The corridors had that end-of-holiday looseness to them. Young witches and wizards shuffled along with slack footsteps, sweet wrappers piled half-opened in the corners of common rooms, and even the green glow filtering up from the Black Lake looked lazy.
Regulus was the first back to the dormitory. Cuthbert and Alex were taking the train and wouldn't arrive until evening.
Hermes wasn't in the room. No telling where he'd gone.
Regulus freshened up briefly and headed straight for the library.
Madam Pince was perched on a ladder, dusting the topmost shelf with a feather duster that sent fine motes drifting through the light.
He made his way to the Ancient Runes section and pulled out Detailed Explanation of Defensive Magic Associated with Nordic Runes.
The page edges had begun to curl. When he cracked it open, a yellowed borrowing card slipped out. The last entry was dated 1962.
He read all morning. The Great Hall was sparse at lunch. He ate, then continued through the afternoon.
By dusk the candles had been lit, and the long tables were filling up. Cuthbert and Alex squeezed through the main doors, rain still darkening the shoulders of their robes.
They spotted Regulus and walked over quickly.
"You're early," Cuthbert said, dropping onto the bench. "Our carriage got caught in a downpour halfway here."
Alex pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. "Almost May and it's still freezing."
Regulus carved off a piece of chicken. "Scottish weather has never made sense."
The spread was generous. Beef drippings soaked into mashed potatoes, and pumpkin juice sloshed in silver pitchers.
Dumbledore rose from the table, his long silver beard swaying against his chest.
"The holidays were wonderful," his voice carried across the hall, "but they are over. OWLs and NEWTs students, you have less than two months of revision remaining. Lower years would do well to refocus as well. Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn have asked me to remind you that your Transfiguration and Potions essays are due next week."
A few whistles rose from the Gryffindor table. James Potter hoisted his fork overhead and waved it around. Sirius tipped his head back to gulp pumpkin juice, and the two bumped shoulders, laughing.
When Regulus's gaze drifted over, Sirius was wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Their eyes met. His grin froze for a fraction of a second before he turned away.
Regulus looked back at his plate.
Cuthbert leaned closer, voice low. "I told my family about what happened over the holiday."
He prodded the peas on his plate with his fork, eyes flicking toward the staff table to make sure no one was paying attention.
Alex stopped chewing too.
"After my father heard everything, he locked me in the house for five solid days." A thread of pride wound through Cuthbert's voice. "Made me drill Protego eight hours a day. My wand was practically burning by the end."
He tipped his chin toward Hermes. "I can cast it now too."
Hermes was slicing his steak with deliberate care.
He didn't look up. "Your family didn't say anything else? About the fallout?"
"They did." Cuthbert set down his fork and turned to Regulus, expression sobering. "My father asked me to thank you on his behalf. He said he'd visit Grimmauld Place personally to speak with Mr. Black."
"Mr. Cuthbert is too kind," Regulus said.
Alex swallowed what was in his mouth and wiped his hands on his robes before speaking. "My family... reacted differently."
His voice dropped. "My father heard me out, then told me never to bring it up again. Not to anyone."
He stole a glance at Regulus, color rising in his cheeks. "But he also told me to thank you. And to say he's grateful you looked out for me."
Regulus nodded. "Mr. Rosier is too generous."
Hermes set down his knife and fork.
"I want to find somewhere to practice." He looked at Regulus. "Tonight."
Regulus knew what he meant. The Room of Requirement. And more than that, Hermes wanted to train with him.
Cuthbert and Alex had gone still too. Three pairs of eyes fixed on him.
Regulus lifted his goblet and took a sip of pumpkin juice. The warm sweetness slid down his throat.
"Are you two coming?" He glanced at Cuthbert and Alex.
They exchanged a look. Cuthbert nodded first. Alex pressed his lips together and gave a quiet "Mm."
"Then rest up," Regulus said. "Eight o'clock. Eighth-floor corridor, in front of the tapestry."
On the way back to the Slytherin Common Room, Cuthbert was going on about a Quidditch match from the holiday while Alex chimed in with questions.
Regulus walked half a step ahead, listening to the voices behind him, his mind turning over something else entirely.
Hermes wanted power. The want was urgent, almost ravenous.
Nothing wrong with that. Everyone should want power. But the shape of Hermes's wanting was different.
In his mind, Dark magic was the only real power. The kind that could tear flesh, drain marrow, force someone to their knees.
It didn't matter that Regulus had blocked his dark magic with Protego. Hermes still believed Dark magic was the pinnacle worth chasing.
That conviction ran deep. Bone-deep.
Regulus didn't deny its effectiveness. Dark magic was fast-acting, easy to learn, easy to use. One incantation, a flash of light, and the opponent dropped.
No need for years of Transfiguration practice, no need to memorize hundreds of potion formulas, no need for especially precise magical control. If you had the nerve to cast and the power to fuel it, it worked.
But for most wizards, Dark magic was borrowed strength. Exhilarating when you took it out, but the interest came due eventually. That interest might be your rationality, your emotional stability, or the day you caught yourself smiling in the mirror and couldn't recognize the person staring back.
Regulus thought of Abros Mulciber.
The Mulciber family's reliance on Dark magic was no secret. Their ancestral basement probably overflowed with Dark artifacts. Their children likely started learning the theory behind curses at six years old.
Hermes had grown up in that environment. Naturally, he'd internalized the importance of power early. Or more accurately, the importance of without power, you die.
So of course he was urgent. Of course he was hungry.
But Cuthbert and Alex were nothing like Hermes.
For them, magic was air. They'd been breathing it since birth, so the idea of practicing how to breathe had never occurred to them.
Pure-blood children were all the same. Magical awakening was a foregone conclusion. The Hogwarts acceptance letter was a foregone conclusion. Learning basic spells was a foregone conclusion. Everything was a road laid out in advance, and the scenery along it had lost its novelty long ago.
They'd drill Protego because their families demanded it. They'd follow Regulus to the Room of Requirement because he led the way.
But without someone pushing, they'd rather play wizard's chess in the common room or scheme ways to wheedle extra pudding out of the kitchen house-elves.
That wasn't their fault.
Regulus thought of Walburga's teachings. She preached Pure-blood supremacy, preached Black family glory, but never explained why one should grow strong. In her view, strength was a gift that came with bloodline, like the Galleons sitting in the vault. Born into it. Just had to inherit.
So the laziness Cuthbert and Alex showed wasn't really laziness. It was the product of an education missing its most critical piece.
No one had ever told them that magic wasn't an inheritance. That it had to be earned through effort. That it would betray you on the very day you needed it to save your life.
After the Astronomy Tower incident, they'd been shaken for a while. Cuthbert woke early every day to practice spells. Alex gnawed through The Standard Book of Spells until midnight.
But fear fades. A month later, Cuthbert started complaining about why he still had to practice the Impediment Jinx. Alex's study time gradually gave way to collecting Chocolate Frog cards.
Regulus had said nothing.
He could have ordered them. With his current standing, one sentence about adding two hours of daily practice and they'd obey. But there was no point. A wrist raised under duress never learned precision. A spell memorized under supervision was the first one forgotten in a real fight.
Power had to be reached for. By your own hand.
Those who couldn't reach it either hadn't fallen hard enough, or simply didn't want to.
At five to eight, four of them gathered in the eighth-floor corridor.
The stretch of wall opposite the tapestry.
I need a place to practice magic.
Regulus repeated it three times in his mind and began to pace.
A door frame materialized in the wall.
He pushed it open. Inside was a spacious training room.
Dark wood flooring. Padded walls on all sides. High ceiling with smokeless torches hanging from brackets. One side of the room held a row of wooden practice dummies. The other had a weapon rack, though it stood empty, its frame carved with intertwining serpents.
Cuthbert let out a low whistle.
Regulus walked in and raised his hand. His wand slid from his sleeve into his palm. "We'll start with Protego. Cuthbert, show us what the holiday produced."
Cuthbert stepped to the center of the room, took a deep breath, and raised his wand.
"Protego!"
Silver light burst from the tip, rapidly spreading into a translucent barrier. The shape was uneven, edges rippling like disturbed water, but it held.
The shield lasted nearly a minute before cracks appeared. A second later it shattered into points of light.
Cuthbert let out a breath, sweat beading on his forehead, but his eyes were bright. "How was that?"
"Your output's unstable." Regulus stepped closer and tapped Cuthbert's wrist with his wand. "You're forcing it. Protego doesn't need brute strength to hold open. You have to guide the magic so it flows through the shield."
He raised his own wand in demonstration. No incantation. A layer of silver film snapped open instantly, smooth as a mirror. "See? Relax the wrist."
Cuthbert tried again. This time the barrier was thinner, but it lasted an extra half-minute before dissolving.
Alex spoke up quietly from the side. "I... I still can't cast it."
"Then start with Lumos." Regulus turned to him. "But don't just think about lighting the tip. Try controlling the brightness. Dimmest to brightest, ten levels. Hold each one for three seconds."