The dormitories were located in the corridors deeper within the common room. The door was heavy oak, marked with an "A".
Regulus pushed the door open. The room inside was spacious, with four four-poster beds positioned in the four corners, draped in dark green hangings. Each person had an independent study area with a view of the Black Lake.
Two people were already there.
Avery Cuthbert sat on the bed by the window, organizing his stationery. He had blond hair and blue eyes, his chin tilted up slightly. Seeing Regulus, he nodded.
"Black."
"Avery."
The other boy sat on the bed furthest inside. He had black hair, a pale face, and shadows beneath his eyes.
He held a battered copy of Curses and Counter-Curses. Hermes Mulciber. He looked up at Regulus, his gaze gloomy, and gave a nod.
Regulus placed his trunk on an empty bed and began to unpack. Textbooks were arranged on the bookshelf according to the schedule, quills and ink were set out, and robes were hung in the wardrobe.
The door opened again, and a fourth person walked in. He had brown hair, grey eyes, and a gentle face, wearing neat but not luxurious robes.
Alex Rosier, from a branch family of the Rosiers. Both his parents held low-level positions in the Ministry of Magic. His family status was lower than the main branch, but he was still a pure-blood.
"Hello," Alex's voice was gentle. "I am Alex Rosier."
Avery glanced at him and gave a faint nod. "Cuthbert."
Hermes didn't look up.
Regulus said, "Regulus Black."
Alex smiled and put his trunk on the last empty bed, directly opposite Regulus.
The atmosphere in the room was somewhat subtle. Regulus analyzed it silently.
Avery represented the arrogant core circle of pure-bloods. Hermes was the gloomy Dark Arts enthusiast. Alex was on the gentle fringes of the pure-bloods.
Avery looked at Regulus. "Just now in the common room, you made Travers look like a fool."
Regulus didn't turn around. "He brought it on himself."
"His uncle is in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It's not a low position."
"And?"
Avery smiled, his eyes conveying an 'I understand you' meaning. "And so, nicely done. The Travers family has always thought of themselves as top-tier goods. In reality, everyone knows about their family's dirty laundry."
Regulus turned to look at him.
Avery leaned against the headboard. "My father says Slytherin needs some fresh blood this year, people with real ability, not useless trash who only know how to flaunt their family tree."
He looked at Regulus. "You don't look like useless trash."
"And you?" Regulus countered.
Avery paused. "What?"
Regulus asked again, "Are you useless trash?"
Alex, who was organizing his things, looked up upon hearing this, but said nothing.
Avery silently locked eyes with Regulus for two seconds, then said, "You'll find out."
Regulus nodded slightly. "I look forward to it."
Hermes suddenly spoke up, his voice deep. "That move you used to block his wand... how did you do it?"
All eyes turned to Regulus.
"A Shield Charm," Regulus said. "With some minor tricks."
"What tricks?" Hermes pressed.
"Can you cast a Shield Charm?" Regulus asked instead of answering.
The Shield Charm was explicitly categorized as an intermediate defensive spell.
In the original story, even adult wizards couldn't necessarily cast it proficiently. The Weasley twins had discovered that most Ministry employees couldn't cast a decent Shield Charm.
Hogwarts even included it as mandatory content for the fifth-year O.W.L. exams, meaning it was a spell that required 2-3 years of systematic foundation in magic before it could be mastered.
His roommates were all pure-bloods; they naturally understood what casting a Shield Charm in the first year meant.
It meant Regulus must have mastered it even earlier.
Hermes said no more. His gaze had changed, but suspicion outweighed shock.
Alex sucked in a breath. "My father says only a minority in the Ministry can cast it effectively."
Avery stared at Regulus. "My father says-"
Regulus interrupted him. "Why don't you say something yourself?"
Avery froze again, opening his mouth, but no sound came out.
What could he say?
From childhood to adulthood, no one had ever asked him that.
In the Avery family, his father's word was truth. In pure-blood gatherings, the elders' evaluations were the standard. Even in Slytherin, the experience of older students was the guide.
He was used to quoting, relaying, and borrowing the authority of others to support his own viewpoints.
Avery felt something foreign and scalding crawl up his spine. It was shame.
He realized he was using his father's authority as armor, and the other person had seen right through it in an instant.
He took a deep breath, suppressing the nervousness in his heart, and raised his chin a little higher.
"The Shield Charm requires precise magical control and clear intent." Avery's voice wasn't quite steady. "The former requires long-term practice; the latter requires firm willpower.
"Most first-years can't even make a feather float steadily."
He looked at Regulus. "So you are not 'most'."
Regulus nodded, acknowledging the answer.
"Then neither are you," he said.
Avery blinked.
"If you can see these things," Regulus continued, "it means you have observation and judgment. You are not useless trash."
"Alright," Avery suddenly smiled after a moment of silence. He shrugged and leaned back against the headboard again.
Alex Rosier had held his breath the entire time. He looked at Regulus, then at Avery, his eyes full of confusion and unease.
In his family, the gentle, polite branch of the Rosiers that always followed the rules, no one ever spoke like this: so blunt, so sharp.
He both admired Regulus's calmness and feared whatever lay behind that calmness.
He doesn't act like an eleven-year-old, Alex thought. He acts like... like those department heads hurrying through the corridors of the Ministry. Every word is calculated.
He decided he would write to his parents tonight to ask what exactly the deal was with this second son of the Black family.
The room fell into silence.
The first class at Hogwarts for the Slytherin first-years was Potions.
In the hierarchical system of the magical world, Potions was a yardstick to measure whether a wizard was rigorous, precise, and patient.
And Slytherin, at least in name, was supposed to be the House most endowed with these traits.
The Potions classroom was located on the first sublevel of the castle. It was slightly higher than the Slytherin common room but equally cold and damp.
When Regulus walked into the classroom, most of the students had already arrived. Long tables were arranged neatly. Each table was equipped with two cauldron stands, a basic set of tools, and a pile of ingredients.
He glanced at the seating chart. Slughorn had clearly arranged it meticulously.
Slytherin and Gryffindor were taking the class together, but the seats were interleaved, probably to promote inter-House communication, or more likely, to watch the drama unfold.
Regulus's seat was in the third row. His desk mate was a Gryffindor girl with blonde hair and freckles on her face. She was nervously flipping through Magical Drafts and Potions, muttering to herself.
Seeing him sit down, she looked up, her eyes brightening. "Are you Regulus Black?"
"I am."
"I am Mary Macdonald," she said, her voice a bit fast. "I heard you made James Potter's spell disappear on the train yesterday?"
News traveled fast. Regulus nodded, saying nothing more.
Receiving a response, Mary's spirits rose. "You should make James Potter disappear too. I heard they are terrible."
Regulus was slightly surprised. James already had a reputation, and Sirius surely had a hand in that.
Because Regulus was right there, Mary hadn't mentioned Sirius.
A bad reputation. Even Gryffindor was dissatisfied.
Mary seemed to want to ask something else, but the classroom door suddenly opened.
Professor Horace Slughorn walked in.
He was rotund, with a ruddy complexion, wearing an emerald-green robe covered in gold embroidery. The buttons across his belly were stretched tight.
"Ah! Welcome, welcome!" Slughorn's voice was loud and full of performative enthusiasm. "Welcome to the world of Potions, the most exquisite, dangerous, and rewarding art of all!"
He walked to the front of the podium, placed both hands on the desk, and looked around the classroom.
"I am Horace Slughorn, your Potions professor. For the next seven years, or at least until you pass your O.W.L.s, I will lead you to explore the miracles within the cauldron."
His gaze swept over every face. "Some of you may have heard of me. Some may have heard of my... little club.
"But I assure you, what is needed in my classroom is your ability and focus. Most importantly, a love for this art."