Regulus lay in the dark, heavy dark-green curtains sealing his bed into a private cocoon, shutting out every trace of light and sound.
There was only the steady rhythm of his own breathing and the faint ticking of the pocket watch beside his pillow.
His eyes remained open, pupils widening slowly in the darkness.
Abros Mulciber's final look replayed in his mind.
A warning.
But why?
Hermes had fallen. The task had stalled at the final step. He was out of the game.
Abros had appeared with a family potion, which meant the treatment would accelerate. Hermes might regain consciousness very soon.
Whoever was hiding in the shadows did not have much time left. They would have to complete the exploration before Hermes could speak, or make sure he never spoke at all.
Yet Abros had gone along with that clumsy lie about the fourth-floor Trophy Room.
The Astronomy Tower stood on the western side of the castle. The fourth-floor east corridor was nearly at the opposite end. Moving an unconscious body that far could not have been about convenience or rescue.
It was a diversion.
Abros knew about the Astronomy Tower and chose silence.
He knew who the accomplice was and refused to say.
He would rather let his son lie in bed while the attacker remained free, perhaps even allow them to finish what Hermes had started and take whatever lay beyond the stone door.
That made no sense.
Unless the outcome itself benefited the Mulciber family.
Or at least, the cost of interfering was greater than the cost of letting the prize be taken.
Regulus considered two possibilities.
First, Abros intended to let the other side retrieve the item, then seize it outside the school.
Pure-blood families turning on each other was nothing new. One house plotting against another. After that came negotiations, bargaining chips on polished tables, vault numbers shifting in Gringotts, or the flash of green light in a dark alley.
He could not make a move inside Hogwarts. The walls were too watchful.
But once the item left the grounds, once it reached Knockturn Alley, or the other family's estate, or any corner where the law held less weight, reclaiming it would be far easier.
At that point, he could settle accounts properly. His son's injuries. The family's damaged reputation. Every debt, with interest.
The second possibility was less comfortable.
Abros might not dare expose the truth.
Because the force standing behind the other party was one the Mulciber family could not afford to offend.
Perhaps this was not a parallel struggle between two families. Perhaps there was a higher will pressing down from above.
Hermes's injury was the price. The task continuing was the order. Abros could comply, but not resist.
A secret society already taking shape?
A figure in the pure-blood circle whose word carried more weight than a Head of House?
Or simply…
He stopped himself.
These deductions were not complicated. If he could reach them, then Slughorn certainly could. And Dumbledore?
Slughorn's questions in the office, his reminders about unusual behavior, now seemed layered with implication.
As for Dumbledore, anything abnormal within the castle eventually found its way into his line of sight.
And yet the headmaster had not acted.
Why?
Either Dumbledore believed this was still within the bounds of student conflict and not worth intervention, or he was waiting.
Waiting for what lay beneath to surface on its own. Waiting for cracks within the pure-blood families to widen. Waiting for the roots growing in shadow to break into the light.
If it was the latter, then Regulus might already be walking a path tacitly permitted.
---
On the fifth morning, Cuthbert woke to the soft rustle of Alex putting on his shoes.
He rolled over, muttering, eyes still closed as he reached for the pocket watch at his bedside.
Regulus was already seated at his desk. Outside the window, the Black Lake lay dark and heavy. Now and then, a glowing jellyfish drifted past, its green light shattering into fragments beneath the water.
Cuthbert pushed himself upright and ran a hand through his messy hair. "Going to the Hospital Wing again today?"
"No," Regulus said, turning toward them.
"Abros has arrived. Unless the accomplice is a fool, he will not go again. And Hermes could wake within two or three days. Time is short."
Cuthbert's eyes lit up. "So he's about to make a move?"
"Perhaps." Regulus nodded.
Alex looked up at him, lips pressed thin. He wanted to speak, but hesitated.
Regulus met his gaze and waited.
"Actually… there's someone who's been visiting Hermes every day," Alex said at last.
Regulus inclined his head for him to continue.
"It looked normal. Just standing there for a while and leaving. Not saying anything."
Alex's voice faltered slightly. "But after Mr. Mulciber came yesterday, that person stopped going."
"Who?" Regulus asked.
"Darren Macnair. Fourth year."
Cuthbert tugged his robe straight, frowning. "The Macnair family? Aren't they the ones who specialize in dark magical artifacts and ancient ruins?"
Regulus leaned back in his chair, tapping the armrest lightly.
The Macnair family.
Not the most illustrious name, but influential in certain circles.
For generations, they had studied the crafting and dismantling of dark magical artifacts, particularly dangerous objects infused with ancient magic.
Several shops in Knockturn Alley sourced their goods from the Macnairs. At Borgin and Burkes, at least a third of the outrageously priced cursed items had passed through their hands for handling or appraisal.
Darren Macnair was now the heir in practice. His older brother had died several years ago in a dark magic experiment gone wrong.
That was the version reported in the Daily Prophet. Among pure-blood circles, the rumors were bloodier.
In any case, Darren was effectively the eldest son now. Family resources would tilt toward him.
The Mulcibers were also known for dark magic research. Their focus differed, but their core fields overlapped.
If the two families had collaborated outside school to explore some ancient wizard's ruins or dismantle the laboratory of a dark magic master, that would be entirely ordinary.
If that exploration had led them to clues pointing beneath the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts, sending their sons already enrolled to carry out the task together would be logical.
And if one side betrayed the other at the final moment, hoping to monopolize the result, that was practically tradition among pure-blood families.
Regulus looked at Alex. "This is important."
"Well done," he added.
Alex's shoulders loosened slightly. His lips parted, but he said nothing. A faint light flickered in his eyes, small but unmistakable.
Cuthbert was already pacing in front of the sofa, fists clenching and unclenching. "I knew it. It has to be them.
That whole Macnair lot, always skulking around with those cursed boxes and broken relics…"
"For now, it is only speculation," Regulus cut in. "We have no proof."
"What more proof do we need?" Cuthbert spun around. "They're avoiding Abros. Isn't that guilt?"
"There are many reasons to avoid someone," Regulus replied evenly. "Perhaps he does not want trouble. Perhaps he has nothing to do with this and simply skipped a visit yesterday.
What we need is decisive evidence. Not assumptions."
Cuthbert opened his mouth, then exhaled sharply and dropped back onto his bed.
Alex spoke again, more quietly. "Should we… tell a professor?"
Cuthbert snapped his head toward him. "Tell a professor? And then what? Have them haul Macnair in, ask a few questions, give him detention?
What about what's behind that stone door? Don't you want to know what's in there?"
Alex went pale. His fingers twisted together again. After a few seconds of silence, he whispered, "I… don't want to know."
He meant it.
Regulus could see it clearly. Real fear in his eyes. Fear of the unknown danger or anything that might shatter the fragile calm of his life.
But after saying that, Alex looked at Regulus, as though waiting for judgment.
Regulus neither nodded nor shook his head.
He rose to his feet. The hem of his robe fell smoothly, fabric whispering against itself.
He walked to the window, his back to them, studying his own reflection in the glass.
"Cuthbert is right," he said at last. "If we tell a professor, it ends here."
He turned and fixed his gaze on Alex.
"Of course, you can choose to step away. Go to class. Do your assignments. Pretend none of this happened. What comes next will have nothing to do with you."
Alex froze.
His lips trembled. His eyes flicked between Regulus and Cuthbert before dropping to his hands.
A long time passed. Long enough that Cuthbert almost spoke.
At last, Alex lifted his head.
"I… I'll go with you."
His voice was soft, still shaking.
Regulus nodded once and said nothing more.