A secret like the 'Lost Treasure of Hogwarts' was simply far too lethal of a temptation for a young wizard of Severus Snape's age and ambition! And honestly, Severus could hardly stomach the thought of how unbearably arrogant Black and Potter would become if they somehow managed to find a Founder's treasure first.
At this point in time, the teenage Snape was not yet the impenetrable, emotionless master of Occlumency he would one day become. His rapid, chaotic train of thought was practically written in plain text across his sallow face. Just by watching the micro-expressions flicker in the candlelight, Regulus knew—
Severus had swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker.
"I am... attempting to brew, ah, Amortentia," Snape confessed, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before deciding that mutual honesty was his best play. "However, it is a highly complex volatile mixture. Success is not entirely guaranteed just yet."
"Ah?! Amortentia?" Regulus blinked, his pureblood mask slipping as genuine shock registered on his face. That was an answer he absolutely had not anticipated. "Well, that certainly explains why the fumes smell so incredibly pleasant."
"You nearly caused me to ruin the entire batch just now," Severus muttered, a lingering trace of fear in his voice. His stirring hand never stopped its precise, rhythmic motions. "I assume, given your reaction, you are fully aware of what this potion actually does?"
Of course I am, Regulus thought dryly. It's the famous potion that canonically led to the birth of Voldemort. Severus mentally awarded Regulus a few points in his own internal 'House Cup' ledger for recognizing advanced potion theory. He continued, his voice dropping defensively, "As for why I am brewing it, or who it is intended for... I cannot tell you that yet."
You're not seriously planning to slip a love potion to James Potter or my brother, are you? A wildly inappropriate, chaotic thought flashed through Regulus's mind. Because if you are... dear Merlin, that would be the greatest show this castle has ever seen!
"Relax. Everyone is entitled to their secrets," Regulus said smoothly, forcibly suppressing the corners of his mouth from twitching into a grin as he casually shrugged. "Regarding the Hogwarts treasure... well, based on my preliminary investigations, I've gathered quite a few leads. We can discuss the finer historical details later." (Translation: Because I haven't had the time to fully invent the fake lore yet.) "In short," Regulus continued smoothly, gesturing to the ruined bathroom, "right now, I am methodically searching the castle for any hidden patterns or architectural anomalies specifically related to Salazar Slytherin."
He paused, effortlessly spinning his web of lies. "It's a bit of a gamble, but I've been secretly exploring the castle's plumbing infrastructure... and right here, I found a highly unusual crest."
With absolute, shameless confidence, Regulus pointed a finger directly at an exquisitely carved bronze faucet shaped like a serpent.
Snape carefully lowered the heat beneath his cauldron and walked over to examine the sink alongside Regulus. Sure enough, etched into the side of the bronze tap was a faint, intricately carved serpentine pattern. It was undoubtedly old, but it didn't look particularly magical or special.
"Lumos," Regulus whispered. He held his wand tip close to the metal. Under the flickering, unnatural light, the shadows danced, making the carved snake appear as if it were subtly writhing—instantly making the mundane object look deeply mysterious.
"I'm currently cross-referencing these serpentine patterns with the restricted archives," Regulus lied smoothly. "I heard this bathroom was Moaning Myrtle's established territory, so I came down here specifically to ask if she knew any architectural secrets. But... well, you saw how that went. We didn't exactly hit it off before she flew down the U-bend."
Regulus turned off his wand light and looked Snape dead in the eye. "Severus, you absolutely must keep this investigation a secret."
"Of course. A Slytherin never snitches," Snape replied, his expression becoming unprecedentedly serious.
Nothing promotes male bonding and rapid friendship quite like mutually covering up each other's highly illegal midnight activities. If Regulus had a visible 'Friendship Progress Bar' hovering over Snape's head, he was certain it would have just jumped by at least thirty percent.
"However, speaking of your little project," Regulus said, smoothly changing the subject as he glanced back at the simmering cauldron. "Properly brewed Amortentia is incredibly expensive on the black market, isn't it? I remember seeing a shady vendor selling it in Knockturn Alley once. A tiny crystal phial—barely enough for a single dose—sold for a staggering amount of money. We're talking pure Galleons, not Sickles."
Snape froze. He looked back down at his battered pewter cauldron, a complex mixture of doubt and sudden, desperate belief warring on his face. As he stared into the pearlescent steam, his dark eyes gradually became fervent. It was as if the shimmering potion wasn't just a magical tool, but a literal pot of liquid gold representing a desperately needed, secure future.
"Of course, finding reliable, wealthy buyers at first wouldn't be easy," Regulus mused aloud, adopting the tone of a serious business consultant. "And brewing it on a commercial scale requires a massive initial investment in raw materials. But... if you could somehow guarantee consistent quality and output? Not just for this specific potion, but for a whole range of high-demand illicit draughts? The market for reliable, discreet potions among the student body—and beyond—is massive."
Regulus tilted his head, seemingly considering the matter deeply. "Sev, you live somewhere near London during the holidays, right? How about we take a discreet trip to Diagon Alley together this summer to scout the market?"
How did he suddenly start calling me 'Sev'? Severus thought, still slightly dazed by the sudden influx of capitalist scheming.
"My family... isn't exactly in London," Snape muttered defensively.
"Then it's settled. I'll owl you the logistics," Regulus said breezily, completely ignoring Snape's half-hearted evasion and giving him absolutely no chance to refuse. "I need to head back to the dungeons before the prefects do their final rounds. Watch your temperature control on that Amortentia. See you, Sev!"
The next day was Saturday, May twelfth.
Late that morning, while Regulus was leisurely enjoying a plate of eggs at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, a sleek, aristocratic eagle owl swooped down from the rafters and dropped a heavy, wax-sealed package directly in front of his plate.
Regulus broke the dark green wax seal bearing the Black family crest and unfolded the heavy parchment letter.
Dear Regulus,
Narcissa wrote to us regarding your recent, highly reckless actions. Hearing that you purposefully threw yourself from the Astronomy Tower, caused a public spectacle, and received a week of detention initially left your father and me deeply, profoundly disappointed.
However, we simultaneously received a personal letter from Professor Slughorn. He assured us that you were entirely unharmed, that you merely took a calculated risk to demonstrate your exceptional mastery of the Levitation Charm, and that your magical performance was nothing short of brilliant. He explicitly stated we have nothing to worry about.
Very good, Regulus. It seems you are finally beginning to actively strive for the glory of our family name.
(Regulus snorted into his pumpkin juice. Professor Slughorn, you absolute legend. That man truly knows how to spin a narrative for wealthy donors!)
Remember to constantly uphold the honor and dignity of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black! Do not, under any circumstances, follow in your blood-traitor brother's disgraceful footsteps! Your final exams are rapidly approaching. We expect you to achieve nothing less than Outstanding marks. Should you succeed, you will be heavily rewarded. Sincerely, Mother
P.S. Enclosed are your favorite French pastries, specially prepared by Kreacher this morning.
Regulus folded the letter with a satisfied smirk and eagerly tore open the brown paper package. Inside, neatly stacked in a magically preserved tin, were two large packets of delicate, perfectly baked French pastries. They weren't just Regulus's favorite; they were also Sirius's absolute greatest weakness.
Speak of the devil. Across the hall, Sirius and James Potter had just entered the Great Hall and were walking toward the Gryffindor table. They were huddled close together, arguing quietly but intensely about something.
Regulus picked up one of the packets of pastries, stood up from the Slytherin table, and casually intercepted them. As he drew near, his enhanced hearing picked up fragments of their hushed conversation: "Remus," "taking leave again," "he's definitely hiding something from us," and "we need to follow him."
"Morning, Sirius. Morning, James," Regulus said smoothly, easily interrupting their plotting. "Mum just wrote to me."
"Ah?" Sirius instantly tensed, his grey eyes narrowing as he looked at Regulus as if he were facing a fully armed Death Eater.
"She sent a package. These are the apple pastries Kreacher makes. Here, this is your half." Without waiting for a response, Regulus shoved the waxed paper packet directly into Sirius's chest and calmly sat down on the wooden bench right beside the two Gryffindors.
Despite his deep-seated hatred for his family, Sirius was physically incapable of refusing Kreacher's baking. His stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble. He immediately tore open the packet, pulled out a flaky pastry, and wordlessly offered half to James.
James eyed it suspiciously for a second before taking a massive bite. He chewed twice, and his hazel eyes instantly lit up like fireworks.
"Merlin's pants, this is incredible!" James mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, crumbs falling onto his robes. "Kreacher made these? The one you were telling me about? The—" James tapped his temple and drew a little circle in the air with his finger, "—the completely mental House-elf?"
"Although he is completely out of his mind..." Sirius began, abruptly remembering that Regulus actually liked the foul-tempered elf. He wisely swallowed the rest of his insult. "...well. His cooking is undeniably beyond reproach."
As he ate, Sirius's sharp eyes keenly noticed the vicious, highly unfriendly glares and whispered gossip radiating from the Slytherin table across the hall. His younger brother was fraternizing with the enemy in broad daylight. Sirius frowned, a flash of genuine protective concern cutting through his usual arrogance.
"Aren't you afraid your lovely Housemates are going to make your life miserable if you sit here talking to us like this?"
"Who, them?" Regulus casually glanced over his shoulder at the glaring Slytherins, then turned back and shrugged with absolute, utter indifference. He calmly delivered a piece of wisdom that hit the Gryffindors like a Bludger to the chest:
"If I start caring about what they think of me, then I immediately become their slave."
The sheer, profound weight of the statement coming from the typically quiet, reserved Regulus left both Sirius and James completely stunned. They stared at him, jaws slightly slack.
"Makes sense, right?" Regulus added mildly, taking a delicate bite of his pastry. "I read it in a Muggle philosophy book."
What?!
Hearing that, Sirius and James looked as if they had just been struck by a localized bolt of lightning. They were too deeply shocked to formulate a coherent sentence. Sirius, in particular, looked as if his brain had just short-circuited. His own brother? The pristine, pureblood young master of the notoriously bigoted House of Black... was casually reading Muggle literature?! Hell, even Sirius, the self-proclaimed rebel of the family, hadn't quite reached that level of ideological radicalism yet!
Ignoring their blown minds, Regulus unhurriedly finished his snack. He smoothly cast a wandless Scouring Charm to clean his fingertips, then stood up, smoothing his green-trimmed robes.
He had a massive, highly physical project planned for today. He was going to spend his Saturday exploiting the architecture of Hogwarts to aggressively grind his 'Climbing' proficiency.
"Er—thanks for the snacks," Sirius finally managed to stammer out, feeling desperately like he needed to say something to regain his footing in the conversation. "Uh, by the way... James and I are sneaking out to Hogsmeade village for the weekend later. Do you... need us to nick anything for you?"
Wait a minute, Regulus thought, his inner dialogue pausing. You two are only second-years. You don't even have permission slips yet. How the hell are you going to Hogsmeade? He wisely kept the thought to himself.
"Thanks for the offer, but anything I wanted to buy, I've already ordered by owl-order catalogue," Regulus replied, spreading his hands. "Honestly, the only thing I really need right now is a live eagle."
"An eagle?" James Potter asked, his curiosity instantly overriding his shock. "Why on earth do you need an eagle?"
"Because, unfortunately, owls are not eagles," Regulus sighed heavily. He mentally cursed his System for the hundredth time. Unlocking 'Eagle Vision' but strictly requiring me to own a literal eagle to use it... what kind of sadistic, broken video-game logic is that?!
"Well... of course owls aren't eagles, mate," James said slowly, looking at Regulus as if he were slightly deranged.
"Don't you think," Regulus muttered darkly, staring up at the Owlery tower, "that an owl is basically just an eagle... but with a cat's head glued onto it?"
Sirius, who was still trying to process the Muggle book comment, let out a sudden, barking laugh at the absurd description.
Beside him, James simply shrugged and stated the absolute, undeniable truth of their reality. "Look, mate, if you want a bloody eagle, it's incredibly simple. Just write home and tell your family you want one. Right, Sirius?"
Sirius nodded vigorously, an amused smirk playing on his lips. He silently added the unspoken context: Regulus is currently the golden child. Now that our parents consider me, the 'primary heir,' completely ruined, Regulus is the precious backup plan. If he wrote home today demanding a live eagle, Walburga would probably have Kreacher personally wrestle three of them out of the sky before dinner.
Regulus froze.
Huh. James was absolutely right. He wasn't just some random transmigrator struggling to survive. He was a disgustingly wealthy, pureblood aristocrat! He was the precious, highly favored 'alt account' in a fanatical family whose parents firmly believed their 'main account' had been irreparably hacked and ruined!
He didn't need to struggle to find resources. All he had to do was ask.
Regulus smiled, a slow, brilliant realization dawning on him. The Assassin's Creed System is neat... but being the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black? That is my REAL cheat code.