The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on Tuesday afternoon smelled faintly of old leather and dust.
Regulus sat in the third row of the Slytherin section, watching the professor at the front of the room. Galatea Merrythought, who liked to introduce herself as a former adventurer, was currently waving her arms with great enthusiasm as she explained how to identify and avoid Grindylows in marshlands.
"…And remember, children!" Merrythought declared. "If you see bubbles rising to the surface and hear a chittering laugh, retreat immediately! Grindylows love dragging lone witches and wizards underwater!"
She flourished her wand, conjuring a hazy outline of a water creature in the air. Clearly, there would be no live specimens today.
Tom Riddle, Regulus thought.
All because he hadn't been chosen as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, he'd placed a curse on the position.
From that point on, no professor lasted more than a year. Some met with accidents. Some were forced to resign. Some vanished outright.
A childish, cruel sort of revenge.
What made it even more absurd was that the curse seemed to have genuinely affected the quality of teaching.
Maybe the professors subconsciously knew the post was cursed and simply went through the motions.
Or maybe they were afraid that the better they taught, the harder the curse would strike.
Regulus glanced back at the lectern. Merrythought was demonstrating how to use Lumos to drive off shadowy creatures lurking in dark corners, but the light flickered unevenly, as if reflecting her own lack of focus.
First-year material was shallow to an almost insulting degree. Identify a few low-level dark creatures. Learn basic defensive gestures. Memorize safety rules.
All of it was covered in the first two chapters of Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Defense. The rest of the time should have been spent on practical responses.
But there was no practice. Merrythought didn't teach it, and the students didn't seem to mind. If anything, they were pleased.
A useless class was still better than a difficult one. Self-study would get them further than this.
---
The library was perhaps the quietest place in Hogwarts. There were no shrieking first-years here.
Regulus nodded politely to Madam Pince at the entrance and received a severe nod in return.
He went straight to the section on magical theory and history.
Since starting school, his physical conditioning had continued to improve, with impressive results.
But he'd begun to sense a bottleneck.
The body was a vessel for the soul. He could make the vessel larger, stronger. But if the water inside didn't increase accordingly, it was nothing more than an empty shell.
Pointless.
A wizard's power came from magic. And according to mainstream theory, magic originated in the soul and was expressed through mental will.
So could the mind itself be trained?
He stopped in front of a bookshelf, eyes scanning the spines.
Most of the books dealt with meditation, mental focus, and introductory Occlumency. The content was basic, but the direction was right.
Regulus pulled out a thin volume titled Consciousness and Magic: An Examination of Ancient Meditative Practices.
The parchment cover was worn. He opened it and saw the first chapter heading:
[Wizards change reality not through magic, but through will]
He read on.
"Ancient rune wizards believed that magic was a bridge, connecting the inner world to external reality.
A powerful will could cross that bridge and leave an imprint on the real world.
Weather magic alters the skies. War magic twists the environment. At their core, these are expressions of a wizard's will, forcibly rewriting reality through magic as a medium."
"Thus, the difference between strong and weak wizards lies not only in magical reserves, but in the strength, clarity, and resonance of their will."
Resonance?
Regulus closed the book, deep in thought.
Why could some wizards cast advanced spells with ease, while others struggled with something as basic as the Levitation Charm?
Beyond age, knowledge, intelligence, and raw magic, what else was there?
His thoughts turned to Dumbledore, the greatest white wizard of the century. Regulus knew he was especially skilled in Transfiguration.
Canon never stated it outright, but Regulus believed Dumbledore could change weather patterns, reshape terrain, and perhaps even more.
When magic reached that level, wasn't it will rewriting reality?
And Voldemort… his magic was another extreme.
More like tearing.
The Cruciatus Curse tore pain from the body. The Killing Curse severed life itself. Even Horcruxes were created by ripping apart one's own soul.
Those were questions for later, when he had the power to face them. For now, he needed a way to strengthen his mind.
He continued searching, nearly combing through the entire shelf, until at last, on the lowest corner level, he found a small booklet with a faded cover. The title was barely legible:
Astrological Meditation: Expanding the Mind Through Stargazing
The author's name was blurred, but on the title page, a handwritten note stood out:
[Those who gaze upon the stars are not bound to the earth. The paths of the stars are the universe's script. Imitate them, understand them, and eventually resonate with them.]
Resonance again.
This was it.
"Black?"
A hushed voice came from the aisle between shelves. Regulus looked up to see Lily Evans standing there, arms full of books. On top was A Practical Analysis of Common Magical Plant Poisons.
"Miss Evans." Regulus closed Astrological Meditation and slipped it behind a thicker book.
Hidden for now. He'd retrieve it later.
"Looking something up?" Lily stepped closer, green eyes bright with curiosity. "I heard you said something interesting in Charms class."
Regulus raised a brow slightly. "What did I say?"
"About memories of Hogwarts." Lily set her books down on a nearby table and rolled her sore shoulders. "Someone said you told your classmates that in thirty years, what we'd remember most would be the people we copied homework with."
"It made its way to the Gryffindor Common Room. A lot of people thought it didn't sound like something a Slytherin would say."
Did I put it like that? Regulus thought dryly. I said other things too. You just latched onto the homework part.
"That idea isn't limited to Houses," he said. "And it happens to be true.
Think back to primary school. I mean Muggle primary school. What do you remember more clearly, your exam rankings, or the classmate who shared an umbrella with you on a rainy day?"
Lily paused, then laughed softly. "The umbrella. First year, I forgot mine, and one of my friend pulled her big floral umbrella over. We both got half-soaked, but we laughed all the way to the school gate."
"Exactly." Regulus nodded, a hint of a smile in his eyes. "Magic doesn't change that. Wizards are still people. We just happen to have magic."
Lily looked at him, visibly energized. "You're not what I imagined a Slytherin would be like."
Regulus met her gaze but didn't respond to that directly. Instead, he asked, "Do you know why the four Houses attend classes together?"
Lily thought for a moment. "So we can… understand each other better?"
"Partly. More practically, because after graduation, Houses don't exist anymore.
When you join the Ministry of Magic, your coworkers might be Slytherins. If you go to St. Mungo's, your healer could be a Ravenclaw.
When you shop, the store owner might be a Hufflepuff. And if you become an Auror, the person you arrest might be a Gryffindor.
Houses are labels for school. They're not brands burned onto you for life."
Lily was quiet for a few seconds, then said softly, "Thank you for saying that. I'd never really thought about it."
"Everyone is different," Regulus said seriously. "Houses are just rough categories. They shouldn't define everything.
There are narrow-minded people in Ravenclaw. Ambitious ones in Hufflepuff. And in Slytherin…"
Lily picked it up with a smile. "There are people who know how to share an umbrella?"
Regulus's lips curved faintly. "Perhaps."
Lily Evans had already been personally acknowledged by Slughorn as a prodigy in Potions. Canon made that clear. Her talent rivaled Severus Snape's.
Regulus's future path would require top-tier potion support. Some needs could be taken openly to Slughorn. But the more sensitive ones would demand a private, trustworthy collaborator.
Slughorn was useful, but he was also an information hub. Any request could become gossip in his club.
Snape could be motivated by benefit, knowledge traded for secrets, but that kind of relationship rested on a dangerous balance. The moment interests conflicted, it would collapse.
Snape had never been a good man.
A friendship built on mutual respect was far more stable.
And Lily Evans herself was a key node in the fabric of this world.
In the future, she would serve as a bridge between eras. A success story for Muggle-borns. The mother of Harry Potter. The emotional core of many tragedies and turning points.
Building a friendship with her was like tying a thread of his own into the weave of fate.
One day, when he needed a potion no one could know about, when he needed an absolutely reliable partner, Regulus was almost certain she would help him.