Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Even a culinary wasteland has its oases — and the Hogwarts dinner was thoroughly satisfying.

Lucretius Borgin, the Slytherin seventh-year Prefect, had already risen to his feet, tapping a silver spoon against a goblet.

"Slytherin first-years, follow me."

Regulus and eleven other new students left the long table and followed him through a side door of the Great Hall, descending a lengthy spiral staircase of stone.

The deeper they went, the cooler the air grew. The walls turned to polished black marble, and the torches burned with an eerie emerald flame.

At last they halted before a bare stone wall, its only feature a crudely carved serpent.

The Prefect turned to face the first-years.

"I am Lucretius Borgin, seventh-year Prefect." His gaze swept across every face, lingering an extra moment on Regulus.

"Welcome to Slytherin. Before we enter — a few things to be clear on."

"First: Slytherin values blood, ambition, and intellect. All three are indispensable." "Second: loyalty is paramount here. Loyalty to your own. Your roommates and your housemates are your most reliable future allies — or your most dangerous enemies."

"Third: Slytherin has no room for weakness. Crying and tattling will only make you a laughingstock."

His gaze swept over Regulus once more.

"Finally — remember this: last year's unfortunate incident with the Black family brought shame upon Slytherin. Let us hope that this year, someone will restore that reputation."

The implication could hardly have been more explicit. Several first-years snuck glances at Regulus.

Regulus's expression remained calm. He said nothing. He knew there would be a show tonight.

The Prefect turned to the wall and spoke clearly: "Glory."

The serpent's eyes flared red, and the wall slid open without a sound.

The Slytherin common room.

The room was long and rectangular, draped in silver-and-green hangings from its ceiling. One entire wall was transparent enchanted glass, offering a view of the depths of the Black Lake beyond.

The giant squid drifted past at a leisurely pace. Luminous jellyfish floated like spectres. The fireplace burned with soundless emerald flames.

The furniture was dark wood and silver fittings, upholstered in dark green velvet. Portraits of famous Slytherins from ages past lined the walls, their stern eyes scrutinizing the newcomers.

Several older students already occupied the room. As the first-years filed in, every gaze turned their way — curious, indifferent, amused.

Lucretius strode to the fireplace. "You're free to settle in. The dormitory assignments are posted on that wall."

The first-years surged toward the parchment. Regulus was in no hurry; he stood in place and surveyed the common room.

Then he heard his name — not someone calling for him, but someone talking about him.

The voice came from the sofa area on the right, where a group of fifth-year boys lounged. The speaker was a black-haired boy with a hooked nose and a mocking grin.

"Another Black — why didn't he toddle off to the lion's den with the other one?"

The boys around him laughed. Not kindly.

The common room went quiet. The upperclassmen paused their conversations. The younger students held their breath. No one intervened — they were all waiting to see how this new Black would react.

Regulus turned slowly to face the speaker.

"Were you addressing me?" His voice was level, unhurried.

The hooked-nose boy raised an eyebrow. "If you're Regulus Black, then yes."

"I am. Was there something you needed?" Regulus knew someone would step up. He had been hoping for it.

The boy rose to his feet. He stood a head taller than Regulus, and the silver embroidery at his cuffs bore the Travers family crest.

"Just curious," he said, sauntering closer. "Is the entire Black generation this headstrong? Your brother chose Gryffindor. What about you?

Planning to stick around in Slytherin? For a term? Or until you find more interesting friends?"

His cronies laughed again, gradually encircling Regulus.

Regulus's grey eyes held the boy's gaze, without the slightest ripple.

"Mister Travers," he said, naming the family. "If I recall correctly, the Travers family intermarried with a Muggle merchant in the eighteenth century to salvage their near-bankrupt family business.

The affair is detailed in 'Secret Histories of the Pure-Blood Families,' Chapter Seven, Section Three. Shall I point you to the exact paragraph?"

'Your pride has a stain.'

The boy's face flushed crimson.

Whispers around the room grew louder. Several upperclassmen exchanged glances.

"What rubbish are you spouting?" His voice shot upward.

"'Secret Histories of the Pure-Blood Families,' by Broderick Bode, citing the original commercial contracts and marriage registration records." Regulus's voice remained calm. "Shall I recite the passage?"

The boy's mouth opened and closed without producing sound. His fists clenched, knuckles white.

Regulus watched him and continued: "Of course, that was the past. What matters is the present. You mentioned being 'headstrong' just now.

I don't consider independent thinking a flaw. In fact, it is blind obedience that is truly pathetic."

His gaze swept the entire common room. The cronies looked away, one by one.

"Slytherin values intellect. Intellect means thinking for oneself. It means knowing what is worth pursuing — and what is beneath notice.

My brother chose his path. I chose mine. That is what it means to have a mind of one's own. And you—"

Regulus looked at the boy, his gaze calm yet carrying an unmistakable weight.

"— you chose to prove your relevance with a juvenile provocation on the first night of term. Is that your idea of having a mind of your own?"

Every eye in the room shifted from Regulus to Travers.

The boy's face cycled through red, white, and grey-green. His hand darted toward his robe, reaching for his wand.

But Regulus was faster. A wand appeared in his hand in an instant. A single, light tap in the air.

The space before the boy warped. An invisible barrier materialized the instant his wand cleared his robe — the wand struck it with a soft "clink," spun from his grip, and spiraled toward the ceiling —

Then it froze in midair, motionless.

A precision interception.

Regulus flicked his wrist, and the wand began a slow, measured descent — as though cradled by an unseen hand — gliding smoothly back down to land upright at the boy's feet, tip resting lightly on the carpet.

The entire process was quiet, elegant, and devoid of any heat.

"If you truly want a contest," Regulus said, stowing his wand, "I suggest you first learn to hold on to yours."

Several younger students were on the verge of gasping aloud when Regulus took a step forward. The cronies exchanged glances and silently parted.

An older girl started to speak, but another pulled her back and shook her head.

"Now," Regulus said — his was the only voice in the common room — "pick it up."

His voice was no louder than before, yet every person heard it clearly.

Someone looked toward Lucretius. He did nothing.

Travers's face was crimson to the point of bursting, his hair practically standing on end, his body trembling, eyes blazing as though he wanted to devour Regulus alive.

Regulus gazed back, serene. The rest of the room wore expressions that were difficult to read.

A first-year making a fifth-year unable even to draw his wand — the meaning was lost on nobody.

Powerful. Not to be provoked.

And humiliating.

The insult was unmistakably deliberate.

In an instant, every impression of Regulus shifted from "the one whose family produced a traitor" to something else entirely.

Regulus had not needed a wand for any of this — but he had promised Orion he would avoid appearing abnormal at school.

So he used the wand.

Travers's chest heaved violently. Just when some expected him to fight back, he stooped, snatched up his wand, and stormed through the crowd with his head down, vanishing around the corner to the dormitories.

His cronies melted away after him, not a single tough word among them.

Regulus turned and walked to the dormitory assignment list on the wall. The first-years parted to make way.

'That was hardly even a confrontation — just bullying a child,' Regulus reflected, thoroughly uninterested.

The boy was not only weak but foolish. He knew the provocation had been arranged, but he did not mind. He welcomed it.

The common room remained hushed. Whispers only resumed once he reached the wall, and they were mostly stunned murmurs.

Several upperclassmen exchanged looks.

A seventh-year girl with long, deep brown hair and a Rosier family brooch murmured to her companion: "He is interesting."

A boy from the Nott family nodded, his gaze lingering on Regulus for a long time.

A haughty-looking older boy asked: "Did you follow that?"

An elegantly composed girl beside him nodded in silence.

The younger students were thoroughly stunned. A first-year girl clutched her companion's arm, voice agitated: "Did he just — was that a nonverbal spell? A first-year?"

The round-faced boy beside her swallowed hard. "I... I think so?"

Regulus paid them no mind. He found his name on the list.

First-Year Dormitory A:

Regulus Black,

Avery Cuthbert,

Hermes Mulciber,

Alex Rosier.