating recruitment activities, using school privileges to connect younger students with Death Eater contacts in the village. Such operations would eventually lead to his downfall after Voldemort's first defeat, when he narrowly escaped Azkaban through claims of Imperius coercion.
"Information noted," I thanked Barty quietly. "Your insights are valuable."
His normally anxious expression brightened at the appreciation, reinforcing my impression that recognition and validation constituted powerful motivators for the neglected boy. Perhaps nurturing those needs through positive channels might prevent his eventual radicalization.
As evening progressed, I observed other subtle shifts in common room dynamics—Narcissa holding court among fifth-year girls while occasionally exchanging meaningful glances with Lucius; Evan Rosier receiving deferential treatment from older students despite his first-year status, his family's Death Eater connections conferring borrowed importance; and most tellingly, certain seventh-years disappearing for "study groups" that obviously served different purposes.
Slytherin House was transforming from school faction into recruitment pipeline, the process accelerating more rapidly than I had anticipated based on timeline knowledge. Intervention would require careful balance—maintaining credible cover within increasingly radicalized surroundings while establishing connections to potential allies outside the Death Eater orbit.
I retired to our dormitory earlier than usual, using fatigue from travel as excuse while actually seeking privacy to examine The Serpent's Fang more thoroughly. The wand's evolution following the ritual warranted careful assessment before classes resumed.
Alone behind drawn bed curtains with privacy charms ensuring seclusion, I held the wand up to wandlight, studying the crystalline chamber's new properties. Though physically empty, the crystal now contained swirling patterns of silvery luminescence that moved with purposeful motion rather than random flow—almost like memories in a Pensieve, though less distinct.
When I channeled magic through the wand, these patterns responded dramatically—coalescing, intensifying, sometimes forming momentary shapes before dissolving back into abstract movement. Most intriguing was their responsiveness to specific magical intent; combative spells produced sharp, aggressive configurations while protective magic generated circular, encompassing patterns.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" came Barty's voice suddenly from beyond my bed curtains. "The way it changes based on your magical signature."
I froze, privacy charms apparently less effective than I'd believed. "How long have you been observing?"
"Just arrived," he assured me, his tone suggesting genuine curiosity rather than intrusion. "Your curtains glow from inside when you're working with that wand—did you know? Like northern lights contained in fabric."
The observation concerned me—unintentional magical leakage could attract unwanted attention during private practice. "An unexpected side effect," I acknowledged, opening the curtains to find Barty standing respectfully distant, his expression combining curiosity with apology.
"Sorry for interrupting," he offered. "Just thought you should know about the visible effect. Some might find it... noteworthy."
"I appreciate the warning," I replied sincerely. "Better to learn from you than others with less discreet tendencies."
He nodded, eyes drawn to The Serpent's Fang's still-swirling chamber. "It's not like other wands, is it? More alive somehow."
The assessment was remarkably perceptive—and potentially problematic if widely observed. "Family heirloom," I explained with deliberate vagueness. "Certain properties develop over generations of use."
"My father collects books on wandlore," Barty said, maintaining respectful distance while clearly fascinated. "Says wands with crystalline components often serve as magical amplifiers—enhancing the caster's natural abilities beyond normal parameters."
Again, his knowledge proved surprisingly sophisticated for his age—another reminder that the future Death Eater's academic brilliance had roots in genuine intellectual curiosity before darker influences redirected his talents.
"An accurate assessment," I acknowledged. "Though such amplification requires proper control to utilize effectively."
Barty's eyes moved to the crescent scar on my palm, which had begun glowing faintly in proximity to the active wand. "Blood bonding," he whispered, recognition dawning. "You performed a ritual connection ceremony."
The identification of such specific magical knowledge by a first-year raised immediate questions about Barty's own holiday activities. Such rituals weren't covered in standard educational materials—his awareness suggested access to restricted information typically confined to pure-blood family libraries or darker collections.
"A traditional family observance," I confirmed carefully. "You seem well-informed about magical practices beyond the Hogwarts curriculum."
He flushed slightly, realizing perhaps that he'd revealed more about his own knowledge than intended. "I read extensively when Father's working. His library contains... diverse materials."
"Knowledge itself isn't problematic," I assured him, recognizing opportunity to influence his perspective. "Intent determines whether information serves constructive or destructive purposes."
This philosophical framing—separating magical knowledge from moral application—seemed to resonate with him, relieving apparent anxiety about his interest in potentially controversial magical theories.
"That's what I believe too," he agreed eagerly. "Father categorizes magic as inherently light or dark, but that seems oversimplified. The same levitation charm that moves a feather could drop someone from a cliff."
"Precisely. Capability versus application—an important distinction many overlook."
Our conversation was interrupted by other dormmates returning from the common room, ending the opportunity for further private discussion. Barty retreated to his own bed with a parting nod that communicated both appreciation for the exchange and understanding of its confidential nature.
As I secured The Serpent's Fang and prepared for sleep, I contemplated the unexpected connection forming with Barty Crouch Jr.—brilliant, neglected, seeking validation and intellectual engagement that his father's rigid worldview failed to provide. In the original timeline, Voldemort had fulfilled those needs, harnessing Barty's considerable talents toward destructive ends.
Could offering alternative mentorship change that trajectory? The possibility merited careful cultivation, especially given Barty's access to Ministry intelligence through his father's position. One more potential ally in the complex game of temporal chess I found myself playing—trying to prevent future tragedies without revealing the impossible source of my strategic foresight.
Classes resumed with intensified focus, professors accelerating curriculum coverage as if racing against external timetables. Defense Against the Dark Arts particularly reflected this urgency, with Professor Harbinger incorporating increasingly practical elements into even first-year lessons.
"The Shield Charm forms the foundation of personal protection," he emphasized during our first lesson of the new term, demonstrating the spell's effects against various minor hexes. "While technically above your year level, recent educational reviews suggest introducing foundational defensive magic earlier develops more robust magical reflexes."
The administrative justification fooled no one—Harbinger was preparing even youngest students for self-protection in an increasingly dangerous environment. I noticed James Potter and Sirius exchanging meaningful glances during this explanation, clearly connecting the accelerated instruction to outside events.
When divided into practice pairs, I found myself matched with Lily Evans—her vivid green eyes and dark red hair instantly recognizable as the features her son would inherit. At eleven, her magical potential already showed in the confident way she handled her wand and the precise questions she asked about technique.
"Proper visualization is essential," Harbinger instructed as we took positions. "Picture an actual barrier forming between yourself and incoming magic—transparent but impenetrable."
Lily nodded seriously, her focus absolute as she prepared to cast first. "Ready, Black?"
"Whenever you are," I confirmed, raising my wand in defensive position while carefully moderating The Serpent's Fang's eagerness—the wand practically vibrated with anticipation for combat magic, requiring constant restraint to avoid inappropriate power levels.
"Flipendo!" she cast with impressive precision, the knockback jinx traveling with perfect trajectory toward my chest.
"Protego," I countered, deliberately producing a shield appropriate to first-year capabilities—solid enough to deflect her spell but not the impenetrable barrier The Serpent's Fang could actually generate at full power.
Her jinx dissipated against my shield with a satisfying shimmer, earning approving nod from Harbinger as he circled the classroom observing student efforts.
"Well executed, Miss Evans, Mr. Black. Five points to each house for proper form."
Lily beamed at the recognition before resuming her stance. "Your turn to cast."
We established comfortable rhythm through subsequent exchanges, gradually increasing power as confidence built. Lily proved exceptionally quick with shield production, her natural talents already evident despite Muggle-born background and limited magical exposure.
"You don't fit my expectations," she commented during a brief rest period. "Sirius described his family as..." she hesitated, clearly editing her phrasing, "traditionally minded."
"Magical families contain diverse perspectives," I replied carefully, recognizing opportunity to establish connection with Harry's future mother. "Individual choices sometimes diverge from family patterns."
She studied me thoughtfully, those familiar green eyes assessing with surprising perception. "Like Sirius in Gryffindor while you're in Slytherin? Different paths from similar origins?"
"Something like that, yes."
"Yet you work well together when Professor pairs you," she observed. "I've noticed during practice sessions. No house rivalry, just magical focus."
Her observation highlighted the collaborative approach Sirius and I had established during previous lessons—a constructive relationship that apparently attracted notice beyond our immediate circles.
"Effective magic transcends arbitrary divisions," I suggested. "House affiliations reflect aspects of personality, not comprehensive identity."
Lily's expression brightened with enthusiastic agreement. "Exactly! Sev says the same thing, though he gets frustrated when James and his friends don't see it that way."
Severus Snape. The mention jolted me momentarily—another pivotal figure whose complex path would eventually include both Death Eater service and crucial contributions to Voldemort's ultimate defeat. Currently just a first-year Slytherin with brilliant magical potential and deeply problematic social circumstances.
"Severus Snape?" I clarified, though I knew perfectly well whom she meant.
"Yes, my best friend since before Hogwarts," she confirmed with obvious affection. "We grew up in the same neighborhood. He taught me about magic before my letter arrived."
The friendship that would eventually fracture irreparably, sending Snape spiraling toward Death Eater service while Lily married his childhood tormentor. Another potential intervention point, though manipulating such deeply personal relationships carried significant ethical concerns.
"Intelligence deserves recognition regardless of background," I offered neutrally, carefully avoiding triggering her defensive instincts about her friendship with Snape while establishing my own relative openness to cross-house connections.
"Precisely!" She smiled more genuinely now. "I wish more Slytherins shared that perspective. Sev has difficulties sometimes with certain housemates... their views on heritage and such."
The understated description of pure-blood prejudice against half-blood Snape hinted at pressures already pushing him toward the choices that would eventually cost him everything he valued. Perhaps subtle counter-influence might help preserve both their friendship and Snape's potential for better choices.
"House dynamics reflect external societal tensions," I acknowledged. "Though individual connections often transcend such pressures when built on mutual respect."
"Resume practice!" Harbinger called, ending our conversation as we returned to spell exchange. But something had shifted—a tentative bridge established across house lines that might prove valuable in future timeline adjustments.
As class concluded, I noticed Sirius watching my interaction with Lily with undisguised curiosity. He intercepted me as students filed toward the door.
"Getting friendly with Evans?" he asked, tone carefully neutral though his eyes reflected complex assessment. "Interesting choice of association."
"Paired by professor assignment," I reminded him. "Though she's certainly talented."
"Exceptionally so," he agreed with surprising seriousness. "Despite having no magical background before Hogwarts. Almost like blood status doesn't actually determine magical ability, wouldn't you say, cousin?"
The pointed observation deserved acknowledgment. "Evidence suggests correlation between heritage and magical potential is considerably overstated," I conceded quietly. "An observation based on practical experience rather than political position."
Sirius's expression transformed from challenging to genuinely surprised, then thoughtful. "Not the response I expected from Uncle Cygnus's son. Holiday traditions didn't reinforce family doctrine?"
The question probed dangerous territory—seeking information about Black Manor's Death Eater connections while offering opportunity to distinguish my personal views from family politics.
"Traditional observances occurred," I replied carefully. "Though interpretation of significance remains individually determined."
He studied me with renewed intensity, seeming to reach some internal decision. "Listen, some of us meet occasionally to practice defensive magic beyond class requirements. Different houses, different years, focused on practical application rather than theory. Might interest someone with your... observational tendencies."
The invitation startled me—access to what sounded like precursor to the defense study groups that would eventually evolve into Dumbledore's Army represented unexpected opportunity. Such cross-house connections could prove invaluable for future timeline interventions.
"I appreciate the consideration," I responded sincerely. "Though certain associations carry complicated implications in current climate."
"Hence discreet participation," Sirius acknowledged with uncharacteristic seriousness. "Think about it. James and Remus agree you've shown... independent thinking worth encouraging."
The Potter-Lupin endorsement carried significant weight—suggesting potential alliance with those who would become founding Order of the Phoenix members. Such connection offered strategic advantages while creating obvious security risks for maintaining my complex position.
"I'll consider it carefully," I promised. "Where and when?"
"I'll let you know," he replied cryptically. "Watch for my signal in the Great Hall."
As he departed to rejoin his waiting friends, I processed the unexpected development. Access to proto-resistance circles this early hadn't featured in my strategic planning, yet offered compelling advantages if managed carefully. Establishing connections with future Order members while maintaining necessary Slytherin relationships would require exceptional compartmentalization—essentially living double life with distinctly different personas based on audience.
The complexity of my position continued expanding beyond initial expectations. Black heir, Slytherin student, wielder of blood-bonded wand, potential Death Eater recruit, and now possibly aligned with budding resistance movement—identities simultaneously complementary and contradictory, requiring constant vigilance against revealing inappropriate aspects to wrong audiences.
January progressed with mounting evidence of deteriorating conditions outside Hogwarts walls. Daily Prophet headlines reported increasing "incidents" in vague terminology clearly designed to minimize public panic, while private letters from home contained carefully coded references to political developments among pure-blood circles.
"Another Ministry official resigned yesterday," Rosier announced during breakfast, scanning correspondence from his father. "Apparently objected to new security protocols targeting 'respected families with traditional values.'"
Translation: Death Eater sympathizer objecting to increased surveillance of suspected Voldemort supporters. Such strategic positioning within Ministry departments formed crucial component of Voldemort's early power base—creating administrative blind spots that hampered effective response to his activities.
"Father writes that international travel restrictions are being considered," Rookwood added, contributing family intelligence to the information exchange that characterized Slytherin breakfast conversations. "Ostensibly for security, actually for monitoring certain individuals' movements."
The Ministry's belated security measures would prove largely ineffective in the original timeline, implemented too late after Voldemort had already established operational networks throughout wizarding Britain. The current acceleration suggested similar pattern developing, though possibly with modified timeline.
My own correspondence arrived via my father's distinctive eagle owl—heavy parchment sealed with the Black family crest containing carefully composed update on family matters alongside subtle political positioning.
Corvus,
Your Aunt Walburga reports Regulus's exemplary dedication to family traditions following the winter observances. I trust your own reflections on the ritual's significance continue to mature with appropriate consideration of its deeper implications.
The wand's enhanced connection should be carefully maintained through regular practice of the maintenance procedures demonstrated during holidays. Such artifacts develop additional sensitivities following ceremonial use that require proper management to ensure optimal performance.
Certain associates have expressed continued interest in your development, noting your particular aptitude for protective magic as reported by school contacts. While premature specialization limits broader magical development, maintaining excellence in defensive capabilities serves multiple future interests.
Narcissa will provide necessary permissions for the upcoming Hogsmeade excursion. Consider opportunities for expanding beneficial associations beyond immediate academic circles, as extracurricular connections often prove most valuable in post-educational contexts.
Maintain appropriate correspondence regarding significant developments in your studies and associations.
Regards,
Father
The carefully constructed message contained multiple layers—acknowledgment of Death Eater interest in my potential, encouragement to cultivate useful connections during the Malfoy-supervised Hogsmeade visit, and subtle reminder that my activities remained observed and reported through Hogwarts-based informants.
Most concerning was confirmation that The Serpent's Fang's evolution following the ritual hadn't gone unnoticed—requiring explanation for its changed properties that didn't reveal the full extent of its developing bond with me. The wand's increasing responsiveness and apparent semi-sentient behavior remained partially my secret, though obviously some external manifestations had been observed during holiday interactions.
As I refolded the letter, I noticed Sirius watching from the Gryffindor table, his expression thoughtful. He caught my eye and made subtle gesture—tapping his robe pocket twice before nodding toward the entrance hall. The promised signal regarding defensive practice group, presumably.
I acknowledged with equally discreet nod, then returned attention to my housemates' ongoing political discussion. Managing these parallel connections would require exceptional compartmentalization—Slytherin heir in one context, resistance ally in another, timeline manipulator in both.
Later that morning, between Transfiguration and Potions, I discovered parchment note slipped into my textbook—location and time for the defensive practice meeting, charmed to appear blank to anyone but the intended recipient. Clever spellwork beyond standard second-year curriculum, suggesting Remus Lupin's involvement in the security arrangements.
The gathering was scheduled for that evening in supposedly unused classroom on the castle's fourth floor—neutral territory equidistant from all house common rooms. Attending would require navigating curfew restrictions and potential prefect encounters, though the specified timing suggested legitimate study period rather than after-hours meeting.
Throughout the day's classes, I considered strategic implications of accepting Sirius's invitation. Benefits included establishing connections with future Order members, gaining intelligence on resistance development, and potentially positioning myself to influence key figures whose actions would significantly impact future events. Risks involved potential exposure of my unusual knowledge, suspicion from Slytherin housemates, and complications to my carefully cultivated position as appropriately traditional Black heir.
After careful consideration, I decided that controlled exposure to resistance-aligned students outweighed potential complications—particularly if managed with appropriate discretion. The opportunity to subtly influence developing perspectives among those who would eventually oppose Voldemort directly might prove crucial to modifying timeline outcomes.
Dinner in the Great Hall provided opportunity to observe social dynamics with fresh perspective—noting which students exhibited awareness of developing political divisions beyond typical house rivalries. Certain Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs displayed same careful neutrality I practiced, suggesting similar navigation of complicated family politics against personal inclinations.
Lily Evans sat with Severus Snape at the end of Gryffindor table nearest Slytherin—an arrangement that drew occasional disapproving glances from housemates but seemed established routine. Their comfortable interaction contrasted sharply with the tension between Snape and the Marauders, who sat deliberately distant while occasionally casting calculating looks toward the pair.
The foundation of their devastating conflict was already establishing itself—territorial boundaries being drawn around Lily through competing loyalties and attachments. In the original timeline, this triangle would resolve tragically—Snape's worst memory, the irreparable "mudblood" insult, Lily's final rejection of his friendship, and eventual targeting of the Potters by Voldemort based on prophecy Snape would partially overhear.
Could subtle intervention alter that destructive sequence? The ethical implications of manipulating such deeply personal relationships gave me pause, yet the consequences of non-intervention were demonstrably catastrophic for all concerned.
"You're unusually contemplative tonight," Regulus observed as we finished dinner. "Something in Father's letter concerning you?"
"Just considering various associations and their implications," I replied truthfully if incompletely. "The Hogsmeade excursion with Malfoy presents both opportunities and complications."
Regulus nodded understanding. "Mother writes that certain connections may be formalized this summer for those demonstrating appropriate commitment. Bellatrix apparently speaks highly of our potential."
The timeline acceleration again—Death Eater recruitment proceeding faster than in original history, with younger targets being groomed for earlier service. Particularly alarming regarding Regulus, whose original recruitment hadn't occurred until several years later.
"Potential should be developed fully before commitment limits applications," I observed carefully. "Premature specialization narrows magical development."
"Parroting Father again," Regulus noted with small smile. "Though not without reason. I've seen how certain seventh-years with new... affiliations... have abandoned academic breadth for specific focus. Seems unnecessarily limiting."
His natural intelligence recognized the pattern—how Death Eater service narrowed magical development toward combat and control rather than broader magical mastery. Another opening for guiding him toward more independent thinking that might eventually prevent his tragic fate.
"We have time to consider optimal developmental pathways," I assured him. "Academic excellence provides foundation for whatever specialized applications eventually prove appropriate."
As students dispersed from dinner toward common rooms and evening activities, I casually separated from Slytherin classmates, claiming need to consult specific reference in the library before curfew. The excuse provided plausible cover for my absence while creating reasonable timeline for return without raising suspicion.
The fourth-floor classroom designated for the defensive meeting appeared abandoned at first glance—door slightly ajar, interior dimly lit and seemingly unoccupied. Only upon entering did I detect subtle privacy charms and muffling spells creating security perimeter around what proved to be surprisingly well-attended gathering.
Approximately fifteen students from various houses and years were arranged in loose circle, with Sirius, James, Remus and Peter positioned near makeshift instruction area. Most participants were Gryffindors, though several Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were interspersed among them. I noted with interest that Lily Evans sat beside another Gryffindor girl I recognized as Mary MacDonald, their wands already drawn for practice.
Conversation halted abruptly as I entered, attention shifting to the unexpected Slytherin presence in what was clearly Gryffindor-dominated space. James Potter straightened defensively before Sirius stepped forward.
"I invited him," he announced to the group at large. "Corvus has shown exceptional defensive capabilities and... independent thinking worth including."
The careful endorsement positioned me as anomalous Slytherin rather than typical representative—acceptable exception rather than house ambassador. Several students looked skeptical, though Lily offered small encouraging smile that suggested openness to cross-house collaboration.
"A Black in Slytherin with 'independent thinking'?" questioned an older Ravenclaw boy with obvious doubt. "Seems contradictory given current political alignment of that family."
"Individual choices sometimes diverge from family patterns," I replied, deliberately echoing my earlier conversation with Lily.