Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

The dormitory was located in a corridor further inside the lounge, with a door made of heavy oak wood and marked with the letter "A".

Regulus pushed open the door to find a spacious room with four four-poster beds in the four corners, draped with dark green curtains. Each person had their own study area with views of the Black Lake.

There are already two people here.

Avery Cuthbert sat on the bed by the window, organizing his stationery. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and his chin was slightly raised. He saw Regulus nod.

"Blake".

"Casbert".

Another boy sat on the innermost bed, with black hair, a pale face, and shadows under his eyes.

He held the tattered "Curse and Anti-Curse" in his hand, Hermes Murseb, glanced up at Regulus with a gloomy look in his eyes, and nodded.

Regulus placed his suitcase on the empty bed and began to unpack. He arranged his textbooks on the bookshelf according to the timetable, put away his quill pens and ink, and hung his robe in the wardrobe.

The door opened again, and a fourth person walked in. He had brown hair, gray eyes, a gentle face, and wore a neat but not luxurious robe.

Alex Rosier, a branch of the Rosier family, has parents who both hold low-ranking positions in the Ministry of Magic. Although his family status is not as high as the main branch, he is still a pure-blood.

"Hello," Alex said gently. "I'm Alex Rozier."

Avery glanced at him and nodded slightly: "Caspert."

Hermes did not look up.

Regulus: "Regulus Black".

Alex smiled and placed his suitcase on the last empty bed, directly opposite Regulus.

The atmosphere in the room was somewhat subtle, and Regulus silently analyzed the situation.

Avery represents the proud pureblood inner circle, Hermes is a gloomy dark magic enthusiast, and Alex is a gentle pureblood on the fringes.

Avery looked at Regulus: "You embarrassed Travers in the lounge just now."

Regulus didn't turn around: "He asked for it."

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

"so?"

Avery smiled, his eyes conveying "I understand you": "So well done. The Travers have always thought they were top-notch, but everyone knows what kind of shady things they've been up to."

Regulus turned to look at him.

Avery leaned against the headboard: "My father said that Slytherin needs some fresh blood this year, real talent, not just useless people who flaunt their family lineage."

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

"And you?" Regulus asked in return.

Avery was taken aback: "What?"

Regulus asked again, "Are you a piece of trash?"

Alex was tidying up when he heard this, so he looked up but didn't say anything.

Avery met Regulus's gaze in silence for two seconds, then said, "You'll find out."

Regulus nodded slightly: "I'm looking forward to it."

Hermes suddenly spoke, his voice low and deep: "How did you deflect that wand attack?"

All eyes turned to Regulus.

"Ironclad Charm," Regulus said, "with a few tricks up your sleeve."

"What technique?" Hermes pressed.

"You can use the Ironclad Charm?" Regulus didn't answer; he asked.

The Ironclad Charm is explicitly classified as a medium-difficulty defensive charm.

In the original books, even adult wizards might not be able to use it skillfully. The Weasley twins once discovered that most Ministry of Magic employees couldn't recite the Armor Charm properly.

Hogwarts even listed it as a required subject in the fifth-year OWL exam, meaning it is a spell that requires 2-3 years of systematic study of basic magic to master.

My roommates are all pure-blooded, so they naturally understand what it means when a first-year student casts the Ironclad Spell.

Regulus must have known it even earlier.

Hermes fell silent, his gaze now different, but more suspicious than shocked.

Alex gasped. "My father said that only a select few in the Ministry of Magic can cast it effectively."

Avery stared at Regulus: "My father said—"

Regulus interrupted him: "Why don't you say something yourself?"

Avery paused again, opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

What could he say?

No one had ever asked him that question before.

In the Cuthbert family, the father's words are the truth; in gatherings of pure-bloods, the elders' opinions are the standard; and even in Slytherin, the experience of the older students is the guide.

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

Avery felt something strange and burning up his spine—shame.

He realized that he was using his father's authority as armor, but the other man saw right through him.

He took a deep breath, suppressing his nervousness, and raised his chin a little higher.

"The Ironclad Spell requires precise control of magic and a clear intention to cast it." Avery's voice was not steady: "The former requires long-term practice, and the latter requires unwavering will."

Most first-year students can't even make a feather float steadily.

He looked at Regulus: "So you're not the majority."

Regulus nodded, acknowledging the answer.

"Then you're not either," he said.

Avery blinked.

"If you can see these things," Regulus continued, "it means you have observation and judgment, and you're not useless."

"Okay," Avery suddenly laughed after a moment of silence, shrugged, and leaned back against the headboard.

Alex Rozier held his breath the whole time, looking at Regulus and then at Avery, his eyes filled with confusion and unease.

In his household, the gentle, polite, and always rule-abiding Rozier branch had never spoken so bluntly and sharply.

He admired Regulus's composure, yet feared something beneath it.

He didn't seem like an eleven-year-old, Alex thought. He seemed like... like those directors who walked briskly down the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, their words full of calculation.

He decided to write to his parents tonight to ask them what was going on with the second son of the Blake family.

The room fell silent.

......

The first lesson at Hogwarts for first-year Slytherin students is Potions.

In the hierarchy of the magical world, potions are a yardstick for measuring whether a wizard is meticulous, precise, and patient.

Slytherin, at least in name, should be the house that best possesses these qualities.

The Potions classroom is located on the first basement level of the castle, slightly higher than the Slytherin common room, but equally cold and damp.

When Regulus entered the classroom, most of the students were already there. The long tables were neatly arranged, each with two crucible racks, a set of basic tools, and a pile of materials.

He glanced at the seating chart; Slughorn had clearly arranged it carefully.

Slytherins and Gryffindors attend classes together, but their seats are staggered, presumably to encourage interaction between the houses, or more likely to simply enjoy the spectacle.

Regulus was seated in the third row, next to a Gryffindor girl with blond hair and freckles. She was nervously flipping through "Potions and Magic" and muttering to herself.

Seeing him sit down, she looked up, her eyes lighting up: "You're Regulus Black?"

"I am."

"I am Mary McDonald." Her voice was a little fast. "I heard that yesterday on the train, you made James Potter's spell disappear?"

The news spread really fast. Regulus nodded without saying anything more.

Mary, in high spirits upon receiving the response, said, "You should make James Potter disappear too; I heard they went too far."

Regulus was slightly surprised that James had already become famous, and Sirius must have played a part in that.

Mary didn't say anything because he was there in person.

The Gryffindors were already dissatisfied with the bad reputation.

Mary seemed to want to ask something more when the classroom door was suddenly opened.

Professor Horace Slughorn walked in.

He was round and plump, with a ruddy complexion, and wore a dark green robe embroidered with gold embroidery, the buttons on his stomach tightly fastened.

"Ah! Welcome, welcome!" Slughorn's voice boomed, brimming with theatrical enthusiasm: "Welcome to the world of Potions, the most exquisite, most dangerous, and most beneficial art!"

He walked to the front of the classroom, placed his hands on the table, and looked around the classroom.

"I am Horace Slughorn, your Potions Professor. For the next seven years, or at least until you pass the OWL exams, I will lead you in exploring the miracles within the cauldron."

His gaze swept across every face: "Some of you may have heard of me, some of you may have heard of my...little club."

But I assure you, what I need in my classes is your ability and focus, and most importantly, your love for this art.