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The unusually pleasant, almost joyful atmosphere lingering from Regulus's flawless humiliation of Peeves still floated through the damp, green-tinted air of the Slytherin common room. The seventh-year prefect, Filius, had just finished giving the exhausted new students a few standard words of pureblood encouragement and was preparing to finally dismiss them to their dormitories to rest.
"Alright, listen up, you first-year little snakes," a harsh, incredibly rude voice suddenly barked, completely shattering the positive atmosphere in the dungeon. "Which of you has parents who are not both wizards? Or worse, which of you are completely Muggle-born? Step forward immediately."
It was Rabastan Lestrange.
The burly fifth-year student had stepped out from the shadows near the roaring fireplace, positioning himself aggressively next to the prefect. Rabastan, the younger brother of Rodolphus Lestrange, possessed an incredibly bulky, thuggish frame and thoroughly ordinary, brutish features that were permanently twisted into a sinister, cold sneer.
Three deeply bewildered, terrified first-year little wizards hesitantly stepped forward from the crowd.
Prefect Filius looked over, his brow furrowing in clear puzzlement. He opened his mouth, hesitated for a long, cowardly moment, and then firmly clamped his jaw shut, choosing to remain entirely silent rather than cross a Lestrange.
Surrounded by the huddled group of first-years and watched by several amused upperclassmen, Rabastan looked down his nose at the three children. He flashed a haughty, repulsive, and deeply cruel fake smile.
"Since your blood is filthy, you can make yourselves useful. You three are going to scrub and clean the entire common room tonight without magic!"
Sitting by the window, Regulus narrowed his eyes. When I first enrolled last year, he thought coldly, this kind of blatant, thuggish drama absolutely did not exist. Rabastan is getting bold.
"But... but there's nothing to tidy up here," one of the first-years, a remarkably oblivious boy named Frey, pointed out nervously, gesturing to the impeccably clean carpets and polished tables.
Upon hearing the backtalk, Rabastan's eyes flashed with malice. He casually reached out and violently shoved a heavy, silver-plated fruit bowl off the nearest mahogany table.
With a deafening, echoing CRASH of shattering porcelain, the plate exploded into dozens of sharp shards, sending bruised fruit rolling wildly across the stone floor.
"Now you have something to clean," Rabastan sneered.
From Regulus's vantage point in the armchair, he clearly saw little Frey frown in deep confusion. The first-year's left hand instinctively, defensively twitched toward the wand holstered at his waist. Prefect Filius simply sighed, clearly resigning himself to the bullying and offering absolutely no intervention.
Filius is a pureblood too, but he's a coward, Regulus thought, his lip curling in disgust. And this Lestrange... he is just unbelievably stupid. Does this brute even realize that his highly worshipped future "Lord" is literally a half-blood wizard himself? The Sorting Hat explicitly placed these kids here, declaring them good little Slytherins, and instead of actively uniting the House for the coming war, you're in here cheaply bullying freshmen to stroke your own fragile ego.
"Reparo." Regulus, thoroughly disgusted by the lack of tactical House unity, didn't bother to stand. He simply remained seated, calmly pointing his hawthorn wand at the center of the accident and casually chanting the Mending Charm.
The shattered shards of porcelain violently flew back together. The plate seamlessly restored itself and floated gracefully back onto the table, perfectly catching the scattered fruit as they zoomed up from the floor.
Standing nearby, Severus looked at him in genuine, wide-eyed surprise. He had always firmly believed that Regulus was a highly prudent, calculating person who kept entirely to himself and strictly stayed out of unnecessary trouble.
"It's already quite late, Lestrange," Regulus said, his voice cutting through the silent room. He offered a casual, devastatingly arrogant chuckle—a flawlessly executed verbal strike that carried at least seven-tenths of Sirius's trademark, infuriating impact. "You wouldn't want the new blood to miss their morning classes tomorrow and lose precious points for the Slytherin House Cup, would you?"
Rabastan visibly flinched, utterly shocked. He was a heavily built fifth-year, and while he wasn't top of his class, he was still a senior student... He had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined that this scrawny, twelve-year-old second-year from the House of Black would dare to actively undermine him in front of the entire common room.
Why can't this arrogant Black family brat just mind his own business?! Rabastan fumed internally.
Rabastan violently suppressed his surging anger. He remembered Lucius Malfoy's strict, wedding-day advice regarding the Black heir, and he recalled the terrifying magical talent Regulus had already displayed. Rabastan's face turned a deep, furious, purplish-red.
"Black. What exactly do you think you're doing?" Rabastan growled, taking a threatening step forward. "Aren't you supposed to be a proper Slytherin?"
Regulus slowly, elegantly raised a single dark eyebrow. He spoke in a slow, deliberately condescending drawl.
"The Sorting Hat was personally charmed by Salazar Slytherin himself," Regulus stated, his voice ringing with absolute pureblood authority. "Tell me, Lestrange. Are you actively choosing to publicly question Salazar Slytherin's own magical judgment?"
"They... they are just filthy half-bloods!" Rabastan stammered, pointing at the terrified first-years. "They might even be Mudbloods!"
Among the bewildered first-year students, a few Muggle-borns clearly seemed unaware of what the vile slur "Mudblood" actually meant, but based on Rabastan's venomous tone, they instantly understood it was a highly dangerous insult.
"Then they are Slytherins," Regulus's tone instantly dropped to freezing, absolute zero.
He stood up, smoothing his robes. "Furthermore, Lestrange, I highly suggest you actively refrain from using such disgustingly vulgar language in public. It is utterly lacking in aristocratic elegance." Regulus met the older boy's furious glare without blinking. "And if you are violently determined to be at odds with every single non-pureblood wizard in this entire school... do it on your own time. Do not drag the reputation of this Academy down with your sheer stupidity."
"No—when did I ever say I wanted to be enemies with all the non-pureblood wizards in the school?!" Rabastan backpedaled hurriedly, his eyes darting nervously around the room. He wasn't entirely stupid; he understood exactly how politically heavy and dangerous that accusation was.
"Your Lestrange family..." Regulus paused, offering another dark, deeply knowing chuckle. "...heh. Let's just leave it at that."
Rabastan's heart violently skipped a beat. A cold sweat broke out on his neck. He frantically began to comb through his memories, desperately trying to recall exactly what horrifying, highly illegal private family secrets the ancient House of Black could possibly know about the Lestranges. Little did he know—
Regulus was running a complete, one-hundred-percent fabricated bluff.
As Albus Dumbledore had once famously noted: 'The so-called pure-blood families routinely deny the existence of their Muggle or Muggle-born members, aggressively lying and burning tapestries in order to maintain the fragile illusion of their claimed bloodline.'
Even the fanatical House of Black had actively needed to burn multiple "traitors" off their family tree. Regulus absolutely did not believe for a single second that the Lestrange family's bloodline was genuinely, perfectly pure; just looking at the twisted, cruel nature of Rabastan and his brother, they had undeniably buried a few shady, half-blood skeletons in their closets over the centuries.
"You three, head back to your dormitories and get some rest," Regulus commanded softly to the trembling first-years.
The deeply shaken little wizards gave him immensely grateful, worshipful smiles before hastily scurrying down the stone hallway.
Regulus remained standing by his armchair, completely calm, and utterly aloof.
Aside from establishing his absolute dominance over the house bullies, Regulus also formally signed up for the Quidditch tournament qualifiers.
He had successfully inherited the original Regulus's deep, instinctual love and raw talent for Quidditch. So, even though his daily schedule was already aggressively packed with illegal alchemical research and combat training, he still wanted to give the Seeker position a try.
Meanwhile, his flawless, highly humiliating exploits against Peeves the Poltergeist had already rapidly spread to all four Houses, carried primarily by Peeves's own screeching, vindictive songs echoing through the corridors.
Aside from Rabastan Lestrange's new, intensely burning hatred for him, Regulus found his campus life to be incredibly fulfilling, smooth, and highly enjoyable.
Furthermore, the first full moon of September 1973 was rapidly approaching.
Deep inside the flooded, abandoned ruins of Moaning Myrtle's second-floor bathroom, Severus and Regulus were secretly brewing a highly complex batch of Vitality Tonic over a hissing cauldron.
During his brief break from stirring clockwise, Severus was deeply engrossed in reading the latest issue of Potions Today magazine, which he had permanently 'borrowed' from the restricted section of the library.
"Regulus, do you happen to remember a wizard named Damocles Belby?" Severus asked respectfully, looking up from the glossy pages. "He was the highly talented senior student Professor Slughorn always used to brag about. The magazine just published an article stating that Belby has recently made a massive, unprecedented theoretical breakthrough regarding the Wolfsbane potion, and his team is now entering a crucial, highly secretive stage of practical research."
!!
"Hmm. Yes, I remember him from the Slug Club stories," Regulus said, his eyes widening. He quickly abandoned his stirring rod and leaned much closer, their two dark-haired heads huddled tightly together over the magazine. "You know... a boy named Michael Belby was just sorted into Hufflepuff this year..."
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the massive alchemical conspiracy brewing in the girls' bathroom, Sirius and James were actively engaged in their own highly illegal mission.
They had just successfully, secretly delivered an exhausted, sickly Remus to the hidden tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow, completely hiding under the Potter family's Invisibility Cloak the entire way. They kept the shimmering fabric securely over their heads until they had safely navigated back into the dark stone corridors of the castle.
As they walked back toward Gryffindor Tower, they deliberately chose to walk through the deepest, least populated dungeons to avoid the patrolling prefects. Just before they turned a sharp corner, they heard the distinct, aggressive sound of a commotion coming from the corridor ahead.
They instantly threw themselves back under the Invisibility Cloak. Peeking carefully around the stone corner, Sirius's handsome face immediately twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated disgust.
"That massive, ugly bloke right there is Rabastan Lestrange," Sirius whispered venomously to James, pointing a finger from beneath the cloak.
At that exact moment, Rabastan was aggressively blocking the path of two terrified first-year Slytherin students. He had his wand drawn, pointing it directly at the children's chests, his brutish expression incredibly fierce and cruel.
"Wait... aren't they all in Slytherin?" James asked, staring at the scene before him, completely, genuinely puzzled by the hostile dynamics. "Why on earth is a fifth-year aggressively bullying two first-years from his own House?"
"Bullying defenseless freshmen in the corridors," a cold, familiar voice echoed from the shadows behind Rabastan. "Do you really think you have that much guts, Lestrange?"
Rabastan violently whipped his head around. There, stepping smoothly out of the dark alcove, stood Regulus Black. He looked terrifyingly cold, his hawthorn wand already drawn and resting casually by his side. Stepping out right beside him was Severus Snape, his own wand gripped tightly, his dark eyes locked onto Rabastan, entirely ready for a brutal battle.
"Since you're so desperate to prove your magical superiority," Regulus said softly, stepping into the torchlight, "how about we have a formal, one-on-one duel instead? A true wizard's duel. Strictly wands only. If you lose, you completely cease bothering the children in this House."
"I'll be Regulus's second!"
Two fiercely loyal voices violently rang out in the corridor at the exact same time.
Severus Snape stepped forward from the left. And completely out of nowhere, Sirius Black threw off the shimmering Invisibility Cloak and rushed out into the open from the right.
Sirius and Severus froze. They slowly turned their heads, aggressively glaring at each other with deep, mutual, historical dislike. Then, realizing they had just aggressively volunteered to defend the exact same person, they both abruptly snorted and violently turned their heads away from each other in disgust.
Regulus had to bite the inside of his cheek to physically stop himself from laughing out loud at the sheer, ridiculous comedic timing.
Rabastan, despite coming from a highly violent dark wizard family, simply stood there completely, utterly dumbfounded. This scrawny little Black... this twelve-year-old second-year... actively wants to formally duel me?!
"The cruel and wicked little Black... the cruel and wicked little Black... he'll definitely grow up to be a terrifying Dark Wizard!" Peeves the Poltergeist, who absolutely possessed a supernatural radar for missing zero drama within the castle, suddenly phased directly through the stone ceiling above them, cackling madly and singing his new favorite, highly slanderous song.
"Heh. What's the matter, Lestrange?" Sirius sneered, flashing a genuinely terrifying, utterly devastating smile as he twirled his oak wand. "Are you too scared to fight someone who can actually fight back?"
Rabastan violently clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white as he viciously cursed the two Black brothers in his mind. He was completely, socially trapped. He was a heavily built fifth-year aggressively challenged by a second-year. If he accepted the duel and won, he would receive absolutely zero glory for beating a child. But if by some cursed miracle he lost? It would be the ultimate, career-ending political humiliation in the Slytherin common room.
Rabastan was sweating, desperately hesitating, when Peeves delightfully came to his immediate rescue:
"Ooooh! The big, bad fifth-year Lestrange is far too scared to go one-on-one with the little Black!" Peeves cackled, swooping down and blowing a raspberry in Rabastan's face. "The little Black is cruel and wicked... He'll definitely grow up to be a Dark Wizard!"
At the exact same moment, the heavy, wheezing sound of Argus Filch's panting voice and Mrs. Norris's meowing echoed loudly from another dark corner of the dungeon, rapidly approaching the commotion.
&...%&...&!! (Rabastan's numerous, highly colorful, and incredibly violent internal profanities are permanently omitted here for the sake of decency.)