Chapter 73: Thestrals, and the Start of Term
The Hogwarts Express pulled into the station at four in the afternoon.
Regulus carried his trunk off the train. The platform was packed with returning students; the din rose like a tide.
He walked with Avery and Alex toward the carriage stand.
The carriages appeared to move on their own — nothing visible between the shafts. But Regulus knew Thestrals were there.
He couldn't see them.
Only those who had witnessed death could see a Thestral. Regulus had never watched anyone die.
So all he saw were empty harness-poles and carriages rolling forward on their own, wheels crunching over gravel.
He found that somewhat regrettable.
Thestrals held special significance in magical literature.
They could fly. They could pierce storms and darkness, breach magical barriers — and, by some accounts, even shift briefly through space. More importantly, they carried symbolic weight. Only those who had confronted death, who had accepted the truth of mortality, could perceive them.
Perhaps the symbolism itself was a metaphor: break through the shackles of perception, attain a deeper understanding, and you would see what others could not.
In the wizarding world, symbol and image were sometimes magic itself.
Regulus climbed into a carriage. Several Slytherin students were already seated.
Avery started talking the moment he sat down — voice pitched deliberately loud so everyone in the compartment could hear.
"You have no idea what the Malfoy gathering was like over the holidays." He wore an expression that screamed 'I know a secret but I can't quite say it outright,' eyes bright.
"So many families attended. The scale — incredible. Lucius Malfoy received guests personally. Old Mister Malfoy was there too, though he only made a brief appearance..."
Every word implied: I was at an important event.
He glanced at Regulus periodically — seeking validation, flaunting that he belonged to the same circle.
Regulus listened quietly, nodding now and then.
Hermes sat in the corner, silent.
He was more withdrawn than before the holiday: face pale, faint blue-black smudges under his eyes.
His whole person radiated 'stay away.'
Alex sat beside Regulus, listening to Avery, his face growing pallid.
He hadn't attended the gathering — just a minor branch of the Rosier family — but he had a vague sense of what it represented.
Pure-blood alignment. Voldemort's forces mustering.
Hearing Avery lay out the details, he felt afraid.
Regulus noticed several senior students eyeing Avery with barely concealed contempt.
They said nothing — simply looked away, pretending to watch the scenery.
Regulus understood: it wasn't that they didn't want to speak, but that age had taught them to keep things to themselves.
In private, they likely gossiped far more enthusiastically than Avery.
The carriages passed through the Hogwarts gates, rolled down the long drive, and halted before the castle. Students filed out and streamed into the brightly lit Great Hall.
The start-of-term feast was underway.
The long tables were laden with food. The ceiling had been enchanted into a starry sky; candles drifted overhead, shedding warm light.
Dumbledore sat in the center of the staff table, his silver beard gleaming in the candlelight.
Once every student was seated, Dumbledore rose.
"Welcome back." His voice, warm and resonant, filled the hall. "Did you enjoy your holiday? I hope you all got adequate rest — because we have a great deal of work ahead."
His gaze swept the four House tables; wherever it traveled, noise dipped.
"Learning magic is not merely mastering incantations," Dumbledore said. "It is understanding our relationship with this world.
Why do we use magic? For what purpose? In whose interest? These are questions I hope you will consider alongside your studies."
He raised his goblet. "To the new term. To the pursuit of knowledge. To the things that make us better people — cheers."
A chorus of "Cheers!" echoed through the hall. Regulus lifted his pumpkin-juice goblet and took a sip.
Dumbledore's words were not especially veiled. The message was plain: he was reminding students that magic had a higher calling — beyond rivalry, beyond family prestige.
He was planting the seeds of kindness, justice, and responsibility.
Regulus ate his roast chicken in silence. He understood Dumbledore's stance and respected the conviction behind it.
But he had his own path to walk — one that might not entirely match Dumbledore's expectations. That was all right.
Everyone had to answer for their own choices.
After the feast, students returned to their respective common rooms.
In the Slytherin common room, silver-green decorations glinted coldly in the firelight.
Narcissa stood by the hearth chatting with a few seventh-year girls. Seeing Regulus enter, she gave him a nod.
Regulus walked over. "Cousin."
"Regulus." Narcissa smiled. "How was your holiday?"
"Good." Regulus said. "Met a lot of people. Learned a few new things."
They exchanged a few brief pleasantries — surface-level courtesies.
Then Lucretius Borgin approached.
The Slytherin prefect wore crisply pressed robes and a polished smile.
He inclined his head slightly to Narcissa. "Forgive the intrusion, Narcissa — might I borrow Regulus for a moment?"
Narcissa nodded. "Of course."
Then she turned and glided gracefully away.
Lucretius led Regulus to a quieter corner of the common room.
"I saw you in Knockturn Alley during the holiday." Lucretius came straight to the point, voice deliberately lowered, as though sharing a confidence. "With your father. Inspecting the shops."
Regulus nodded. Said nothing. They hadn't been hiding — being noticed was perfectly normal.
"Next time you go, stop by our shop." Lucretius extended the invitation. "Borgin and Burkes, 13B Knockturn Alley. We have a few things you might find interesting."
Regulus understood. The Borgin family was extending goodwill — not angling for recruitment but, in keeping with old Borgin's style, cultivating a friendly connection.
Besides, Borgin and Burkes was one of Knockturn Alley's largest Dark-artefact dealers. The shop was bound to hold plenty of treasures.
"I'll visit during the holiday." No hesitation — a definite yes.
Lucretius smiled, patted his shoulder, and left.
Regulus stood where he was, a thought flashing through his mind: was the Vanishing Cabinet already in old Borgin's shop?
That pair of cabinets linking Hogwarts and Knockturn Alley would become an important piece down the line.
But it was still early. Draco Malfoy hadn't even been born.
No rush.
By the time he reached the dormitory, it was nearly eleven.
Avery was still regaling Alex with holiday exploits — though Alex clearly wanted no part of it.
Hermes had already drawn his bed curtains. Faint, unsteady magical fluctuations leaked through — Dark Arts, but not deeply dark.
Regulus didn't join the conversation. He washed up and lay straight down.
Eyes closed, consciousness descending inward.
Star-orbit meditation engaged. The four stars of Orion kindled in his mind, silver-white light tracing the constellation's outline, magic circulating along the stars' orbital paths.
Tonight felt different. A dull throb pulsed in the depths of his consciousness — as though his mind had been packed too full, not yet fully digested.
Two legacies absorbed in quick succession — the mental strain was greater than he'd anticipated.
Nature Magic involved understanding the essence of life. The Spatial Anchoring Charm involved mastery of spatial structure. Both were advanced magic, demanding vast knowledge reserves and fine-tuned magical control.
The information had rushed into his consciousness like floodwater, needing time to be slowly absorbed, understood, integrated.
Regulus could feel it: attempting a third legacy right now would almost certainly fail.
His mind was approaching saturation. Forcing more ancestral memories in would, at best, result in cognitive confusion and incomprehension — at worst, mental damage and scrambled memory.
Rest intervals were essential.
The ancestors had sealed a lifetime's knowledge into crystals not for descendants to gulp down all at once.
That would be like eating an entire year's food in a single meal — death by overfilling was the only outcome.
Legacies needed digestion. Needed practice. Needed the conversion of someone else's experience into one's own understanding.
That process could not be rushed.
Regulus adjusted the meditation's rhythm, letting his magic flow more gently.
He no longer chased rapid advancement, instead focusing on consolidating existing foundations. The four-star model needed greater stability. The magical cycle, smoother flow. The mental barrier, greater resilience.
Once his mind had fully recovered — once Nature Magic and the Spatial Anchoring Charm were properly digested — he'd attempt to ignite the fifth star of the star-orbit meditation.
That would be a new breakthrough. But it was a matter for later. Right now, he needed rest.
Regulus lay in the dark, letting consciousness sink into the orbit of stars.
The new term had begun.