"I am a stranger in a strange land." — Exodus 2:22
Regulus POV
Mr Morrow instructed me to return to the instructor who had led me to the waiting room—the big, bald man. I saw him waiting with the other students in the corridor.
As I approached, he barked, "Are you the last one, boy?"
"Yes, Instructor. I see no one else waiting in the room," I replied, amused by his blunt address.
"Good. The elf will show you to your rooms now. You may explore the school today; lessons will start tomorrow. You will receive your individual schedules at breakfast. Now, scram."
He said it all in one breath. By the time he finished, the elf popped in again and led us into a line.
We reached the top floor of the fortress. I expected it to be an open terrace, but as I climbed the final stairs, I noticed another structure leading us to a different floor entirely—likely a hidden one. I moved along with the others and saw a long corridor lined with doors, similar to a hotel floor, with number plates etched onto each one.
I heard the elf say, "You will find a note with your room number in your trouser pockets. You will go to that room alone. There will be no changing of rooms. There are two persons per room. If I see you fighting or making noise, you will be strung up."
Strung up?
I looked up at the ceiling.
I saw a boy of eight or nine years old hanging in the air like a coat on a rack, without any physical support. I could see the magic holding him emanating from the walls. His shirt was digging tightly into his armpits, and his hands were turning blue from the lack of blood flow. Thankfully, the invisible force had not tightened around his neck, or the poor boy would have died long ago.
The scene made me wonder how many times Sirius had been left hanging up there.
Anyway, I needed to see my room. I checked my trouser pocket and found a small note.
Room 404.
Error 404: Roommate not found? I wish.
"Well, it is what it is," I muttered.
I entered the room along with another student. It was none other than Charlus Yaxley—the boy I had just threatened downstairs.
Seeing me as his roommate clearly did not please him. On the other hand, I was happy being sorted with someone from my own country.
There were eight students in my batch: two British, two Arabs, two from Asia—likely South Asia, perhaps India—one from Norway, and one from Africa.
Entering the room, I saw two beds, cupboards, wardrobes, a study table, and a balcony at the far end. I walked straight to the balcony.
Standing there, I saw only the ocean stretching out in front of me. I realised then that we were on an island. The school was built on a large landmass; I could see dense trees stretching for some distance, but beyond the forest, there was only the sea.
I sensed rich magic radiating from the forest. I tried to count how many 'anchor points' were in the school and how many were in the woods.
I counted up to sixty points in the school. Fifty of them were at the student level, and ten were significantly stronger—the instructors.
Particularly, one of them felt like a raging bonfire compared to the fireflies of the other nine. I sensed that the magic flowed differently for that person; they must be a living entity who breathed magic as naturally as they breathed air.
It was around noon when we were instructed to gather at the hall for lunch downstairs. We waited in line to be escorted to the dining room. I saw the other students gathering, including my roommate. I walked over to introduce myself properly.
"I am Black. Regulus Black. From the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black," I said in a prideful tone.
Yaxley was surprised for a second, then straightened his posture. "I am Charlus Yaxley, from the Noble House of Yaxley, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. Nice to meet you, Mr Black."
The two Arabs introduced themselves after Yaxley. One was called Khalid, and the other was Jaffar. It was pronounced with a hard emphasis, not 'Jafar' like the cartoon villain. They were both princes in their homeland, cousins from the same ruling family. Both wore Sheikh attire adorned with intricate embroidery.
The African kid was called Sulaiman. He was also from one of the most powerful wizarding families on his continent, influential even in their local Muggle community. He was dressed in traditional robes that reminded me of a shaman.
The Norwegian kid was called Anders. He was built like a war machine—bulky and muscular for his age. He was dressed in standard attire, similar to British fashion.
Finally, the two Indian kids were called Krish and Pratish. They were also princes, but from different regions of India. They, too, were dressed according to British standards.
While introducing myself, I couldn't help but notice that some of them were wearing jewellery—rings, an earring in one ear, or bands on their forearms.
Before I could probe further, we were led to the dining room by the elf.
The dining room was intimate, not a grand hall like Hogwarts. There were four tables, one for each year group.
The leftmost table, where we sat, was full of seven-year-olds—our batch of eight.
The next table to the right held the eight-year-olds. There were currently twelve of them.
The next was the nine-year-olds, who also had twelve members.
The final table was full of ten-year-olds. They were the largest group, a solid eighteen members.
In total, there were fifty students.
At the far end of the room, overseeing all four student tables, was a High Table containing nine members.
The surprising thing was the variety of the instructors. They hailed from all over the world: Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Indian, African, American, Mexican, French, and British.
The British representative was Mr Morrow.
The tenth presence—the bonfire I had sensed earlier—was not in the room currently, though I knew he was somewhere inside the fortress.