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This was truly a summer of studying until he was completely, utterly exhausted. With a massive, highly illegal magical goal in mind, Regulus had actually fallen asleep several times in the dusty spell practice room on the top floor, his face buried in heavy textbooks, his arms still clutching his wand. Without fail, the devoted Kreacher had to gently carry him back down to his bedroom.
"You're working way too hard, Reg," Sirius had commented one evening, leaning against the doorframe, genuine concern cutting through his usual arrogance. "You're going to burn yourself out before term even starts."
"There are absolutely no born geniuses in this world, Sirius..." Regulus replied, his dark eyes fixed on a runic translation. The cryptic answer left Sirius deeply puzzled.
*Fate has chosen me,* Regulus thought grimly to himself, rubbing his tired eyes. *And I have absolutely no choice but to accept the crushing burden it comes with.*
There was simply no way around it. As a famous Muggle philosopher once noted: *Anyone who genuinely cares about the fate of others will inevitably lose a significant portion of their own personal freedom.*
This grueling training schedule wasn't just for his own survival anymore. It was for Sirius. For Remus. For Severus.
Sirius looked at Regulus's exhausted face—a face that was remarkably, painfully similar to his own—and simply shook his head in confusion.
"Well, then. Good luck, little brother," Sirius smirked, drawing his oak wand. "Because it's duel time again. I've learned a nasty new Banishing spell from Uncle Al's books. Let's try it out this time; I am absolutely certain I'm going to beat you today."
August passed day by grueling day. The manicured lawn in the center of Grimmauld Place square had begun to turn slightly yellow under the sweltering summer sun. The nearby Muggle residents only occasionally complained to the council about the sudden, massive influx of terrifying eagle and owl droppings decorating the pavement. Absolutely no one noticed that the two aristocratic boys living at Number 12 had secretly snuck out to go sightseeing in Muggle London on the very last day of their summer vacation.
It was Regulus who had originally suggested that they use the Floo to sneak into central London and visit Harrods, specifically to observe the latest Muggle lifestyle and economic trends.
Walking down the bustling Muggle streets, they noticed there were already quite a few flamboyantly dressed, highly rebellious punk youths loitering on the corners *(Sirius naturally glanced at their leather jackets and ripped jeans with massive, starry-eyed interest)*, and almost every single adult walking past them was casually smoking a cigarette...
In addition, unlike the highly globalized London of later modern generations, the men and women coming and going on the streets at this time were almost entirely homogenous, with very little diversity in the crowds.
Passing a Muggle newsstand, the bold, black ink headlines screamed of chaos: *"Bloody Sunday Inquiry: Coroner Charges British Army with 'Unjustified Murder'."* Other newspapers stacked nearby displayed equally grim headlines about rampant economic inflation, massive rolling power outages, the IRA, and sudden bombings...
*The grand Muggle World War is long over,* Regulus thought, looking at the bleak newspapers, *but these Muggles are still violently fighting each other to the death in the streets, and they've solved almost nothing politically. Honestly, no wonder Grindelwald wanted to establish a magical dictatorship and a new international order. He probably looked at all this and snapped.*
*Who wouldn't get a massive, throbbing headache just looking at this mess?*
September 1st.
Standing on the bustling, steam-filled platform of the Hogwarts Express, Sirius watched as his younger brother offered him a brief, highly formal hug before turning and walking ruthlessly toward his gathering Slytherin classmates.
Now that the school year had officially started again, Sirius was suddenly, painfully reminded of the harsh social reality: his brilliant, fiercely loyal younger brother was a Slytherin.
A pitifully thick, socially mandated barrier of green and silver had already separated the two of them once again...
*(｡ì_í｡)*
Regulus quickly found a compartment and settled in. He was sharing the carriage with Severus Snape, along with two of Severus's deeply unpleasant Slytherin roommates: Avery and his thuggish follower, Mulciber.
This specific Avery boy constantly, loudly bragged that his family came from the so-called "Sacred Twenty-Eight" listed in the infamous *Pure-Blood Directory*.
According to Regulus's highly cynical, modern understanding, this ridiculous "Pure-Blood Directory" was almost certainly compiled anonymously and entirely secretly by some deeply insecure, highly biased members of those exact same families. Its actual historical credibility was roughly on par with Emperor Li Shimin shamelessly claiming to be a direct, biological descendant of the philosopher Laozi. It was pure, fabricated political propaganda.
*I mean, the Potter family isn't even included on the list! Are you absolutely kidding me?* Regulus thought incredulously. *They are older than half the names on there!*
Moreover, even if a family's name *was* officially printed on this ridiculous list, if they didn't toe the blood-purist party line, they would still instantly be branded as "pure-blood traitors" (like the Weasleys). The shadowy organization behind the book clearly operated on the corrupt principle that "the final interpretation of purity belongs entirely to this organization."
*(-_^)* Regulus smirked out the window. *Who the hell are you to define my worth like this?*
Ever since Severus had started actively, publicly befriending Regulus at the end of last term, Avery had also aggressively tried to insert himself into their dynamic. Avery pretended to show great interest in Severus's potion skills, but in reality, he was desperately trying to get close to Regulus—the undisputed, incredibly wealthy "pureblood among purebloods."
Avery was deeply, obsessively concerned with loudly broadcasting his pureblood identity to the compartment. He claimed, at length, that he had performed complex, wandless magic before he was three years old, that he could expertly ride a full-sized racing broom before he was seven, and that his absolute least favorite, most 'Muggle' animal in the world was a pig.
Regulus simply leaned back against the plush velvet seat and responded to the blatant boasting with a nonchalant, highly arrogant chuckle, perfectly flawlessly mimicking Sirius's devastating, dismissive sneer.
*Anyone can put on cheap airs,* Regulus thought coldly. *But trying to casually boast about your purebred glory directly to the Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black? I'm not targeting anyone in particular here, Avery, but I'm saying everyone else in this room... is absolute trash compared to my lineage.*
The sheer, overwhelming weight of Regulus's dismissive aristocratic sneer unsurprisingly made Avery blush a violent, humiliated red. He immediately shut his mouth.
Watching the arrogant pureblood instantly wither under Regulus's gaze also made Severus even more fiercely convinced of the massive, lucrative prospects of working directly under Regulus.
They, the true Slytherins, were naturally incredibly good at assessing power dynamics and making highly profitable judgments.
The Great Hall was brilliantly lit by thousands of floating candles. The enchanted ceiling mirrored a dazzling array of brilliant stars shining against a velvet-black sky, making it seem exactly as if the room were completely open-air.
"Hey, Remus! Look, Sirius is literally up there!" James Potter excitedly nudged Sirius hard with his elbow. The three Gryffindors looked up at the brightest star shining in the Canis Major constellation on the ceiling. "We don't even need to illegally sneak up to the Astronomy Tower anymore! We can just go stargazing right here in the Great Hall!"
As was the yearly tradition, the current batch of terrified, highly anxious first-year little wizards were lined up in the center aisle, nervously awaiting their sorting. Professor McGonagall stood tall at the front, holding a wooden stool and carrying the legendary, heavily patched Sorting Hat.
Sirius, James, and Remus completely ignored the terrified first-years. Instead, they stared intensely, obsessively at Professor McGonagall, as if they were desperately trying to magically discern some deeply hidden secret of the 'Animagus' transformation just by aggressively staring at her tartan robes.
Sitting at the Slytherin table, Regulus still vividly remembered the exact, highly anticlimactic scene last year when he had put on the hat. Before the filthy brim had even fully touched his dark hair, the hat had practically screamed, *"SLYTHERIN!"*
Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and other complex characters were usually deeply analyzed and debated by the hat for quite a while, resulting in highly dramatic 'Hatstalls.'
*Sure enough,* Regulus thought, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. *Communicating extensively with the Hat revealed a harsh narrative truth: being a deeply conflicted "problem student during the sorting process" is a highly exclusive privilege reserved strictly for the main protagonists.*
Up on the teachers' table, sitting near Dumbledore, an unfamiliar wizard was wearing a set of flashy, sky-blue robes. This was presumably the brand-new, entirely "disposable" Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor for the year.
Nearby, Professor Slughorn glanced down at his favorite student and waved to Regulus warmly. Regulus offered a polite, respectful nod in return.
When Professor McGonagall finally placed the pointed hat on the three-legged stool in front of the trembling freshmen, the entire dining hall fell completely, respectfully silent. The freshmen were dead quiet out of sheer, unadulterated terror, while the upperclassmen simply waited for the hat to perform its annual, mandatory musical number.
The Sorting Hat writhed, a massive tear near the brim splitting wide open like a mouth, and it began to sing loudly:
*"Although I may look like just a battered old hat,"*
*"My ancient intelligence is vastly beyond your imagination."*
*"I will never hesitate to face any psychological difficulties."*
*"I will not back down, no matter what hidden danger there may be."*
*"Because I am the true, magical Sorting Hat of the Hogwarts squad!"*
*"The four great founders have bestowed their deepest wisdom upon me."*
*"Let me peer into your minds, so I may accurately identify—"*
*"Gryffindor's roaring, reckless courage!"*
*"Ravenclaw's sharp, seeking wisdom!"*
*"Hufflepuff's steady, unwavering loyalty!"*
*"And Slytherin's cunning, driving ambition!"*
*"So put me on your head!"*
*"Do not be depressed!"*
*"Do not be impatient!"*
*"Let me help you find your true, destined way to the future!"*
"Ambition. Now *that* is an absolutely fantastic word," Regulus murmured smoothly, joining the rest of the Great Hall in polite applause as the song ended.
The sorting proceeded smoothly. Notably, a pale, highly twitchy boy named Barty Crouch Jr.—the future, fanatically renowned Death Eater—was quickly sorted into Slytherin House.
Another boy named Michael Belby was sorted into Hufflepuff. Regulus's eyes narrowed slightly; the boy was almost certainly closely related to Damocles Belby, the brilliant, future inventor of the highly vital Wolfsbane Potion. *Another highly valuable contact to aggressively cultivate,* Regulus noted.
"The official Quidditch player selection tryouts will take place during the second week of this semester," Dumbledore announced after the feast. "Any students interested in joining their respective House teams should contact Madam Hooch immediately."
Over at the Gryffindor table, upon hearing those exact words, James Potter's hazel eyes lit up with the blinding intensity of a Lumos charm.
Later that evening, on the way down to the damp dungeons and the Slytherin common room, absolute chaos erupted in the corridor.
Peeves the Poltergeist came hurtling around the corner, cackling madly. He was carrying two massive, heavy wooden buckets filled to the brim with freezing water and jagged chunks of ice, leaving a trail of countless, slippery water stains along the stone floor.
"Hehehehe! Ickle firsties are the absolute most fun! Prepare yourselves for my furious, freezing onslaught!" Peeves screamed, diving toward the terrified group of new Slytherins.
"Don't you dare mess with our House, Peeves! I'm going to go straight to The Bloody Baron!" yelled the Slytherin prefect, a tall seventh-year named Filius, his voice echoing clearly off the dungeon walls.
Nearby, several senior students were frantically trying to explain the situation to the panicking freshmen.
"That's Peeves. He's completely lawless."
"He absolutely won't listen to a single word the prefects say."
"Hehehehe... This year, it's finally Slytherin's turn! I'm just aggressively helping you filthy little snakes take a much-needed bath! The Bloody Baron won't blame me for a little hygiene!" Peeves cackled. This time, he was clearly, maliciously determined to make serious trouble exclusively for Slytherin House.
"PEEVES!" Filius roared, drawing his wand.
As Peeves happily reveled in the prefect's throbbing headache and the sheer, delightful panic of the younger students, Regulus calmly stepped forward from the back of the crowd. He smoothly drew his hawthorn wand.
"I highly advise you to think about your next action very carefully, Poltergeist," Regulus said, his voice terrifyingly cold and utterly devoid of fear.
"Hahahaha!" Peeves burst into a deafening, mocking laugh, spinning in mid-air. "Ooooh! Look at the scary little second-year brat! Daring to threaten the great Peeves! Hahahaha!"
"Stupid, muddle-headed little Black!" Peeves began to sing a brand new, highly insulting rhyming ballad, swooping lower. "Stupid, muddle-headed Black! Thinks he's brave, but he's just a hack—!"
Everyone in the corridor quickly turned their attention to Regulus, fully expecting the famously proud pureblood to explode in rage. Instead, they were deeply unnerved to find that Regulus was still smiling. It was a cold, utterly ruthless smile.
Seeing this complete lack of fear, Peeves was highly dissatisfied with Regulus's reaction. The poltergeist narrowed his chaotic eyes, his translucent face hardening into a mask of pure malice. A highly wicked, cruel smile appeared on his lips. He raised his arms, and the two massive ice buckets were about to be violently hurled directly down onto Regulus's head—
*"Riddikulus!"* Regulus snapped, slashing his wand upward.
With a sharp *crack* of magic, the two heavy buckets of freezing water unexpectedly, violently jerked out of Peeves's hands. They flipped upside down mid-air and aggressively poured their entire, freezing contents directly over Peeves's own translucent head!
Peeves shrieked, hurriedly trying to dodge, but he still got absolutely drenched by the magical backfire.
He immediately started moving, frantically speeding away from the scene of his humiliating accident. He paused at the end of the corridor, shooting Regulus a deeply fierce, highly vindictive look before leaving. He sang loudly as he fled:
"The little Black is so cruel and incredibly wicked! The little Black is so cruel and wicked... He'll definitely grow up to be a terrifying Dark Wizard! Oooooh!"
"Hey, Peeves!" Regulus shouted down the hallway after him, slipping perfectly back into the role of an innocent, deeply offended student. "How can you possibly, maliciously slander someone's character like this entirely out of thin air?!"
Regulus paused for a single second, and then, completely unable to help himself, he let out a genuine, barking laugh.
"Hahaha..."
The entire crowd of tense Slytherins, realizing the danger had passed and their attacker had been flawlessly humiliated, suddenly all burst into loud, genuine laughter, filling the usually gloomy dungeon corridor with an incredibly rare, highly joyful atmosphere.