The noise from the Slytherin welcome hadn't fully died down yet. Students were breaking into small groups, voices low as they rehashed the brief but explosive duel.
Regulus had just stepped away from the cleared space in the center of the common room, intending to head back to the dormitory, when someone called his name.
"Regulus."
It was Narcissa Black.
She stood near the archway leading to the girls' dormitories, alone for once, without the usual cluster of older girls around her. She was clearly waiting for him.
A few upper-year boys who had been about to approach the newly crowned chief took the hint and stopped short.
"Cousin Narcissa." Regulus turned and walked over. He wasn't surprised she wanted to speak with him, only that she'd chosen to do it so soon.
Narcissa didn't answer. She simply gestured for him to follow.
They left the common room and entered a narrow stone corridor. There were no portraits here, only cold walls and greenish torches burning at regular intervals.
Once she was sure they were alone, Narcissa turned. Worry and severity were written plainly across her face.
She drew a black-sealed envelope from her sleeve. The wax bore a snarling skull with a snake clamped between its teeth.
A symbol not yet public, but already quietly recognized in certain circles.
"Bella sent this for you." Narcissa lowered her voice. "She specifically told me to wait until you'd secured the chief position before giving it to you."
Regulus took the letter. The black envelope felt faintly cool, with a trace of unsettling magical residue clinging to it.
He didn't open it right away. Instead, he looked at Narcissa.
She seemed to understand the unspoken question and sighed softly. "The situation outside is tightening, Regulus.
That man, his influence is spreading fast. It's no longer secret meetings and small-scale trouble.
The Ministry of Magic. The Wizengamot. Even the Hogwarts board. There are people backing him, or people afraid of him.
Some shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade have quietly changed hands. A few editors from dissenting papers have stepped down for health reasons.
And two officials from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who publicly questioned the abuse of the Statute of Secrecy were found last month, injured by so-called experimental magic gone wrong, and sent to St. Mungo's."
She looked straight at Regulus. "He's persuasive and dangerous. Promises, threats, and power, openly displayed. He's weaving a net.
Among the pure-blood families, the Lestranges are already at the core. The Notts, the Carrows, the Yaxleys have chosen sides. Many others are waiting, weighing their options. The Malfoys…"
She drew a steadying breath. "…the Malfoys as well."
Regulus understood.
Narcissa herself might not fully agree with Voldemort's vision of conquest and cleansing, but she was about to marry into the Malfoy family. Her position would be bound to Lucius Malfoy's choice, and to the family's interests.
She had no room to maneuver.
It matched what Regulus remembered of history, only sharper, more detailed. The shape of Voldemort's first rise was becoming disturbingly clear.
"Thank you for telling me," Regulus said calmly, slipping the letter into an inner pocket of his robes.
Narcissa studied his face, as if searching for even a flicker of fear or uncertainty. She found none.
In the end, she only said quietly, "Be careful of Bella. She isn't the same anymore. And be careful of what's written in that letter. You're young, but that won't protect you forever."
With that, she gave a slight nod and turned away, her robes whispering against the stone as she left the corridor.
Back in the dormitory, Cuthbert, Hermes, and Alex hadn't returned yet.
Regulus drew his bed curtains and cast a soundproofing charm before taking out the letter.
He broke the seal.
A faint scent drifted out, expensive perfume layered over something sharper, burned, almost acrid.
The parchment was thick. The handwriting was wild and forceful, the strokes pressing so hard they nearly tore through the page, betraying the writer's agitation.
"My dearest cousin Regulus,
I was delighted to hear that you've already distinguished yourself at Hogwarts, claiming the position of Slytherin chief. It fills me with pride.
The noble blood of the Black family runs strong in you. You have not disappointed me, the family, or our Lord.
This is a magnificent era, Regulus.
The old order is crumbling. The rotten Ministry of Magic is controlled by cowards and Mudblood sympathizers who defile our birthright and our glory.
But dawn is coming.
A true king has risen. He will lead us to cleanse this tainted world and rebuild an eternal order belonging to pure-blood wizards alone.
That is what we deserve.
You have shown talent, but it is far from enough. You must grow faster, become stronger and more resolute.
Slytherin's little games are only the beginning. The real battlefield lies beyond the castle walls.
Our Lord requires loyal and capable followers. The Black family must claim the most brilliant place in this new era.
Do not be misled by weak sentiment. Do not shackle yourself with false morality.
Power is truth, and truth belongs only to the victor.
I have already reported your situation to our Lord. He is very interested in you. A Black who displays such ability at so young an age has caught his attention.
Remember this interest, Regulus. It is a supreme honor, and it should drive you forward. Do not fail it.
Be ready at all times, cousin. When the summons comes, prove yourself worthy of the Black name, worthy of serving a greater cause.
Your loyal and eager cousin,
Bellatrix Lestrange"
The letter ended.
Regulus rested the parchment on his knees, his face unreadable.
The fervor, obsession, and hunger for violent power spilling from Bella's words were even stronger than he'd expected.
This wasn't simple loyalty. It was devotion twisted into something pathological.
The pressure was obvious too. Bella, or rather Voldemort behind her, had no intention of overlooking him just because he was eleven.
Especially that line about Voldemort taking an interest in him. That wasn't a good sign.
Attention like that usually meant scrutiny, trials, and punishment if expectations weren't met.
He'd thought he had at least a few years to build strength and find his own path.
Now it seemed time was tighter than he'd imagined. Voldemort's net was closing, and the Black family was already caught inside it.
A cold irritation crept into his normally steady thoughts.
When Regulus stepped back into the common room, plenty of students were still around.
He spotted Alger Travers at once, the fifth-year he'd humiliated at the start of term, surrounded by a few pure-blood followers.
They had claimed the area near the fireplace, speaking just loudly enough, their eyes flicking now and then toward the dormitory corridor.
When Regulus appeared, Travers raised his voice deliberately.
"…So really, no matter how talented you are, you're still a baby who needs watching. First-year chief, what does that even mean?
A real Slytherin thinks long-term. Real influence. Not a bit of cleverness and luck, getting praised twice and suddenly believing you matter."
His cronies chuckled along.
Several upperclassmen who hadn't left yet, including some neutrals, turned to watch, interest lighting their faces.
They knew about the earlier conflict between Travers and Regulus. They also knew exactly what Travers was doing, trying to knock the shine off the new chief at the height of his momentum.
It was a familiar scene in Slytherin.
Cuthbert and Alex were sitting in the sofa area nearby. Cuthbert frowned, eyes moving from Travers to Regulus. Alex looked openly uneasy.
Even Hermes, who had been lurking in a corner, shifted and drifted closer, stopping about five meters away, watching in silence.
"Travers," a sixth-year girl said, the same one who had praised Regulus earlier. "That's enough. He's only a first-year."
"First-year?" Alger Travers scoffed and finally turned fully toward Regulus, malice and confidence plain on his face.
"A first-year who uses who-knows-what underhanded tricks on older students? A first-year who makes certain people lose their heads and circle him like moths?
I'm just stating facts. If you're young, learn restraint. Learn to respect your seniors. Don't let a bit of talent go to your head.
Do you really think being Slytherin chief is some grand achievement?"