On the last day of September, just as dinner ended, the two seventh-year Slytherin prefects, Lucretius Burke and Narcissa Black, rose at the end of the long table and lightly tapped a silver spoon against a goblet.
"All Slytherin students are to return to the common room immediately after dinner," Narcissa said, standing with effortless grace. "First-years, attendance is mandatory."
The moment her words settled, the mood at the Slytherin table shifted.
Upperclassmen exchanged knowing looks. A few fifth-year boys even wore expressions that promised entertainment.
Students from pure-blood families, especially those from the core lines of old houses, showed the same reaction. A quiet sense of anticipation. Finally.
Cuthbert set down his cutlery at once, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, excitement flashing in his eyes.
Hermes slowly lifted his head, his dark gaze sweeping over the prefects before settling on Regulus beside him.
Only Alex, from a mild-mannered pure-blood branch family, blinked in confusion. He leaned closer and whispered, "What's going on? Why do we have to go back?"
Cuthbert snorted, not bothering to hide the superiority in his tone, mixed with a trace of pity. "Rosier, didn't your family tell you? Well, I guess that figures.
It's tradition. Slytherin's welcome. We see which of the new snakes has the sharpest fangs."
Alex's face drained of color. Understanding dawned. He glanced at Regulus, then at the other first-years, unease written all over him.
The rest of the Great Hall caught on quickly. Whispers spread as older students explained Slytherin's customs to the younger ones.
Regulus felt more than one glance from the staff table. The one that lingered was Dumbledore's.
From the Gryffindor side came other looks as well.
Regulus didn't respond to any of them. He simply stood and followed the flow.
By the time they filed into the underground common room, the atmosphere had changed completely.
Green flames leapt in the fireplace, reflecting off dark green drapes and silver décor, and off dozens of faces wearing very different expressions.
Upperclassmen clustered around sofas and armchairs, talking in low voices, their eyes roaming over the ten first-years who had just arrived.
The first-years instinctively drew closer together, then subtly split into small groups.
Cuthbert, Hermes, and the rest of the pure-blood core stood together, expressions ranging from arrogant to brooding.
The others, including two half-blood students, a boy and a girl, looked isolated and out of place.
Their eyes darted around the room, unsettled, before landing on Regulus almost in unison.
Over the past month, Regulus had stood apart from other high-status pure-blood students.
He never flaunted arrogance, never joined in petty talk about bloodlines. In class and group work, he was precise and fair.
To those outside the pure-blood inner circle, or from ordinary backgrounds, the second son of the Black family was almost the only Slytherin first-year who felt reasonable and dependable.
Without realizing it, they edged a little closer to where Regulus stood.
Regulus noticed the quiet reliance, but made no comment. He moved to the edge of the open space in the center of the room and stood there, calm, gray eyes sweeping over everyone.
"Quiet." Lucretius Burke stepped in front of the fireplace, his voice low and serious.
The common room fell silent at once.
"The usual rules," he said succinctly. "First-years will duel in pairs. Any spell is allowed, as long as you can cast it and it doesn't send Madam Pomfrey looking for us.
The goal is to know yourself, and to know others. Slytherin respects power, and it respects the wisdom to control it."
Before he finished, murmurs and snickers had already spread among the upperclassmen.
"Place your bets, place your bets!" a sixth-year boy laughed, pulling out a small notebook. "Who's the last rookie standing this year? Odds are open. I'm putting ten galleons on the Black kid."
"That's hardly a gamble," the girl beside him scoffed. "Just look at him. Does he look eleven to you? I say he drops everyone in under three minutes."
"Not necessarily," a bespectacled seventh-year said, pushing his glasses up and pretending to analyze things. "That Mulciber boy looks dangerous. I've heard his family keeps some unusual collections.
And the Avery kid isn't completely useless either."
"Oh, come on." The first boy nodded toward Regulus.
"Look at how he's standing. Everyone else is either shaking, overexcited, or putting on a tough face like Avery.
And him? He looks like he's waiting in his own study for someone to bring tea. I'll raise the bet. He won't even wrinkle his robes."
The chatter drifted clearly into the ears of the first-years.
Cuthbert's face flushed, half with excitement, half with anger.
Alex grew even more tense, fingers twisting the edge of his robe. The two half-blood students looked pale.
Hermes remained dark and silent, his gaze on Regulus sharpening.
And at the center of it all, Regulus himself stood without expression.
"Now, draw lots for the first round," Narcissa said, producing a small silver cup filled with parchment slips.
The results came quickly.
Alex was paired with another nervous pure-blood boy from a side branch.
A half-blood girl drew Cuthbert and went even paler.
Regulus drew another pure-blood boy, who looked close to tears when he saw the name.
"Wait."
A low voice cut through the room.
Hermes stepped forward, looking first at the prefects, then at Regulus. "I request to duel Regulus Black."
The common room went still, then erupted into louder murmurs.
Changing opponents wasn't common, but the rules didn't forbid it, as long as both parties agreed.
Lucretius raised a brow and looked to Regulus. "Black?"
Every eye turned toward him.
Regulus met Hermes's gaze. There was no provocation in those dark eyes. Only a kind of obsessive focus, something tightly restrained.
He thought of the scorch scent in the dormitory. The dark red book with no title.
"All right," Regulus said calmly. Then he added, "Since these are one-on-one matches in sequence, we can go last and let everyone else finish first."
The boy who'd been replaced looked as if he'd been granted a reprieve from execution and hurried aside.
The other first-years didn't object. It was obvious to everyone that a match between Regulus and Hermes would be on a different level.
The prefects exchanged a glance and nodded. "Very well. We'll begin with the other pairs."
The duels started quickly. The open space was cleared, students crowding around to watch.
Alex and his opponent floundered through their match, nerves making their incantations stumble and their disarming charms fly crooked.
Alex ultimately lost after tripping over his own feet in a moment of panic, drawing a round of laughter.
Cuthbert's match against the half-blood girl was far easier. A clean obstacle spell knocked her off balance, followed by a precise disarming charm that ended it. Several upperclassmen nodded in approval.
The remaining matches followed a similar pattern.
As Regulus had already noted, first-years, even those carefully trained by pure-blood families, were still raw at this age. Their magic was immature, control weak, practical experience nearly nonexistent.
The contents of Standard Book of Spells already demanded real effort from them.
Disarming charms, obstacle spells, leg-lockers, binding charms, petrification, fire spells. Being able to cast these basics smoothly and land them accurately was considered good among peers.
For Regulus, there was no difficulty at all.
Any spell that required precise movement, clear pronunciation, and basic magical guidance was almost effortless for him. One look, a bit of practice, and it was his.
His control and computational precision more than compensated for his age, letting even simple spells display a stability and force far beyond what most first-years could manage.
Of course, magic wasn't that simple.
Spells driven by intense emotion, complex conceptual understanding, or rare talents and catalysts were still areas he needed to study.
After several rounds, the first-years were exhausted. Some were exhilarated, some discouraged.
In the end, only two remained standing in the center of the room.
Regulus Black and Hermes Mulciber.