After dinner, Regulus slipped through the damp stone corridors of the dungeons and discreetly stepped into the Slytherin common room. The air was thick with the scent of woodsmoke and the faint, cold draft radiating from the Great Lake outside the enchanted, green-tinted windows.
Before he could fully blend into the shadows, a voice cut through the ambient chatter—a chillingly perfect blend of aristocratic gentleness and absolute, unyielding sternness.
"Regulus Black!"
He froze, slowly turning to face the speaker. With soft, lustrous golden hair perfectly coiffed, piercing light blue eyes, and a graceful figure draped in immaculate robes, she possessed an elegant demeanor that effortlessly commanded the room. It was none other than his cousin, the undisputed beauty of Slytherin House, seventh-year Narcissa Black.
The 1960s and 70s were the undisputed 'golden age' for the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black at Hogwarts, with an unbroken chain of heirs enrolling one after another. From the terrifyingly gorgeous Bellatrix, to the striking Andromeda, and now to the refined Narcissa, the title of Slytherin's resident queen had been exclusively passed down among the daughters of the Black family.
Winning the genetic lottery was clearly an inherited skill. You didn't even have to ask; absolute excellence was simply the baseline.
In stark contrast, a seemingly inconspicuous, quiet figure like Regulus was a profound anomaly within the family tree. Hearing Narcissa use his full name sent a distinct shiver of dread down his spine. His cousin 'Cissy' might appear soft and gentle—she wasn't fiercely rebellious like Andromeda, nor was she bat-shit insane and fiercely arrogant like Bellatrix. But when it came to being a woman of few words who could be utterly, devastatingly ruthless, Narcissa took the crown.
She was the type who could lie without her heartbeat fluttering and manipulate you into an early grave without a shred of remorse. The most terrifying part? Countless men willingly lined up to fall for her traps. Even her aristocratic boyfriend, Lucius Malfoy, likely had no idea of the terrifying depths hidden beneath his ice goddess's pristine surface.
Regulus quickly offered a polite, deeply deferential bow to the very woman who would, decades from now, ultimately deal the final, deceptive blow to the Dark Lord. He obediently stepped forward, keeping his gaze respectfully lowered, mentally bracing himself for the inevitable storm.
"Regu," Narcissa began, her voice a dangerous purr. "The family has already received word about your little stunt this afternoon."
Regulus remained perfectly silent, carefully arranging his features into an impeccable mask of guilt and deep unease.
"Jumping from the Astronomy Tower," she continued, her blue eyes narrowing. "Whatever possessed you to do something so incredibly reckless?"
Regulus kept his lips firmly pressed together, maintaining his contrite, downcast expression. He knew the cardinal rule of dealing with a Black sister: the more you speak, the more ammunition you give them. Silence was golden.
"Have you been infected by the sheer idiocy radiating from those Gryffindors?" Narcissa's sharp, accusatory tone suddenly softened, a rare, genuine note of tenderness slipping through her icy facade. She reached out, her cool fingers lightly brushing a stray speck of dust from his collar. "You have no idea how worried we were when we heard. Swear to me you won't do something so utterly foolish again in the future."
She paused, her eyes searching his. "I am about to graduate, Regu, and soon you will be the absolute last Black remaining in this House. Remember who you are. You cannot bring shame to our family name!" Narcissa's gaze flickered slightly, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping her lips as her thoughts undoubtedly drifted to a certain Gryffindor cousin who had already dragged their name through the mud.
She quickly composed herself. "But don't worry. Lucius and I have already instructed our trusted friends within the House to keep a very close eye on you."
Hearing this, a cold knot of dread formed in Regulus's stomach. Trusted friends? They hadn't just assigned the Hogwarts unofficial Death Eater Youth Squad to babysit him, had they? It seemed his tragic, canonical path to receiving the Dark Mark was already being paved right under his feet. Dumbledore, open your eyes! They're actively recruiting on your turf!
Before he could dwell on his impending doom, a tall, severe-looking seventh-year Slytherin boy caught Narcissa's attention and strode over.
"Cissy, a word. I need to discuss something with you—" The older boy paused mid-sentence, his dark eyes darting suspiciously toward Regulus.
Narcissa shot her younger cousin a pointed, dismissive look. Message received. Regulus gave an obedient nod, immediately turning on his heel and heading toward the dark archway of the boys' dormitories.
As he walked away, a strange sensation prickled his ears. He wasn't entirely sure if it was a passive benefit of unlocking the System's Assassin's Creed abilities, but his hearing felt terrifyingly acute. Through the ambient, crackling noise of the common room fire, a harsh whisper drifted perfectly to his ears:
"It's about Lucius. The Dark Lord—"
Regulus swallowed hard and deliberately quickened his pace. He did not want to hear the rest of that sentence.
Twenty minutes later, tightly gripping an exquisitely engraved leather briefcase gifted by his parents, Regulus arrived outside Professor Slughorn's office precisely on time.
Ever since his 'Assassin's Creed' golden finger had activated, life had been a nonstop whirlwind of chaos, leaving him with absolutely no time to properly test out his new supernatural abilities. Thus far, he had only managed to casually grind his 'Stealth' proficiency by creeping through the stone corridors and mysteriously materializing directly behind his terrified classmates.
It was a bizarre skill. He still didn't quite understand the video-game logic of it; simply crouching behind a ridiculously low classroom desk somehow made him functionally invisible, causing passing students to act as if they were under a Confundus Charm, completely oblivious to his presence.
Reaching the heavy oak door, he raised his fist and gave a polite knock. The ornate brass snake acting as the door knocker hissed, flicking its metallic tongue at him before the heavy wood swung inward on its own.
Slughorn's office was decadently furnished, bathed in the warm, golden light of a massive crystal chandelier. The circular stone walls were lined top to bottom with glass display cases, velvet-draped shelves, and a large, polished mahogany desk. In the corner sat a gleaming, state-of-the-art potion preparation station. The thick, heady aroma of crystallized pineapple and sweet wine wafted from Professor Slughorn, who was seated heavily behind his desk.
But Slughorn wasn't alone. Standing by the cauldrons was a highly unexpected figure.
He had lank, greasy black hair that fell like curtains around a sallow, sharply angled face. He possessed a prominent hooked nose and a deeply gloomy, cynical aura that even his youthful, teenage features couldn't mask.
It was his senior, the future Half-Blood Prince, the resident dungeon bat himself: Severus Snape.
Regulus suppressed a sigh. Surviving in this timeline was stressful enough without a comprehensive plot guide, but constantly bumping into future magical heavyweights was doing terrible things to his blood pressure. He quickly arranged a polite smile.
"Good evening, Professor! Good evening, Severus!"
Snape blinked, his dark eyes flashing with genuine surprise, clearly not expecting the pureblood aristocrat to acknowledge him so warmly. He offered a stiff, almost imperceptible nod in return.
"Oh, splendid! You boys already know each other. That's wonderful," Slughorn boomed jovially, his velvet waistcoat straining as he stood up. "Severus here is an exceptionally talented young wizard when it comes to Potions. You're only in your second year, aren't you, my boy?"
Snape's spine straightened slightly, a flicker of fierce pride cutting through his usual gloom as he nodded.
"Severus kindly volunteered to help me prepare some tricky potion ingredients this evening," Slughorn explained, gesturing toward the brass scales and cutting boards on the preparation station.
"Before we begin, Professor, I brought a small token of my appreciation for taking the time to oversee my detention." Regulus smoothly popped the clasps on his leather briefcase, reaching inside to retrieve a beautifully crafted, heavy crystal flask. Inside, a rich, golden liquid caught the chandelier's light, shimmering like liquid sunshine.
Slughorn's walrus mustache twitched, his face instantly lighting up with unabashed delight as he practically snatched the bottle from Regulus's hands. "Oh, my dear boy! You really shouldn't have! My, my... what do we have here?"
"It's a vintage Hungarian Tokaji sweet wine, Professor," Regulus said smoothly. "I deeply regretted missing the chance to present it to you for your birthday last month. I distinctly remembered you mentioning your fondness for sweet wines, so I specifically brought this from the family cellars during the winter break. I was waiting for the right moment to give it to you in person."
"Thank you, that is incredibly thoughtful of you, Regu!" Slughorn beamed, his cheeks flushing pink with pleasure as he stroked the crystal glass. "And how are your dear parents? How are Orion and Walburga faring these days?"
"They are very well, Professor. Thank you for asking," Regulus replied with practiced pureblood courtesy.
"Excellent, excellent. Do pass on my warmest regards," Slughorn said cheerfully, carefully setting the wine on a high shelf away from the cauldrons. He turned back, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Between you and me, your Levitation Charm out there was utterly flawless. It wasn't strictly necessary to give you detention, of course, but Hogwarts simply cannot be seen encouraging students to... ah... take such theatrical risks. Argus Filch already has quite enough headaches dealing with the reckless little lions over in Gryffindor."
Slughorn clapped his hands together, gesturing to the workbench. "Now then! Tonight, Severus, Regu, you two will be helping me prepare the base ingredients for a batch of Sleeping Draughts. The tools are all laid out here—oh, but it seems you came fully prepared!"
While Slughorn had been speaking, Regulus had fully opened his briefcase to reveal a customized, velvet-lined potions kit. It housed an array of pristine tools—crystal phials, brass scales, and knives of various sizes and rare metals. Every single exquisite instrument was heavily engraved with the ornate crest of the House of Black.
From across the table, Snape's dark eyes instantly locked onto the gleaming silver knives. A flash of intense, hungry appreciation lit up his face, only to quickly dim into a sullen, bitter shadow.
This Regulus Black might possess completely average talent in the cauldron, Snape thought resentfully, but he has the backing of an impossibly wealthy ancient family! And he already knows how to shamelessly bribe the Potions Master! The young Snape, burning with quiet indignation, had absolutely no idea that he himself was destined to become one of Slughorn's most prized and favored 'collected' students.
Completely unaware of his senior's internal crisis, Regulus rolled up his sleeves and silently cast a quick, wandless Scourgify over his hands. He reached into his kit, withdrawing a gleaming silver short knife. Grabbing a handful of shriveled, dark Sopophorous beans from the communal bowl, he placed one on his cutting board. Instead of trying to slice it, he laid the flat side of the silver blade against the bean and pressed down hard, crushing it.
The Sopophorous bean instantly burst open, exuding an astonishingly large puddle of thick, silver juice. It was almost impossible to comprehend how such a tiny, violently shriveled bean could contain so much moisture.
Standing a few feet away, Snape froze, his hand hovering over his own cutting board. He had been secretly watching Regulus out of the corner of his eye, hoping to critically judge the pureblood's technique. But seeing the immense yield of juice, Snape was visibly taken aback. According to the standard instructions in Advanced Potion-Making, Sopophorous beans were supposed to be meticulously sliced, not crushed.
Snape's primary tormentor in the castle was Regulus's older brother. Snape knew he had vastly superior grades and far more raw magical talent than the arrogant Gryffindor; he viewed Sirius as nothing more than a violent, loudmouthed simpleton who skated by on his looks. As for Regulus, the quiet younger brother had always seemed utterly unremarkable—a shadow whose only defining trait was the terrifying weight of the 'House of Black' surname.
But now... looking at the puddle of silver juice, Snape's dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Perhaps... there really is some hidden, ancient magical knowledge passed down within the Black family.
Across the table, Regulus secretly breathed a massive sigh of relief as he watched the famously brilliant Snape calmly pick up his own silver knife and copy the exact same crushing motion. Thank God, Regulus thought. I didn't just make a complete fool of myself in front of the Half-Blood Prince. Little did Regulus know, staring at the perfectly crushed bean, Snape was thinking the exact same thing.
For the next hour, they worked in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Regulus carefully observed Snape's hyper-efficient ingredient preparation out of the corner of his eye, mirroring his steps to ensure he didn't make a single catastrophic mistake.
As he methodically diced ginger roots, Regulus's gaze drifted around the opulent room. To think, he mused silently, this exact office will eventually be inherited by the greasy-haired teenager standing right next to me. Lost in his futuristic thoughts, Regulus accidentally let his gaze linger too long. He suddenly snapped back to reality to find Snape glaring directly at him. The intensely defensive, scowling look clearly screamed: What the hell are you staring at?
"I was just thinking," Regulus lied smoothly, not missing a beat. "If this were your office, Severus... how would you decorate it?"
Snape looked at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head. Finding the question completely baffling and absurd, he let out a harsh huff of breath and aggressively rolled his eyes.
"I'm serious," Regulus continued earnestly, pausing his chopping. "With your sheer talent in Potions, you could easily become a teacher and instruct us all."
Snape didn't grace that with a verbal response. He simply rolled his eyes a second time, turning his face away to aggressively pulverize a dried root. But as he turned back to his cauldron, Regulus caught the unmistakable, tiny twitch of a suppressed, pleased smile tugging at the corner of the Slytherin boy's mouth.
As the grandfather clock in the corner chimed the end of their detention, they found themselves alone; Professor Slughorn had already waddled off to his private chambers for a late-night supper.
As Regulus carefully wiped down his silver knives and packed his leather kit, he noticed Snape shooting him incredibly furtive, impatient glances. The boy was practically vibrating with nervous energy, clearly desperate for Regulus to leave the room.
Feigning ignorance, Regulus slung his briefcase over his shoulder. "Want to walk back to the common room together?"
"You go ahead," Severus replied instantly, his voice holding an obviously forced, exaggerated casualness. "I still have... a few more ingredients to process."
Clearly, something highly suspicious is going on here, Regulus thought, his inner assassin thoroughly intrigued.
"Alright then. Have a good evening, Severus," Regulus said with impeccable, aristocratic politeness. He stepped out into the cool hallway and pulled the heavy oak door shut behind him—purposefully stopping just a millimeter short of the latch, leaving a razor-thin gap.
The dungeon corridor was completely silent, amplifying the sharp clack-clack of Regulus's expensive dragon-hide boots as he walked away. He marched loudly down the corridor for about twenty paces.
Then, abruptly stopping, he activated his newly acquired 'Stealth' skill.
Instantly, his physical presence seemed to mute. He dropped into a low crouch and quickly tiptoed back toward the office, the soles of his boots now making absolutely zero sound against the ancient stone flags.
A translucent blue line of text briefly flashed across his vision: [Successfully avoided target's attention. Stealth proficiency +1]
Grinning wickedly, Regulus slipped a small, silver-backed hand mirror from his robes. He angled it carefully against the tiny crack in the door, holding his breath as he peered at the reflection.
Inside the office, believing himself to be entirely alone, Severus Snape had abandoned his cutting board. He was hastily opening a highly warded glass jar on Slughorn's private ingredient shelf, greedily extracting something rare and undoubtedly expensive.
Regulus let out a completely silent, breathless laugh in the darkness of the corridor.
Ha! Just as I thought. There isn't a single innocent student in this entire castle! He pocketed the mirror, his dark eyes gleaming in the torchlight. How incredibly interesting.