An Uneasy Morning

Hermes had already reached the Wooden Dummy target.

He chanted a spell in a low voice, and a dark red thread shot out from the tip of his staff. The thread wrapped around the neck of the Wooden Dummy, cutting half an inch into the wood, making a "sizzling" corrosive sound.

"A variant with Blood Boil?" Regulus walked to his side.

"A weakened version." Hermes didn't stop; the thin threads split into three more, binding the Wooden Dummy's limbs respectively. "I want to try if I can control multiple targets simultaneously."

"The idea is right, but the Magic Power distribution is problematic." Regulus observed the thin threads; they appeared to be the same thickness, but the one on his left leg clearly had insufficient Magic Power distribution.

"Subconsciously, you're still concentrating most of your Magic Power on the first strand. Try to break your consciousness apart and imagine you have four independent hands, each controlling one strand."

Hermes stopped chanting, seemed lost in thought, then closed his eyes, his brow furrowing.

After a while, he opened his eyes again and chanted the incantation once more. "Blood Boil."

The four dark red threads of Magic Power became more even, digging into the wood to almost the same depth.

Training continues.

Avery was practicing his Slowing Charm, aiming to hit the copper ring hanging at the other end of the room.

Alex's wand tip lit up and then dimmed, like a crippled firefly.

Hermes's manipulated dark red thread is already attempting to split the fifth strand.

Regulus retreated to the wall, leaning against the cushions as he watched.

Team cohesion isn't just about fighting side-by-side; it's about sweating together, failing together, and laughing together when you see each other's magic wands explode with Spark Spell.

But he also needed to practice; regular Magic was fine, but as for those things he didn't want others to see—

Regulus's mind stirred slightly.

Deep inside the Training Room, a stone wall silently slid out, separating a small room with a door hidden in the shadows.

If needed in the future, he can go into the cubicle to practice Natural Magic, Patronus, Spatial Warp, and other things that shouldn't be seen by others yet.

Avery finally hit the bronze ring.

"Got it!" He turned to Regulus, grinning, "See that?"

Regulus nodded. "Good, continue, next, shooting at moving targets."

With a wave of his wand, a dozen small wooden balls tied with thin strings hung from the ceiling and began to swing erratically.

Avery let out a wail, but still raised his wand.

Alex's Lumos finally stabilized at the fifth brightness level.

He wiped his sweat and asked Regulus in a low voice, "Is this right?"

"Yes," Regulus affirmed, "Try rapid flashing at different brightness levels tomorrow."

At 9:30, Hermes' Magic Power was exhausted, and his face turned pale.

Avery and Alex were so tired they could barely lift their arms.

The four left the Room of Requirement. The Corridor was dimly lit, and the moonlight outside the window spread across the floor, casting a silvery glow.

No one spoke on the way back to the Basement; footsteps echoed in the Stone Corridor, overlapping and then dispersing.

As they approached the entrance to Slytherin, Hermes suddenly spoke up, "When is the next practice session?"

"Friday," Regulus looked at him. "Wednesday is fine too, if you can hold on."

"I can manage." Hermes nodded vigorously.

The fireplace in the Common Room was still burning. Several seventh-graders were whispering in a corner, glancing at them as they entered before turning back.

The four of them passed through the archway and headed towards the Dormitory Corridor.

Regulus pushed open the Dormitory door, and the green light of the Black Lake shimmered underwater through the window.

The bed is already made; the House-elf came and tidied it up.

Regulus took off his outer robe and hung it up, sat on the edge of the bed, and raised his right hand.

Palms facing upwards, a slight mental movement.

A tiny orange-red flame appeared out of nowhere, no bigger than a fingernail, hovering quietly three inches above the skin.

The flame was intensely white at its core and golden at its edges, its temperature perfectly controlled, so much so that even the hairs on his palms didn't curl.

Fiendfyre.

He stared at the flame for five seconds, then it dissipated.

As I lay down, a Giant Squid swam past the window, its tentacles brushing against the glass and leaving blurry trails of slime.

Regulus closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into that familiar Starry sky.

The Orion Four Stars shines in the darkness.

The fifth one, Bellatrix, is becoming increasingly concentrated.

First day back at school, get a good night's sleep.

The weather was exceptionally fine on the first Monday of May; sunlight streamed through the high windows of the Great Hall, casting golden dappled patterns on the Silver Instruments on the long table.

The flock of owls surged in at that moment, dozens of brown, gray, and white wings flapping in the air, their feathers mingling with the morning light, casting shimmering shadows.

Feathers and some bird droppings were also thrown down, and some unlucky little wizards were hit, drawing laughter from those around them.

Regulus was spreading jam on the toast.

Avery was copying his Charms Class paper, Alex was engrossed in his oatmeal, and Hermes was scrambling fork at his scrambled eggs, his eyes fixed on a blank spot on the table.

The owl landed.

Packages, letters, the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

First there was the rustling of papers turning, then a sob came from the Ravenclaw Table, a suppressed sob that sounded jarring amidst the breakfast din.

Regulus looked up.

A second-grade girl covered her mouth, her shoulders beginning to tremble.

Her classmate leaned over to look at the newspaper, and his expression changed as well.

A second-grade girl covered her mouth, her shoulders beginning to tremble.

Her classmate leaned over to look at the newspaper, and his expression changed as well.

Someone reached out and patted her on the back, while someone moved their chair back.

The murmurs spread like a tide, from the Ravenclaw Table to Hufflepuff, and then to Gryffindor.

"Excuse me," Avery said, reaching out to the fourth-year student next to him. The student handed over the newspaper with a slightly strange expression.

Avery turned to the third edition.

The title, displayed horizontally in the middle of the page, reads, "<Unidentified Attacks on a wizarding family in suburban London; those involved have been taken to hospital for treatment>".

It's a short piece, squeezed between the Flying Broomstick game and the Ministry of Magic's budget announcement.

Last night, a wizard's house near Hampstead Heath was broken into. There were obvious signs of Magic damage inside the house, and a few Magic items were stolen.

The homeowner, Karen Thorne, and his wife, Leila Thorne, were injured and have been taken to St Mungo's for treatment; their conditions are currently stable.

The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has launched an investigation, but has not yet released the identity or motive of the Attacks.

The article concluded with the following two sentences: "Strong traces of Dark Arts remained at the scene; some defensive Magic was violently broken, and the methods used were extremely destructive."

Avery pushed the newspaper toward Regulus.

Alex leaned closer to look, and after reading it, whispered, "I know her, Iliana Thorne, a second-year Ravenclaw student."

Her father was in charge of reviewing Magic items at the Ministry of Magic, and her mother worked in the Department of Magical Creature, doing clerical work.

He said sadly, "Our family had a get-together with the Thorne family last year."

Regulus nodded, his gaze sweeping across the Great Hall.

At the Ravenclaw Table, Iliana was surrounded by seven or eight people.

The Half-bloods and Muggle-born people comforted her, handing her a handkerchief and speaking softly.

Those of Pure-bloods remained seated, some continuing to eat breakfast, others turning to the side to chat with their neighbors, their gazes occasionally sweeping over before quickly shifting away.

That obvious sense of distance carried something colder about it.

Most of the Hufflepuff looked sympathetic, but they kept their voices low.

Several seventh graders were shaking their heads, while middle school girls huddled together whispering.

There was worry in their eyes as they looked in Ravenclaw's direction, but more than that, there was a lingering sense of relief that it wasn't me.

On the Gryffindor side, James Potter had already stood up, slamming his fist on the long table, making the Silver Instruments clang.

"It's those lunatics again!"

The sound was so loud that it could be heard in half the Great Hall. Sirius stood up, and Lupin grabbed his arm and said something, but couldn't hold him back.

More people gathered around their table, both men and women, their faces displaying the same anger.

The Slytherin table was quiet.

But this silence was strange; they were clearly holding something back.

Several sixth and seventh graders sat at the far end of the long table, exchanging glances, with very subtle smiles on their lips.

They didn't look in Ravenclaw's direction, didn't participate in the discussion, and didn't even flip through the newspaper much, but I could smell that knowing aura from ten feet away.

The reactions from middle school students were more direct.

Several Half-bloods or near- Pure-bloods individuals who weren't doing so well had their heads down, mechanically poking at their plates with their forks.

Those students from core Pureblood families had gleaming eyes and leaned forward like hunting dogs that had smelled blood.

Narcissa Black glanced over from the head of the long table, her gaze sweeping over the restless middle schoolers, who immediately sat up straight and composed themselves.

Lucretius Burke tapped the table with his knuckles; the sound wasn't loud, but everyone around him heard it.

After finishing pounding, he continued spreading his Butter, his movements slow and methodical.

At that moment, Dumbledore rang his wine glass, the clear clinking sound drowning out all the noise.

The principal stood up, his blue eyes behind his Half-moon Spectacles sweeping across the room. He waited until the last whispers subsided before speaking.

"Hogwarts is a school," he Sonorus, with a hint of caution. "Here, you are students."

A student's responsibility is to learn, to grow, and to understand that Magic is not only power, but also responsibility.

His gaze lingered on the Gryffindor table for a moment, then swept towards Slytherin: "The outside world has conflict, pain, and injustice."

But these things shouldn't be brought into this Castle. At Hogwarts, you only have one identity: students.

He looked toward the Ravenclaw Table: "Professor Flitwick."

The diminutive Charms Class professor slid off his chair and strode toward Eleanor Thorne.

He patted the girl on the shoulder, whispered a few words, and then put his arm around her and walked out.

As James passed the Gryffindor table, he tried to say something, but Professor McGonagall's glare froze him in place.

The Great Hall doors opened and closed again.