Chapter 25: Bones and the Roommate's Little Secret
By the time Regulus left the small garden, the sky had already dimmed. Lights began to bloom in the Castle windows, one after another. Dinner was not far off.
He quickened his pace, only to find someone crouched near the entrance to the greenhouse grounds.
A Hufflepuff girl, second or third year, with light brown hair twisted into a loose bun. She was bent over a row of flowerpots, carefully working the soil around a healing herb whose leaves had begun to wilt.
"You will damage the lateral roots doing it that way," Regulus said without thinking, and stopped.
The girl looked up and blinked. "What?"
"The angle of your trowel is too vertical." Regulus pointed to the small iron trowel in her hand. "The root system of a healing herb spreads outward. It does not dive deep. Digging straight down will cut the lateral roots."
She glanced down, and understanding dawned. "No wonder this one has not been growing well. Thank you."
She adjusted at once, sliding the trowel in at a diagonal, loosening the earth with more care.
"Are you a Slytherin first year?" she asked, still working. "It is rare to see a Slytherin who knows this much Herbology."
"Regulus Black," he said simply. "First year."
"I am Eleanor Bones. Third year." She smiled, and a slightly crooked tooth flashed. "The Bones family. You have heard of us."
She continued in the same bright, unguarded tone. "I have heard of you too. The second Black at Hogwarts. Before you arrived, we, well, quite a few people, speculated whether you would go to Slytherin like the Blacks have for five hundred years."
Her eyes held a frank curiosity, not malice.
"Or whether you would choose Gryffindor like your brother."
Regulus lifted an eyebrow, more at her directness than the topic.
He had known the school was watching his Sorting. Most pure blood families watched these things. Many professors did too.
Sirius Black had not merely rebelled. He had shattered an iron tradition. Five hundred years was long enough for Black equals Slytherin to become an unspoken certainty. In a time when old families were quietly reassessing their loyalties, even the Sorting of a Black could be read as a signal.
Regulus had expected gossip.
He had not expected someone to say it to his face with a smile and no caution at all.
He met Eleanor's gaze calmly. "It seems the answer is Slytherin. Those speculations can stop now."
Eleanor blinked, then laughed. "Indeed. And it looks like you are adjusting well there."
Regulus did not chase the conversation further. He nodded at the pot by her knee.
"Healing herbs like loose soil, but they do not like being moved frequently. Add broken bits of ceramic at the bottom for drainage. The soil in this pot is holding too much water. The roots will rot."
Eleanor stared at him. "How can you tell the soil is holding too much water?"
"The leaf edges are curling slightly, and the colour is too dark. That suggests the roots are not breathing properly." Regulus's tone stayed even. "Also, when you loosened the soil just now, it clumped. That usually means the water content is high."
"Merlin, you are right." Eleanor stood and brushed dirt from her hands. "I used the standard potting mix, but perhaps this batch of leaf mould was poor. Thank you for the advice, Mr. Black."
Regulus gave a small nod.
They spent five minutes trading techniques under the fading light. Eleanor showed him how to judge soil density with the pads of her fingers and spoke about cultivation methods for a few uncommon magical plants. In return, Regulus shared several simple soil testing charms, practical little tricks from garden maintenance magic.
When Eleanor packed her tools, she tilted her head toward the Castle. "Time to head to the Great Hall. Shall we walk together?"
"Sure."
They walked side by side. A few Hufflepuff students passed and looked twice at the sight of Eleanor with a Slytherin, but no one said a word.
At the Great Hall doors, Eleanor lifted a hand in farewell.
"See you, Mr. Black."
"Goodbye, Miss Bones."
Regulus turned toward the Slytherin table. The moment he sat, Avery leaned over, eyes narrowed with interest.
"What were you chatting about with the Bones girl?"
"Herbology," Regulus said, and began serving himself roast meat. The experiment earlier had been draining. His body demanded fuel.
"The Bones family is all right," Avery decided. "Not too bad. But that Amelia in their family is a bit much at the Ministry. My father does not like her."
"Perhaps she does not like Mr. Cuthbert either," Regulus said.
Avery considered it, then shrugged. "Fair."
Just past midnight, Regulus snapped awake in the dark.
It was not noise.
It was a fluctuation of magic.
He withdrew his own magic instantly. His breathing slowed. His body stayed still. He let his eyelids part only the smallest amount.
Across from him, the bed curtains of Hermes Mulciber shifted. Slowly, carefully, a gap appeared.
A figure in black robes slipped out without a sound.
Hermes stood in the darkness for a moment, as if listening for the shape of the room. Then he moved, silent as a thought, pausing beside each bed. He lingered at Regulus's for a heartbeat longer, as though confirming something.
A minute later, Hermes slid out through the dormitory door.
Regulus waited three minutes.
Only then did he sit up.
He stepped out of bed and crossed to Hermes's. The curtains were left slightly open. Regulus did not touch them. He simply used his perception, scanning with controlled care.
The bed was too tidy.
Under the pillow lay a book bound in dark red leather, without a title. Protective charms clung to it. A forced probe would raise an alarm, and he had no interest in announcing himself.
On the bedside table was an empty glass bottle. A thin residue of black liquid clung to the bottom. Regulus did not recognise it. At the very least, it was not a conventional potion.
Hermes's schoolbag sat on the windowsill, the zip not fully closed. A corner of parchment showed.
There were no protective charms.
Regulus extended a fine thread of magic and nudged the bag open, gently, as if moving dust.
It was a map.
Hand drawn, the lines rough but the labels clear. Hogwarts Castle was sketched at the centre. Several areas were circled.
In the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor, a note read: Explored, no findings.
In the abandoned classroom area on the west side of the dungeons: Protected, needs breaking.
And beneath the Astronomy Tower: Suspected entrance, to be verified.
Beneath the Astronomy Tower should have been outer wall and open air. There should not have been a room there.
Unless it was hidden. A chamber. A passage.
Regulus withdrew his probe and returned to his own bed.
What was Hermes Mulciber looking for?
Or rather, what was he looking for on someone else's behalf?
An hour later, at 1:14 a.m., the dormitory door opened again, careful as a thief's breath.
Hermes returned.
His footsteps were heavier than before. Fresh scorch marks marred the hem of his robes. A thin red scratch lay across the back of his left hand, as if he had caught it on something sharp.
He paused just inside, and his gaze swept the three beds.
Finding no movement, he went to his own. As he shrugged off his outer robe, Regulus caught the faint scent of sulphur.
Not candle smoke.
Residue from magical fire, or an alchemical reaction.
Hermes drew his curtains shut. There was a soft rustle as he changed. Then silence returned.
Regulus stared into the darkness above his own bed.
First year. Eleven years old.
Already poking at dangerous secrets.
The Mulciber family were among the Sacred Twenty Eight, but they sat at the edges rather than the centre. For generations they had dealt in rare magical goods. In truth, they served as intermediaries for smuggling and for the collection of Dark artefacts.
They excelled at walking the line of the law. They had quiet collaborations with shops in Knockturn Alley. They did not seek political power. They sought forbidden knowledge and dangerous objects.
They did not publicly support Lord Voldemort.
They did, however, supply those who did.
Was Hermes acting from personal obsession, or carrying out a family task?
If it was the latter, whatever he was chasing was likely tied to the war that was coming.
Somewhere outside the window, an owl hooted, distant and blurred by stone and corridor.
Regulus did not dwell on it further. He decided only this.
He would keep watching.
He closed his eyes and began a new cycle of magic circulation. The geometric model of Orion lit within his mind, and starlight like magic flowed along calculated paths.