CHAPTER 25
Eight hours later.
It was close to seven in the evening when the train finally began to slow on its approach to Hogsmeade station.
"Thank you for the very useful information," Severus said with a smile, tucking a small notebook into his wallet. He looked at Regulus, who was smiling back and no longer looked remotely as frightened as he had at the start of the journey.
Getting through to him had been easier than expected, and without relying heavily on Legilimency either. Breaking down the psychological walls that the Black family's blood-purity obsession had spent years building, though, was going to take considerably longer than an eight-hour train journey.
"I should be the one thanking you," Regulus said, without any of his earlier arrogance. "And apologising. For that day."
"Forget it. I'm not easily offended. But I will ask you not to mention our conversation to anyone, and not to pass on what I showed you."
"Of course. I won't say a word." He paused. "After everything we talked about, I feel like I've barely scratched the surface of what I don't know about magic. I have a lot of questions."
Severus glanced out of the window at the dark shape of Hogwarts against the evening sky, then back at Regulus.
"I'll answer one."
"The magical core you mentioned. If you can detect it, why can't anyone else?"
"Because up to a certain level of development it has no stable form. Without sufficient power behind your perception, you simply can't see it or feel it. I doubt even Dumbledore could. Voldemort is a different matter; he's spent long enough in proximity to death and the soul that he might notice something, but not clearly." Severus rubbed his chin. "Probably."
"But if wizards that powerful can't see it, how can you?"
"One question."
"What if I told you Sirius's darkest secret?"
"You've got instincts for this, I'll give you that. Another time."
A loud whistle sounded before Regulus could push further, and the train shuddered beneath them.
"We've arrived. Gather your things," the prefect's voice carried through the carriage.
After sitting for several hours Severus was looking forward to stretching his legs. The moment he stepped onto the platform and saw the carriages, he let out a quiet sigh.
"Apparently not."
"S-sit with us?" came a hesitant female voice behind him, which made the sigh considerably more dramatic.
"You're mistaken," Severus said, without turning around, already walking toward a carriage. "Leave me alone, would you? You're like a bad smell, Lily."
"Where did you disappear to?" Regulus caught up to him. "We haven't worked out when we can meet properly."
"Tomorrow. You might remember something else about Bellatrix by then."
"Fine. Though I have to say, your taste is strange."
"You don't understand women at all," Severus said, with the particular patience of someone explaining something obvious.
"We're almost the same age. You're barely a year older and you're already talking like a grandfather."
"You still won't understand."
Behind them, Lily watched Severus's back and felt something sharp and bitter rise in her throat. He was deliberately acting as though she didn't exist, putting as much distance between them as the platform would allow.
Maybe he's right about me being selfish. The thought sat uncomfortably. She pressed her hands against her sleeves and turned away, heading toward the Gryffindor carriages.
Severus had already forgotten about her. His attention had settled on the creatures pulling the carriage.
They were vaguely horse-shaped, though horse-shaped in the way that a shadow is shaped like what casts it. Each one was a skeleton wrapped in smooth, black, almost silky skin, with a pair of wings folded against its back and a muzzle that belonged on a dragon. Their eyes were white and pupil-less, and gave the impression of seeing considerably more than they ought to.
"Thestrals," Severus said quietly, moving toward the nearest one while Regulus watched him with visible confusion. He reached up and stroked its head. "The most contradictory creatures in this world. Everything about them promises death, and they're gentle." The thestral pressed its angular head against his face with a contented snort. "Easy, little one." He reached into his shirt pocket, took out a dark herb that looked like an oversized lettuce leaf, and offered it. The thestral practically lunged at it, ate it in one snap, and smacked its lips with evident satisfaction. "I'm surprised no one in this world has taken them apart already, the way they did with dragons." He paused, remembering the two hearts sitting in his wallet, and felt a brief, private discomfort.
He turned back to the other Slytherin students, most of whom were watching him with expressions ranging from bafflement to unease. The explanation was simple: thestrals were only visible to those who had seen death. To everyone else, the carriages appeared to move on their own, pulled by nothing, and most students graduated from Hogwarts still believing that was how it worked.
"I wonder if I should get a thestral," Severus said, mostly to himself.
Regulus edged slightly away from him.
They reached the castle eventually, backsides a little worse for the journey, courtesy of whoever had decided shock-absorbing charms on the carriages were unnecessary. McGonagall was waiting at the entrance, collected the students from second year upward, and walked them into the Great Hall.
Just as on the last day of term, the hall had been dressed for the occasion, with one difference: the tables were bare of food, the place settings replaced with gilded ones.
"Take your seats. The feast begins in half an hour." McGonagall surveyed the room with a look that dared anyone to make her repeat herself, then left the hall in Slughorn's hands while she went to meet the new students.
"I ask everyone to move calmly and find their seats."
Thirty minutes later, to the second, the hall doors opened. The floating candles brightened as if someone had turned up a dial, and the ghosts, who had been drifting around listlessly, suddenly had opinions about everything and everyone. Led by the Head of Gryffindor, roughly sixty first-years filed into the hall in a state of wide-eyed overwhelm, craning their necks at the ceiling, jumping when a ghost swooped past, laughing when one pirouetted in greeting.
McGonagall led them to the front and turned to face the room.
"Before we begin, the Headmaster has a few words."
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall." Dumbledore rose, and the warmth in his expression was entirely genuine. "First, let me welcome you to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
He let that settle for a moment.
"For the next seven years, this castle will be your second home. The professors and staff will be your second family: people you can go to at any hour, for any reason, and be heard. I ask the older students to remember that as well," he added, with a glance at the house tables that made several students sit up slightly straighter, and a good number of teachers exchange uncertain looks. "I also ask that none of you enter the Forbidden Forest. That is all. Thank you. Professor McGonagall."
"Thank you," McGonagall said, visibly caught slightly off-balance by the speech, though she recovered quickly. She produced a long roll of parchment. "I'll be calling names. When yours is called, come forward. I'll place the Sorting Hat on your head." She held up the battered, pointed hat in question. "Phyllis Harmony."
A girl with long blond hair stepped out from the group.
"Sit down, Miss Harmony."
"Y-yes!" Under McGonagall's gaze, Phyllis went flustered and dropped onto the chair. The hat was settled on her head.
After a few seconds, hollows appeared where eyes might be, and the fabric of the brim moved.
"I see, I see. Well then. Hufflepuff!"
The Hufflepuff table broke into applause immediately. Phyllis pulled the hat off, glowing, and McGonagall pointed her in the right direction.
"William McKinney." A thin boy walked up, clearly hoping the hat wouldn't take too long.
The process continued for the better part of half an hour, until the last child was sorted into Gryffindor. McGonagall set the hat and chair aside, took her seat beside Dumbledore, and tapped her glass with a spoon.
"One moment of quiet, please."
Dumbledore rose again.
"Now then. Let the feast begin." He brought his hands together, and food appeared across every table in quantities that suggested the kitchens had taken the occasion seriously.
The students fell on it with the enthusiasm of people who had been travelling since morning. Only the Slytherin table kept something approaching composure, a few excited first-years aside, though by comparison with the rest of the hall they had the air of adults at a children's party.
Dumbledore watched it all with his habitual good humour, the expression of a man who had done this enough times to genuinely enjoy it each time. Then his gaze moved across the room, settled on one particular Slytherin student, and the smile faltered. He swallowed his pumpkin juice the wrong way.
"Headmaster—"
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