Sunday noon. The Great Hall.
All four long tables were packed.
Gryffindor was the loudest. Someone stood to reach a platter of roast meat three seats away. Laughter erupted. A goblet tipped, Pumpkin juice flooding the table while the boy beside it mopped and swore.
The Slytherin table was its own creature. Lively, yes, but restrained.
Voices stayed measured. Posture stayed correct. Robes without creases, collars fastened where they should be.
The younger years ate properly, cutlery silent against plates, while the upper years resembled a miniature salon.
A handful of sixth-year boys leaned against their chair backs, Pumpkin juice held with the casual poise of wine glasses.
They were discussing the latest shifts at the Ministry of Magic. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had reshuffled again. The International Magical Cooperation office had an opening, and someone from such-and-such family had submitted an application.
A few girls nearby listened with their bodies angled toward the conversation.
Topics shifted fast. From business to marriage alliances. From industry to Ministry proposals.
Regulus sat in the middle of the second-year section, a half-finished plate of roasted fish and a few potatoes in front of him.
He glanced toward the upper years, then dropped his gaze and went back to cutting a potato.
Two figures entered from the far end of the Slytherin table.
Samuel Vance and Lina Costa.
No one spared them a glance. The indifference was organic, the way no one bothers to check whether a chair in the corner is still there.
They were used to it. Heads down, walking inward, looking for an edge seat.
Then they spotted Regulus.
He sat in the middle of the second-year section. Two seats empty beside him. Alex on his left. Cuthbert and Hermes across.
Samuel's stride hitched. Lina's did too. They traded a look, then walked toward him.
Along both sides of the table, heads lifted. Not deliberately. Peripheral vision catching movement, a reflexive glance.
And then they saw: those two half-bloods were walking toward the center. The heart of the Slytherin table.
Conversation among the upper years dimmed. A goblet paused in midair. Someone turned in their seat. Others only raised their eyes.
The half-bloods seated along the table's edges, from every year, looked over too. Expressions hard to read.
A week ago, in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Black had paired Cuthbert and Rosier with these two for practice. Word had gotten around, but no one had thought much of it.
Classroom business. One time. It proved nothing.
But this was Sunday lunch and peak hour. Every seat filled. And two lower-year half-bloods were walking up to Black of their own volition, in front of everyone.
Slytherin wasn't all stiffness and politics. On nice days they horsed around by the Black Lake, spread picnic blankets under shaded trees, argued for ten minutes over a hand of Exploding Snap.
But certain things always triggered their antennae.
Pure-blood, half-blood, status and allegiance. In other houses these might be words. In Slytherin they always carried weight.
Even the smallest act, possibly accidental, would be read six ways and shaped into whatever conclusion each observer wanted.
Especially when it involved Regulus. Heir to the House of Black. Chief since first year. The kind of person who made older students step aside in the corridors.
Someone like that had only to open the door and more than half of Slytherin would flock to him, hanging on every word, waiting for direction.
But he hadn't. He moved with his roommates and no one else. No faction-building. No declarations. No school politics.
So speculation about him ran constant, and none of it ever landed.
Now two half-bloods stood at his side.
Regulus swallowed the food in his mouth, set down his knife and fork, dabbed the corner of his lips with a napkin, and took a sip of Pumpkin Juice.
Unhurried. No different from any other meal. Then he looked up.
Samuel and Lina stood before him. Standard school robes, ordinary fabric but well-fitted, warm enough for the season.
Something flickered in both their eyes. Anticipation and excitement.
But they carried it differently.
Lina stood straighter, chin slightly lifted, eyes bright. Like she was waiting for a signal.
Samuel stood straight too, but his frame had a faint shrink to it. Brows drawn just slightly inward. He looked nervous.
Regulus saw through it instantly. The nervousness was a performance. He was calmer than Lina.
Lina's excitement was real. Samuel's tension was theater. What he was actually doing was observing.
Regulus found that interesting. He had no intention of calling it out.
His impressions of both were clear.
Lina was sharp, direct, quick to decide and slow to second-guess. When they'd needed someone to fetch Slughorn, she'd heard the ask and moved. Samuel was still thinking.
She looked fierce on the surface, but underneath she was tougher than she appeared.
Samuel was understated, cautious, slow to commit. He looked anxious, but behind that mask sat a mind that was calm and lucid.
Given the same resources and conditions as their Pure-blood peers, both would probably outperform the majority.
But that line of thinking was pointless. The people born with those advantages might never have developed this kind of edge.
Useful, both of them. But they needed shaping. Where they stood now wasn't enough.
Regulus set the thought aside. His tone was flat. "Sit down and eat."
Lina dropped into the seat beside Alex quickly. Once seated, she didn't look up, focusing on the plate in front of her.
Food beyond arm's reach stayed beyond arm's reach. She didn't stretch for it.
Samuel was half a beat slower. He glanced at Lina, then at Regulus, then stepped forward and sat beside her.
Head down and eating.
None of this was casual on Regulus's part.
During the first-year holiday, when Bella had come to Grimmauld Place to deliver the Dark Awakening, she'd dropped a line on her way out: "Sometimes, protection cast too broadly can dull the edge of resolve."
She'd flagged his sheltering of Samuel Vance and Lina Costa at Hogwarts.
Even earlier, when that letter from Bella had arrived during first year, he'd known Voldemort's side was watching.
That kind of attention inevitably came with sustained surveillance, probing, and reminders of where he should stand.
But Regulus didn't believe the warning had come from Voldemort personally.
Voldemort's interest in him made sense. Naturally.
But the idea that Voldemort would personally warn a first-year about sheltering two half-bloods? That was beneath him.
What kind of man was Voldemort?
Would he care whether two half-blood children at Hogwarts were bullied or protected?
Would he care that the Black heir had taken two half-bloods under his wing as followers?
His gaze didn't reach that low. He probably didn't even notice.
But Bella noticed. Bella thought it mattered. Bella issued the correction on Voldemort's behalf.
Sometimes, Voldemort himself might not be as extreme as Bella.
Things Voldemort considered irrelevant, things he might not even register, could be matters of supreme importance to Bella.
After all, he was her Master.
Everything the Master did was important. And what the Master hadn't done, if she deemed it important, that was important too.
In Regulus's understanding, the current Voldemort wasn't yet the one who'd cackle that high, thin laugh at Easter dinner parties.
He should be the quieter kind. No need for raised voices. No need for theatrical gestures. But the sight of him alone made people afraid.
The kind of horror that came from simply sitting in a room, making everyone instinctively want to step back.
So Regulus wasn't provoking Voldemort.
Provoking Voldemort was above his pay grade. But putting on a show for Bella? That he could do.
I'm protecting them.
You said your piece last time. I heard you. And I'm doing it anyway.
This is aimed at you.
Bella might be a Lestrange by marriage, but she was still a Black.
If anyone wanted to make an issue of this, it was first and foremost a Black family matter.
Between a cousin and a younger cousin. Not between a core Death Eater and the Black heir.
Bella herself had to accept that framing. Otherwise she'd have to cut away the part of herself that was a Black, and she couldn't do that. It was her pride.
But none of that was the real point. The real point was that lighting the star required showing an edge.
He couldn't bare it toward Voldemort. Not yet. But Bella was the right size.
Bella was the absolute core of the Death Eaters, one of the people Voldemort trusted most.
Pick a fight with her, stir friction, and Voldemort's side would hear about it. But it shouldn't register as an affront.
More likely he'd think: This kid has some spark. Temper. A mind of his own. That played better than meek compliance.
Regulus set down his knife and fork.
Samuel and Lina had finished eating. They sat still.
He looked at them. Same flat tone as always. "Two o'clock this afternoon. Go to the Library. Help me find some books."
Lina nodded. Samuel nodded.
Regulus stood. Cuthbert, Alex, and Hermes rose at the same time. Lina and Samuel scrambled to follow.
Behind them, the murmur along the Slytherin table grew a fraction louder.
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