Chapter 18: Can I Switch Dorms?
Farther off, several Slytherins who had been practicing noticed the commotion and drifted over — three, then five, then more.
Alphard's expression shifted. His two friends, Colin and Gareth, exchanged a nervous glance.
At that moment, Regulus — his back still to every Slytherin present — slowly raised his left hand.
Palm vertical, five fingers together. An unmistakable stop signal.
Avery froze. His raised wand dropped to his side, but he did not stow it.
Hermes narrowed his eyes, gaze boring into Regulus's back. His wand stayed up, though the tip had begun to drift off-target.
Alex let out a breath of relief.
The Slytherins who had gathered wavered — brooms hovering in midair, none advancing further.
Regulus did not look back. A faint, hidden smile touched the corner of his mouth.
An obedience test. These Slytherin students — proud, sullen, timid, susceptible to herd behavior — had just halted on Regulus's signal.
Commanding collective obedience was no simple thing, yet as soon as one person stopped, the rest followed.
That owed everything to the absolute dominance over the fifth-year Travers on the opening night. Authority had taken root.
The Gryffindors who had likewise gathered saw the Slytherins hold back and advanced no further themselves. Guarded looks passed between both sides.
"What's the matter, Black?" Alphard forced composure. "Afraid your lackeys will embarrass you?"
"Quite the opposite," Regulus said, sounding genuinely puzzled. "I'm afraid they'll move too fast and you won't get the chance to show off your... courage."
"Expelliarmus!" Alphard snapped, humiliated into fury. Another jet of red.
This time Regulus did not even utter an incantation. A tiny flick of his wand, and a faint gleam struck the binding strap at the front of Alphard's broom.
It was a Mending Charm — first-year curriculum, meant for fixing chair legs and patching robes.
Click. The strap suddenly tightened. The broom's front end lurched downward.
Alphard's Disarming Charm, thrown off by the abrupt dive, slammed into the ground and blew a small crater in the dirt. He himself yelped and clung to the handle to avoid being thrown.
"A Mending Charm... on a strap?!" a Gryffindor blurted.
"Exquisite!" a Slytherin cheered.
Colin rushed to help: "Rictusempra!"
A silver flash streaked toward Regulus from the side.
Regulus did not even glance at it. His wand pointed down and to the left: "Aguamenti."
A jet of water struck the ground beneath Colin's broom, spraying mud everywhere.
The old Cleansweep still had landing wheels. Colin's broom caught in the mire, jolting to a halt, and his spell went wide.
Gareth tried to ambush from the opposite side: "Stupefy!"
This time Regulus spared him one look. Just one.
He tapped his wand at the patch of ground beside Gareth's feet: "Incendio."
A small tongue of flame blossomed on the dry turf.
Gareth's broom had a wicker-weave footrest — its worst enemy was fire. He panicked and hauled upward; his spell sailed off-course.
Three directions. Three attacks. Regulus countered all three with the most rudimentary spells in the book — every one aimed at the environment or at the broom, not the person — and left every opponent off-balance with every curse gone wide.
Once was coincidence. Twice was luck. Three times was a crushing gap in skill.
Alphard was ashen. He had barely steadied his broom when Regulus's voice reached him: "Shall we continue? Or would you like to demonstrate something else?"
The watching Slytherins were dumbstruck.
"He never attacked a single person..." a Slytherin girl whispered.
"All aimed at the broom or the ground," another boy murmured. "But that's more humiliating than hitting someone directly."
"The real kicker is — every spell he used comes from the first thirty pages of 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1'!"
"I refuse to believe he doesn't know others."
Avery stared at Regulus's back, expression conflicted. He knew every one of those spells, yet he could never deploy them to that effect.
Hermes quietly pocketed his wand, studying the spots Regulus had struck with a contemplative gaze — every target chosen for maximum effect at minimum cost.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Madam Hooch's roar finally reached them.
She blew in like a whirlwind, face thunderous, eyes sweeping the field. "Wands away! Now!"
Alphard and his two friends hastily stowed their wands and dropped off their brooms, drenched in sweat.
"Prewett! Macmillan! Diggory!" Madam Hooch's voice was razor-sharp. "Unauthorized spellcasting during Flying Class! Aimed at a fellow student! Thirty points from Gryffindor! Detention for one week — each of you!"
"But Professor!" Alphard protested. "He used spells too—"
"What spells did Black use?" Madam Hooch's keen gaze swung to Regulus.
"A Mending Charm, Professor," Regulus said, meeting her eyes squarely. "To reinforce a loose strap. A Water-Making Charm, to reduce airborne dust. And a Fire-Making Spell, to dry out damp turf."
Madam Hooch stared at Regulus for several seconds, then looked at the evidence on the ground — a strap that had indeed tightened, a patch that was indeed wet, grass that indeed bore scorch marks.
"Prewett," she said coldly, "are you accusing Black of attacking you with a Mending Charm?"
Several stifled snickers rose from the crowd.
Alphard opened his mouth. Not a single word came out.
"Ten more points from Gryffindor — for making a false accusation against a fellow student." Madam Hooch was merciless. "Now, everyone back to the castle!"
As the Slytherin students stowed their brooms and left, nearly every one of them gave Regulus an extra glance.
Those looks held surprise, awe, and approval. Slytherin respected power — and respected even more the wisdom with which it was wielded.
That evening. The Slytherin common room.
Emerald flames burned silently in the fireplace, their glow playing across the dark green hangings and silver fittings. The first-years had gathered in the sofa area. Naturally, the afternoon's events dominated the conversation.
"Why didn't you let us step in?" one boy could not help asking Regulus. "We outnumbered them — we could have easily—"
"Could have easily what?" Regulus cut him off, looking up at them all. "Given Gryffindor grounds for an appeal?"
"All of us, piling on Gryffindor?"
He set down his quill, voice measured. "Slytherin has lost the House Cup three years running. Every ten points could tip the final result. Would it be worth getting the house docked dozens of points?"
Several students fell silent.
House points were a sore spot for Slytherin — the younger the student, the more it stung.
"Besides," Regulus continued, "if you'd joined in, it would have been a brawl. When Madam Hooch arrived, what she'd have seen was Slytherin mobbing three Gryffindors. But instead —"
"What she saw was three Gryffindors ganging up on one Slytherin, and that Slytherin didn't even fight back. He was merely repairing brooms, tidying the ground, and drying the grass."
Quiet laughter rippled through the group.
Regulus looked around the room and noticed several upperclassmen watching as well. He raised his voice slightly.
"And the result?" He rose to his feet and addressed the entire common room. "Forty points from Gryffindor. Not a single point lost by Slytherin. Prewett and his two friends in detention through next week."
He lifted his chin, a hint of fervor entering his voice. "And we earned respect.
Madam Hooch saw Slytherin's restraint and discipline. The other houses saw that provoking Slytherin comes at a price."
Prefect Lucretius Borgin made his way over. He surveyed the younger students. "Impulse, brawling, point deductions — that is the Gryffindor way.
What Slytherin wants is victory, advantage, and glory. Black demonstrated today how to maximize damage to the opponent within the rules while minimizing one's own losses."
He turned to Regulus and said formally: "You earned the house respect and averted a catastrophic point deduction. Well done, Black."
Several upperclassmen nodded in agreement. The younger students looked at Regulus with a blend of admiration and envy.
Barely a week into term, and he had already secured public endorsement from the Prefect and the upper years.
Regulus inclined his head. "I simply made the choice that best served the house."
Back in the dormitory, Avery was writing an essay. He stopped mid-sentence and asked Regulus: "You did all of that on purpose, didn't you?"
Regulus fixed him with an amused look. "All of what?"
Unlike some pure-blood dolts, Avery actually thought.
Hermes also lifted his head from his book, studying Regulus alongside Avery. He, too, had sensed something off about the day's events.
Without waiting for Avery to answer, Regulus addressed Hermes in a matter-of-fact tone: "You wanted to hex me, didn't you?"
Hermes's gaze sharpened. He had, in fact, considered it — for just a split second.
'He noticed even that? Or is he bluffing?'
He said nothing.
Avery's eyes narrowed. His gaze ping-ponged between Regulus and Hermes.
Alex held his breath, desperately trying not to draw attention.
'Can I switch dorms?'
'This place is terrifying!'