Chapter 29: A Letter from Bella
The noise from the Slytherin welcoming had not yet settled. Students drifted away in twos and threes, voices low, eyes bright, still chewing over the duel as if it were something to be tasted twice.
Regulus had just stepped out of the cleared space in the centre of the common room, intending to return to the dormitory, when a voice called his name.
"Regulus."
Narcissa Black stood near the archway that led to the girls' dormitories. For once, she was not surrounded by a circle of older girls. She was waiting, deliberately, and the fact that she had chosen a place where everyone could see her did not make her purpose any less private.
A few older boys who had been angling towards Regulus, eager to congratulate the newly crowned first year chief or attach themselves to his rising reputation, stopped short the moment they noticed her and pretended they had always meant to go elsewhere.
"Cousin Narcissa," Regulus said, and walked to her without haste. He was not surprised she wanted a word, though it was earlier than he had expected.
Narcissa did not answer immediately. She lifted her eyes, a silent instruction.
Follow.
Regulus obeyed.
They moved out of the common room and into a narrow stone corridor that hugged the underground passages like a vein. No portraits watched here. Only damp cold stone, and green torches spaced at intervals, their flames burning with an eerie steadiness.
When Narcissa was satisfied they were alone, she turned.
The worry on her face did not match her perfect posture. It looked worn, the way a crack looks in something polished.
She slipped an envelope from her sleeve.
Black wax sealed it. The stamp was a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.
The symbol was not public yet. It did not need to be.
Regulus took it in at a glance and felt a faint chill against his fingers, as if the parchment itself held onto something unpleasant.
"A letter from Bella," Narcissa said softly. Her voice was lowered to the level of a secret. "She told me to give it to you only after you were certain to have secured the position."
Regulus accepted the envelope, but he did not open it. He looked at Narcissa instead.
She understood the question in his eyes and let out a quiet sigh.
"The rumours are tightening, Regulus."
Fatigue bled into her tone, as if the subject itself had been stealing sleep from her for months.
"That Lord's influence is growing too quickly. It is no longer only private meetings and small clashes in the dark. In the Ministry, in the Wizengamot, even among the Hogwarts Board of Governors, there are his people, or those who fear him enough to behave like his people."
Her fingers pressed together once, sharply, then relaxed.
"Some shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade have changed owners without anyone announcing it. Editors at certain papers who criticised him have resigned to 'recuperate'. Two officials in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who spoke publicly about misuse of the Statute of Secrecy were found last month with severe injuries. The Ministry calls it an accident. Dangerous experimental magic triggered at home. They were admitted to St Mungo's."
She met Regulus's eyes.
"He is resourceful. He is charismatic. He has built a web with promises and threats, and with the blunt display of power. The Lestranges are at the centre, as they always are. Nott, Carrow, Yaxley have taken a side openly. Others watch and weigh and wait. Malfoy…"
She drew in a breath that sounded more like an effort than a necessity.
"Malfoy is among them as well."
Regulus understood at once.
Narcissa might not agree with conquest, or purges, or the madness that sat beneath the rhetoric. It did not matter. She was bound to the Malfoys now, or close enough that the bond was already a noose.
Lucius Malfoy's choices would become hers, and the House of Malfoy did not make choices lightly.
"Thank you for telling me, Cousin," Regulus said. His voice did not rise or fall. He tucked the letter into the inner pocket of his robes as if it were an ordinary message.
Narcissa studied his face, searching for a flicker of fear, for panic, for the first hint of a crack.
She found nothing.
In the end she only whispered, "Be careful of Bella. She is not the same. And be careful with what is in that letter. You are young, but youth will not keep you outside this forever."
Then she gave a small, stiff nod and walked away quickly, robes brushing the stone with a soft rasp.
Regulus returned to the dormitory.
Avery Cuthbert, Hermes Mulciber, and Alex Rosier were not back yet. The room was quiet, lit only by the faint glow that came through the window from the lake beyond.
Regulus drew the curtains of his four poster bed and cast a Silencing Charm. Only then did he take out the black envelope.
When he broke the seal, a faint scent escaped. Expensive perfume layered over something scorched, like burned hair or old smoke.
The parchment inside was heavy. The handwriting was wild, slanted, aggressive. The pen had pressed so hard in places it looked as though it wanted to punch holes through the paper.
"To my dear Cousin Regulus,
I hear you are already making a name for yourself at Hogwarts. You have taken the position of Slytherin Head. I am deeply gratified.
The noble blood of the House of Black flows in you. You have not disappointed me, the family, or That Lord.
This is a great era, Regulus.
The old order is crumbling. The decadent Ministry is ruled by cowards and Mudblood sympathisers who spit on our birthright and stain our glory.
But dawn is coming.
A true king has risen. He will lead us to purge this filthy world and rebuild the eternal order that belongs to pure blood wizards.
Power. Glory. Dominance. That is what we deserve.
You have talent, but that is not enough. You must grow faster. Become stronger. Become steadfast.
Slytherin games are only the beginning. The real battlefield lies outside the castle.
That Lord needs loyal, powerful followers. The House of Black must stand in the brightest place in the new temple that will be built.
Do not be fooled by weak emotions. Do not be bound by hypocritical morality.
Power is truth. Truth belongs to the victors.
I have already informed That Lord of your situation. He is interested in you. A Black with such extraordinary ability at such a young age shows him your potential.
Remember his attention, Regulus. It is a supreme honour. Let it drive you. Do not fail it.
Be prepared at all times, Cousin. When the summons comes, prove you are worthy of the name Black and worthy of serving a greater cause.
Your loyal and expectant Cousin,
Bellatrix Lestrange"
Regulus lowered the parchment onto his knees.
His face did not change.
The fanaticism that bled from the lines was worse than he had expected. It was not merely loyalty. It was devotion with a fever. Worship that had rotted into something pathological.
And beneath the praise, the coercion was obvious.
Bellatrix, and the figure behind her, had not ignored him simply because he was eleven.
The line about interest was not a compliment. It was a hook.
Interest meant scrutiny. It meant tests. It meant the kind of attention that could turn into punishment the moment expectations were not met.
Regulus had assumed he would have a few years, a buffer, time to build strength and choose a path with care.
That assumption felt naïve now.
The net was already tightening.
The House of Black was already tangled in it.
A cold irritation rose in him, swift and sharp, a feeling he rarely permitted to exist for more than a breath.
He folded the letter and stored it again, more carefully than before.
Then he left the dormitory.
The common room was still busy. Laughter and low conversation sat in the air like smoke.
Near the fireplace, Regulus saw Alge Travers, the fifth year whose pride he had bruised at the start of term. Travers was surrounded by boys from other pure blood families, his little court of approval.
They held the space around the flames as if it belonged to them. Their voices were pitched with deliberate care, loud enough to carry, soft enough to claim innocence.
Their eyes flicked towards the dormitory corridor.
When Regulus appeared, Travers raised his voice a fraction.
"So, no matter the talent, he is still a baby who needs someone to mind him. What does being first year chief even mean?"
A few of the boys around him chuckled.
"A real Slytherin thinks long term," Travers continued, satisfaction curling around the words. "Real influence. Does he think he matters because professors praise him a few times for cleverness and luck?"
Several older students who had not left yet turned to watch. Some looked neutral. Some looked entertained. None looked surprised.
They all knew the history between Travers and Regulus. They all understood why Travers chose this moment. It was a simple play. Bruise the new chief while the room was still buzzing with his name.
Slytherin drama. Familiar as the lake outside their windows.
Avery Cuthbert sat on a nearby sofa with Alex Rosier. Avery's mouth tightened as he glanced from Travers to Regulus. Alex looked uneasy, the tension in his posture obvious even from a distance.
Hermes Mulciber, who had been keeping to the shadows, shifted closer as well, stopping several paces away. He watched without expression, eyes dark, as if he wanted to see what Regulus would do now that wands were not required.
A sixth year girl, the one who had praised Regulus earlier, spoke with a warning edge.
"Travers. Enough. He's a first year."
"First year?" Travers sneered and finally turned fully towards Regulus.
Malice sat openly on his face, along with the smug satisfaction of someone who believed the room would protect him.
"A first year already uses obscure tricks he learnt from who knows where against older students? A first year can already make certain people swoon and orbit around him?"
He leaned back slightly, playing to his audience.
"I am stating facts. When you are young, you keep your head down. You respect your betters. You do not get arrogant because you have a touch of talent."
Travers's smile sharpened.
"Do you really think being Slytherin Head is such a grand achievement?"