Chapter 18: Can I Change Dorms?
More Slytherins noticed the confrontation. One broom drifted closer, then another. Three students became five, five became a crowd, and the air around Regulus filled with the faint creak of old broom handles and the prickling pressure of attention.
Alphard's expression shifted. His two friends, Colin and Gareth, traded a quick, uneasy look.
Regulus, still facing the Gryffindors, slowly raised his left hand.
Palm upright. Fingers together.
A clean, unmistakable stop.
Avery froze. His wand lowered a few inches, though he did not put it away.
Hermes narrowed his eyes at Regulus's back. His wand remained raised, but the tip drifted, subtly, away from any target.
Alex let out the breath he had been holding.
The Slytherins who had gathered hesitated. Their brooms hovered in place. Nobody pushed forward.
Regulus did not look back. The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint, unreadable smile.
An obedience test.
Proud, gloomy, timid, eager to follow the crowd. That was Slytherin in miniature, especially this early in the year. Getting them to obey as a group was not simple, but once the first person stopped, the rest would follow. And after the first night, after Travers, authority had already begun to settle into place.
On the opposite side, the Gryffindors who had gathered also slowed, exchanging looks that were not quite friendly.
"What is it, Black?" Alphard forced calm into his voice. "Afraid your little helpers will embarrass you?"
"Quite the opposite," Regulus said, sounding almost puzzled. "I am concerned they might act too quickly, and you would not have time to show your courage."
Alphard's face darkened.
"Expelliarmus!" he shouted.
A red beam shot toward Regulus.
This time, Regulus did not even speak. He flicked his wand lightly and sent a faint shimmer toward the strap near the front of Alphard's broom.
Reparo.
A first year spell. Something meant for chair legs and torn hems.
Click.
The strap snapped tighter. The broom's nose dipped sharply.
Alphard's Disarming Charm slammed into the ground instead, blasting a small pit in the sandy turf. Alphard yelped and clutched the handle to keep from being thrown.
"A Reparo on the strap?" a Gryffindor exclaimed, voice cracking with disbelief.
"Exquisite," a Slytherin praised loudly, as if they were watching a well executed chess move.
Colin reacted at once.
"Jinx!"
A silver flash streaked toward Regulus from the side.
Regulus did not turn his head. He pointed his wand down and left.
"Aguamenti."
A jet of water struck the ground beneath Colin's broom, splashing up in a cold spray and turning the grass and sand into slick mud. The old practice Cleansweep still had a small wheel carriage for beginners. The wheels sank into the muck and the broom jolted to a halt.
Colin's spell went wide.
Gareth tried from the other side.
"Stupefy!"
Regulus glanced at him for a single heartbeat.
Then he tapped his wand to the ground near Gareth's feet.
"Incendio."
A small cluster of flames sprang up on the dry turf.
Gareth's broom had a wicker base. Fire was the one thing it wanted no part of. He jerked upward in panic and his Stunning Spell missed by a mile.
Three attacks. Three counters.
And every counter used something from the first pages of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1.
Regulus had not struck a person even once. He had struck their brooms, their footing, their control.
Once might have been luck.
Twice might have been coincidence.
Three times was a lesson.
Alphard's face went pale as he fought to stabilise his broom again.
Regulus's voice drifted across the space between them, calm as ever.
"Shall we continue? Or do you have something else to demonstrate?"
Around them, the Slytherins looked dazed.
"He did not hit anyone," a Slytherin girl whispered.
"It was all the broom and the ground," someone murmured. "That is worse than being hit."
"And he used only first year spells," another boy said, sounding faintly offended by the unfairness of it. "He did not even pretend to try."
Avery stared at Regulus's back, expression complicated. He knew every one of those spells. He could not have produced that result if he tried all week.
Hermes slid his wand away, eyes fixed on the precise scorch mark, the exact splash pattern, the neatly tightened strap. Every choice maximised effect and minimised effort.
Then the roar came.
"What do you think you are doing?"
Madam Hooch swept onto the field like a storm, eyes blazing.
"Wands down," she snapped. "Immediately."
Alphard, Colin, and Gareth shoved their wands away and dropped from their brooms, sweat slick on their faces.
"Prewett. Macmillan. Diggory." Madam Hooch's voice was sharp enough to cut. "Casting spells without permission during Flying lessons. Against a classmate. Thirty points from Gryffindor. One week of detention each."
"But Professor," Alphard burst out. "He used spells too!"
Madam Hooch's gaze swung to Regulus, knife sharp.
"What did you use, Black?"
Regulus met her eyes without flinching, expression open and candid.
"Reparo, Professor," he said evenly. "To reinforce the strap."
"And Aguamenti, to settle the dust and keep the ground from getting worse."
"And Incendio, to dry a patch that had become slippery."
Madam Hooch stared at him for several seconds, then looked at the evidence. The strap was tightened. The ground was wet. The turf bore scorch marks where the flames had been.
She turned back to Alphard, voice cold.
"Prewett, are you seriously accusing Black of attacking you with Reparo?"
A few snickers escaped before students could smother them.
Alphard opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
"Another ten points from Gryffindor," Madam Hooch said ruthlessly, "for falsely accusing a classmate."
Her wand snapped up.
"Everyone. Back to the castle. Now."
As the class filed off the lawn, students passing Regulus gave him second glances. Surprise. Awe. Recognition.
Slytherin respected power.
It respected, even more, the intelligence to use that power without paying for it.
---
That evening, the Slytherin common room glowed with emerald firelight. Green hangings stirred faintly in the draft. Silver ornaments caught the flames and threw them back like cold stars.
The first years gathered near the lounge area, and the conversation circled, inevitably, around the afternoon.
"Why did you stop us?" one boy demanded at last. "We had numbers. We could have completely…"
"Could have what?" Regulus cut in, looking up.
His voice was not loud, but it carried.
"Could have given Gryffindor a reason to complain?"
"A crowd of Slytherins attacking three Gryffindors," he continued, calm and precise. "Is that how you want the school to see us?"
He set his quill down.
"Slytherin has lost the House Cup three years in a row. Every ten points can decide the final outcome. Is it worth throwing away dozens of points for the satisfaction of a brawl?"
Several first years went quiet at once.
House points were a particular weakness for young Slytherins. They cared, and they cared loudly.
"And there is more," Regulus said.
"If you had acted, Madam Hooch would have arrived to a mess."
"What she would have seen is Slytherins surrounding three Gryffindors."
He looked around the room, letting it sink in.
"But instead, what did she see?"
"Three Gryffindors drawing on one Slytherin," someone supplied, voice low, half amused.
"And that Slytherin," Regulus said, "did not fight back. He repaired a broom, cleaned the ground, and dried the grass."
A few students laughed under their breath.
Regulus rose to his feet, turning slightly so even the older students lounging nearby could hear.
"And the result?"
"Gryffindor lost forty points," he said, crisp as a tally. "Slytherin lost none. Prewett, Macmillan, and Diggory have detention through next week."
He lifted his chin a fraction.
"And we earned respect."
"Madam Hooch saw restraint and discipline. The other houses saw that provoking Slytherin has a price."
At that moment, Lucretius Boke approached, gaze sweeping the younger students with measured approval.
"Impulsiveness, brawling, and losing points," the prefect said, "are Gryffindor habits."
"Slytherin seeks victory, profit, and glory."
He looked directly at Regulus.
"Black demonstrated today how to deliver the greatest blow within the rules, while keeping our losses at zero."
His tone turned formal.
"You earned respect for the house and avoided a disastrous deduction. Well done, Black."
Several older students nodded. The younger ones stared with a mixture of admiration and something sharper, something that wanted to be envy but did not dare.
Regulus inclined his head.
"I only made the choice most beneficial to the house."
---
Back in Dormitory A, the room was quieter.
Avery was halfway through an essay when his quill paused mid sentence.
"You did it on purpose," he said suddenly.
Regulus glanced over, mildly interested.
"On purpose with what?"
Avery's eyes narrowed. He was not like Travers, not stupid enough to think everything happened by accident.
Hermes looked up from his book too, gaze steady and watchful.
Regulus did not wait for Avery to explain. He turned slightly, voice turning declarative.
"You wanted to cast a spell on me."
Hermes's eyes tightened.
For an instant, it had crossed his mind. One sharp, hungry thought. A test. A probe.
Did he sense that? Or is he bluffing?
Hermes said nothing.
Avery looked from Regulus to Hermes and back again, as if reassessing the shape of the room.
Alex sat very still, holding his breath like a mouse in a room full of cats.
Can I change dorms?
It is terrifying here.