Getting Along Well with My Roommates

The dormitory was down a corridor deeper inside the Slytherin common room. Its door was made of heavy oak and bore the letter "A."

Regulus pushed open the door. The room inside was spacious, with four four-poster beds positioned in the corners, each hung with dark green bed curtains. Everyone had a separate study area, and there was a view of the Black Lake.

Two people were already there.

Avery Cuthbert sat on the bed by the window, arranging his stationery. He had blond hair and blue eyes, his chin slightly raised. When he saw Regulus, he gave him a nod.

"Black."

"Cuthbert."

The other boy sat on the bed farthest inside. He had black hair, a pale face, and what seemed like shadows beneath his eyes.

He held a battered copy of Curses and Counter-Curses. Hermes Mulciber glanced up at Regulus, his gaze gloomy, then nodded.

Regulus set his trunk on an empty bed and began unpacking. He arranged his textbooks on the shelf according to his timetable, put away his quills and ink, and hung his robes in the wardrobe.

The door opened again, and the fourth person walked in. He had brown hair, gray eyes, and a gentle face. His robes were neat, though not particularly luxurious.

Alex Rosier, from a branch of the Rosier family. Both his parents held low-ranking positions at the Ministry of Magic. His family's standing was below that of the main branch, but they were still Pure-bloods.

"Hello." Alex spoke gently. "I'm Alex Rosier."

Avery glanced at him and nodded indifferently. "Cuthbert."

Hermes did not look up.

"Regulus Black," Regulus said.

Alex smiled and placed his trunk on the final empty bed, directly opposite Regulus's.

The atmosphere in the room was somewhat delicate. Regulus silently assessed it.

Avery represented the proud inner circle of Pure-bloods. Hermes was a gloomy enthusiast of Dark Magic. Alex was a mild-mannered Pure-blood on the fringes.

Avery looked at Regulus. "In the common room just now, you made Travers lose face."

Regulus did not turn around. "He brought it on himself."

"His uncle holds a fairly high position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"So?"

Avery smiled, his eyes saying, I understand you. "So you did well. The Travers family has always thought they were something special, but who doesn't know about the mess in their family?"

Regulus turned to look at him.

Avery leaned against his headboard. "My father said Slytherin needed some fresh blood this year. People with real ability, not trash who only knew how to flaunt their Family Tree."

He looked at Regulus. "You don't look like trash."

"And you?" Regulus asked in return.

Avery froze for a moment. "What?"

Regulus asked again, "Are you trash?"

Alex was unpacking his things. At those words, he looked up, but said nothing.

Avery met Regulus's eyes in silence for two seconds. "You'll find out."

Regulus gave a slight nod. "I look forward to it."

Hermes suddenly spoke, his voice low. "That move you used to block the flying wand... how did you do it?"

Everyone turned to look at Regulus.

"The Shield Charm," Regulus said. "Along with a few tricks."

"What tricks?" Hermes pressed.

"Can you use the Shield Charm?" Regulus did not answer. Instead, he asked.

The Shield Charm was clearly classified as an intermediate defensive spell.

Even adult wizards in the original story had not necessarily been able to use it proficiently. The Weasley twins had once discovered that most Ministry of Magic employees could not cast a decent Shield Charm.

Hogwarts had even listed it as a required subject for the fifth-year O.W.L. examinations, which meant it was a spell that could only be mastered after two or three years of systematic magical training.

His roommates were all from Pure-blood families, so they naturally understood what it meant for a first-year to cast a Shield Charm.

Regulus had certainly mastered it even earlier.

Hermes said nothing more. His gaze had changed, though there was more suspicion in it than shock.

Alex sucked in a breath. "My father said only a few people at the Ministry can cast it effectively."

Avery stared at Regulus. "My father said—"

Regulus cut him off. "Why don't you say something yourself?"

Avery froze again. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

What could he say?

No one had ever asked him that before.

In the Cuthbert family, his father's words were truth. At Pure-blood Circle gatherings, the elders' evaluations were the standard. Even in Slytherin, the experiences of upperclassmen were the guide.

He was used to quoting, relaying, and borrowing the authority of others to support his own views.

A strange, burning feeling crawled up Avery's spine. It was shame.

He realized that he had been using his father's authority as a suit of armor, and Regulus had seen through it at a glance.

He took a deep breath, forcing down the tension in his heart, and raised his chin a little higher.

"The Shield Charm requires precise control of Magic Power and clear casting intent." Avery's voice was not entirely steady. "The former requires long-term practice, while the latter requires a firm will.

Most first-year students cannot even make Feathers float steadily."

He looked at Regulus. "So you are not most people."

Regulus nodded, acknowledging the answer.

"Then neither are you," he said.

Avery blinked.

"If you can see all that," Regulus continued, "it means you have observation and judgment. You're not trash."

"All right." After a moment of silence, Avery suddenly laughed. He shrugged and leaned back against the headboard again.

Alex Rosier had held his breath throughout. He looked at Regulus, then at Avery, his eyes full of confusion and unease.

In his family, that gentle, polite Rosier branch that always followed the Rules, no one ever spoke like this—so blunt, so sharp.

He admired Regulus's composure, yet he was also afraid of something behind that composure.

He did not seem eleven, Alex thought. He seemed... like those department heads striding through the Ministry of Magic Corridor, every word calculated.

He decided he would write to his parents that night and ask what exactly was going on with the Black family's Second son.

The room fell silent.

Hogwarts's first class for the Slytherin first-years was Potions Class.

In the hierarchy of the magical world, Potions was a measure of whether a wizard was rigorous, precise, and patient.

And Slytherin, at least in name, was supposed to possess those qualities more than any other house.

The Potions classroom was located on the first basement level of the Castle. It was slightly higher than the Slytherin common room, but just as cold and gloomy.

When Regulus entered the classroom, most of the students had already arrived. The long tables were neatly arranged, each equipped with two Cauldron stands, a set of basic tools, and a pile of ingredients.

He glanced at the seating chart. Slughorn had clearly arranged it with care.

Slytherin and Gryffindor were having class together, but their seats alternated, presumably to encourage inter-house interaction—or, more likely, to watch the fun.

Regulus's seat was in the third row. His deskmate was a Gryffindor girl with blond hair and freckles. She was nervously flipping through Magical Drafts and Potions, muttering under her breath.

When she saw him sit down, she looked up, her eyes lighting up. "Are you Regulus Black?"

"I am."

"I'm Mary Macdonald." She spoke a little quickly. "I heard that yesterday on the train, you made James Potter's spell disappear?"

News traveled quickly. Regulus nodded but did not say much.

Encouraged by his response, Mary said excitedly, "You should have made James Potter disappear too. I heard they were awful."

Regulus was slightly surprised. James already had a bad reputation, and Sirius had certainly contributed to that.

Because he was sitting right in front of her, Mary had not said it outright.

A bad reputation. Even Gryffindor was already dissatisfied.

Mary seemed about to ask something else when the classroom door suddenly opened.

Professor Horace Slughorn walked in.

He was round and ruddy-faced, wearing a dark green robe embroidered with golden patterns. The buttons over his stomach were stretched tight.

"Ah! Welcome, welcome!" Slughorn's booming voice was filled with theatrical enthusiasm. "Welcome to the world of Potions, the most exquisite, dangerous, and beneficial of all arts!"

He walked to the front desk, placed both hands on its surface, and surveyed the classroom.

"I am Horace Slughorn, your Potions professor. For the next seven years—or at least until you pass your O.W.L.s—I will lead you in exploring the miracles within the Cauldron."

His gaze passed over every face. "Some of you may already have heard of me. Some of you may have heard of my... Slug Club.

But I assure you, in my classroom, what you need is ability and focus. Most importantly, a love for this art."