It had truly been a summer of studying until he was dizzy with exhaustion. Carrying his big goal in mind, Regulus had fallen asleep with books in his arms in the spell practice room more than once, and it was always Kreacher who carried him back to bed.
"You're working way too hard," Sirius said, not without concern.
"There's no such thing as a naturally gifted academic…" Regulus's reply left Sirius scratching his head.
"Destiny chose me. I have no right to refuse."
What can I even do? As a Muggle once said—Anyone who cares about the fate of others must sacrifice some of their own freedom.
This wasn't just his personal struggle.
Sirius looked at Regulus's face, so similar to his own, and shook his head in confusion.
"Well, good luck, then. It's dueling time again. I learned a new spell, and this time I'll definitely beat you."
…
August passed day by day, and the grass in the center of Grimmauld Place had already begun to yellow slightly.
The nearby Muggles only occasionally complained about the bird droppings; no one noticed that the boys from Number 12 had snuck out on the last day of their summer holiday for a sightseeing trip around London.
It was Regulus's idea—they went to Harrods to observe the latest in Muggle living.
There were already some extravagantly dressed punk youths on the street (Sirius eyed them with great interest), and nearly everyone was smoking...
Another noticeable difference from later decades was that the people walking the streets—men and women alike—were all very pale, with virtually no diversity.
The headlines on the street newspapers read: "Bloody Sunday Coroner Accuses: British Army 'Purely Murder'", along with others about inflation, blackouts, the IRA, bombings…
The war had ended, and these Muggles were still at each other's throats with nothing truly resolved. No wonder Grindelwald had once wanted to establish a new international order.
Who wouldn't get a headache looking at all this?
…
On the platform for the Hogwarts Express, Sirius gave his brother a quick hug before Regulus walked off unhesitatingly toward his fellow Slytherins.
Now that the school term had begun, Sirius was once again reminded—his brother was a Slytherin.
There was already a tragically thick wall between them…
...
Regulus sat in a compartment with Severus, joined by two of Severus's classmates—Avery and his lackey, Mulciber.
Avery, too, came from one of the so-called "Sacred Twenty-Eight" pure-blood families listed in the Pure-Blood Directory.
If Regulus had to say, that Directory was probably written anonymously by a few people from those families, quietly patting themselves on the back. As for credibility? About as reliable as Tom Marvolo fucking Riddle claiming to be a pure-blood.
The Potter family wasn't even listed—what a joke.
And even if they were, they'd still be called "blood traitors." It was all about that classic "final interpretation rights belong to this organization."
Regulus: Who are you to define me?
Ever since Severus started hanging out with Regulus, this Avery had tagged along too, showing great interest in Severus—or so he pretended—when in fact he was just trying to cozy up to Regulus, the "purest of the pure."
This Avery was ridiculously proud of his pure-blood status, claiming he showed magical ability before age three, could ride a broom by age seven, and that his least favorite animal was pigs.
"Then why are you so unremarkable at 12?" Regulus muttered.
"D-Did you say something?"
Regulus just responded with a casual smirk, imitating Sirius's trademark look of disinterest.
Who doesn't know how to act pretentious?
Trying to preach pure-blood glory to a Black—look, I'm not targeting anyone in particular, but let's be honest… you're all rubbish.
Unsurprisingly, Avery turned red in the face, while Severus grew even more confident about the prospects of working alongside Regulus.
After all, they were Slytherins—masters of timing and judgment.
…
The Great Hall was brightly lit, stars twinkling on the enchanted ceiling above as if under an open sky.
"Hey, Remus, look—Sirius is in the sky!" James elbowed Sirius, and the three of them looked up at the star Sirius on the ceiling. "No need to go to the Astronomy Tower anymore. We should just stargaze from here!"
This year's batch of young witches and wizards, as usual, lined up nervously and entered the Great Hall one by one, waiting to be sorted. Professor McGonagall led them in, holding that legendary hat every Hogwarts student had once worn.
Sirius, James, and Remus turned their full attention to Professor McGonagall, as if trying to figure out some secret to becoming an Animagus just by watching her.
Regulus still remembered when he wore the Sorting Hat last year—it hadn't even touched his head before it screamed, "Slytherin."
But Harry, Remus, Sirius, and the like had all been properly analyzed by the Hat for quite a while.
Clearly, talking with the Hat and being a "difficult-to-place" student was a privilege reserved for protagonists.
At the staff table, there was a male wizard in blue robes that Regulus didn't recognize—presumably this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, yet another in the school's long line of one-year appointments.
His eyes passed over their Head of House, and Slughorn gave him a friendly wave.
When Professor McGonagall placed the pointed hat on the stool before the first years, the Great Hall went completely silent.
The new students were quiet from nerves, while the older ones waited for the Sorting Hat's traditional performance and wondered what song it would sing this year.
The Hat twisted slightly, a seam opening like a mouth, and it began to sing loudly:
♫~~"Though I'm only a hat,
You'll find I'm quite wise,
For solving your puzzle,
I don't need to think twice…
No danger will make me shrink or flee,
For I'm the Sorting Hat of Hogwarts, you see.
The Founders four gave wisdom to me,
So I can discern—Gryffindor's courage,
Ravenclaw's wit,
Hufflepuff's loyalty,
And Slytherin's grit.
Put me on,
No need to fear,
No need to rush—I'll help you find your path from here!"~~♪
...
Ambition—now that's a fine word, Regulus thought, clapping along with everyone else.
Notably, future infamous Death Eater Barty Crouch Jr. was sorted into Slytherin.
There was also a boy named Michael Belby sorted into Hufflepuff, likely a relative of Damocles Belby, the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion.
"Tryouts for Quidditch team positions will take place in the second week of term. All students interested in joining their House teams should contact Madam Hooch."
At that, James's eyes lit up brightly.
…
On the way back to the Slytherin common room, Peeves the Poltergeist came zooming down the corridor, cackling madly and carrying two buckets filled with ice water, leaving puddles everywhere in his wake.
"Hee hee hee… First-years are the most fun! Time for a torrential downpour!"
"Don't mess with our House! I'll go get the Bloody Baron!" barked the Slytherin prefect, Flint.
Nearby, some upper-years were explaining to the new students:
"Peeves, completely lawless."
"Doesn't listen to a single thing prefects say."
"Hee hee hee… It's Slytherin's turn this year. I'm just giving you all a little bath. The Bloody Baron won't blame me," Peeves said, clearly dead set on making trouble for Slytherin.
"Peeves!"
Peeves was thoroughly enjoying the look of frustration on Flint's face and the panic of the younger students when Regulus stepped forward from the crowd, drew his wand, and said:
"I suggest you think this through carefully."
"HA HA HA HA HA!" Peeves exploded with shrieking laughter. "A second-year brat dares to threaten Peeves! HA HA HA!"
"Dull and daft, that Black boy,~~" Peeves began singing a new little ditty, "Dull and daft, that Black boy, dull and daft, that Black Boy~~"
Everyone quickly turned their eyes toward Regulus to see how he'd react, only to find him still smiling.
Peeves didn't like that one bit. His eyes narrowed, his face darkened, and he gave an evil grin as he raised the two buckets of icy water to dump them—
"Ridikkulus," Regulus said lightly.
Suddenly, the two buckets flew out of Peeves's hands and upended right over his own head. Peeves dodged as fast as he could, but still got thoroughly splashed.
He immediately darted off, flying at top speed from the scene of the crime. As he went, he shot Regulus a nasty glare and sang:
"Cruel and cold, that Black boy! Cruel and cold, that Black—sure to be a Dark wizard when he's grown!"
"Hey, Peeves! That's pure slander!" Regulus called after him.
And then even he cracked up laughing.
"Ha ha ha…"
The Slytherins all burst into laughter, and the corridors rang with cheerful noise.