Chapter 17: It Can Be Used Like That?
Narcissa's expression sharpened.
"Bella already knows," she said quietly. "She will contact you soon. By letter, perhaps. Or she may come to Hogwarts herself."
"She will test you. She will evaluate you. Then she will decide whether to recommend you to that Lord."
Regulus was silent for several seconds.
"So what is your advice?" he asked at last.
"Tone it down," Narcissa said without hesitation. "In public, you can show talent, but not to that extent."
"At Hogwarts, especially with a professor like Slughorn who collects gifted students, your reputation will spread quickly."
"And if that reputation reaches the wrong ears, it will bring trouble. Or opportunity. That depends on how you choose to see it."
Regulus nodded once, as if accepting the warning.
"Thank you for the reminder, Cousin," he said. "But I have my own considerations."
"I knew you would say that." Narcissa sighed, then softened. "I am not trying to lecture you. You have always been smarter than I am."
"I have known that since you were five. But clever people trust themselves too much. They often stop watching their surroundings."
Regulus inclined his head again.
Narcissa studied him for a long moment, then continued, voice returning to business.
"One more thing. Last night is not finished. Travers will not let it go."
"He may not trouble you himself," she said, "but he will send others. Upper years, or his little followers. That fits Slytherin's rules."
"I am ready," Regulus replied. With Narcissa, his tone was almost casual. "Anytime."
Narcissa's eyes lingered on him. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"You know what? Sometimes I think you and Sirius are rather alike. Not just in the face. In that reckless streak buried in the bone."
"He uses it for rebellion," she added, "and you use it elsewhere."
She turned to leave, then paused as if remembering something important.
"One last warning. Lucius Malfoy is very interested in you. Not that kind of interest."
"If he asks to meet you, be polite," Narcissa said, "and be cautious."
Regulus nodded.
With that, Narcissa walked away, her robe hem sweeping an elegant curve across the stone.
Regulus watched her go, then turned toward his next class.
History of Magic with Professor Binns. The easiest part of the day, he told himself.
He was wrong, but not for the usual reason.
---
Friday arrived with a sky that looked newly washed. The light over the grounds was crisp, and the wind carried a clean bite from the hills.
On the Flying lesson lawn, twenty broomsticks lay in a neat row. They were old, twiggy things, the sort Hogwarts had been using for years.
Madam Hooch stood before the line, short grey hair ruffled by the breeze. Her eyes were sharp enough to make a first year stand straighter without knowing why.
"All right. Everyone stand to the left of your broom," she called. "Hold your right hand over it and say clearly, Up."
A ragged chorus rose at once.
"Up!"
At the front of the Gryffindor line, a red haired boy with freckles made his broom jump almost instantly into his palm. He grinned smugly, soaking up a few cheers from nearby classmates.
On the Slytherin side, Avery Cuthbert's broom rolled half a circle before it rose, slow and reluctant. He clicked his tongue in irritation.
Hermes Mulciber tried twice. On the second attempt, his broom jerked up violently and nearly struck his chin.
Regulus lowered his gaze to the old Cleansweep at his feet.
"Up."
He did not bark the word. He did not plead.
The broom trembled, hesitated for a single beat, then rose neatly into his open hand.
"Excellent," Madam Hooch said, pacing between the lines.
Her gaze swept the class again.
"Now listen carefully. When I count to three, you push off gently. Let the broom rise about a foot. Then hover."
"No higher than my shoulder. One. Two. Three."
Chaos followed, as expected.
Brooms shot up too fast. Girls yelped. Boys shouted bravado that did nothing to help their balance. At least four students lost control and rocketed upward. One Gryffindor girl shrieked, clinging to her broom handle until Madam Hooch slowed her with a quick charm.
Regulus hovered exactly a foot above the grass, steady as stone.
His posture barely shifted. Only the hem of his black robes moved, fluttering in the wind with slow rhythm.
"Merlin's beard," a tall, thin Gryffindor boy whispered to his companion. "Look at that Slytherin. He is as steady as if he is glued to the sky."
Not far away, a brown haired Gryffindor girl noticed it too.
Her own hovering was decent, with slight bobbing as the wind nudged her. But Regulus's steadiness was something else. No wasted movement. Every correction so precise it felt as if he knew the broom's reaction before it happened.
"Eyes forward," Madam Hooch snapped, correcting a student who had begun spinning. "Do not look down."
"Now try moving forward slowly. Feel the broom respond. Treat it like a living partner."
The lines started to move, clumsy and crooked. Most first years wobbled along in uncertain arcs, speeding up and slowing down without meaning to.
Regulus glided forward fifteen feet, speed constant, path straight, then turned left when instructed. His broom obeyed as if it had been trained.
"Hmph. Putting on airs," a stocky Gryffindor boy muttered, thick brows drawn down.
His broom was carving embarrassing loops, the contrast almost cruel.
"He really does have better control, Alphard," the girl beside him said, matter of fact.
"Good as a block of wood," Alphard raised his voice, letting the wind carry it toward the Slytherin line. "Not moving a muscle. Afraid of falling off, are you? Flying takes nerve."
A few Gryffindors chuckled.
On the Slytherin side, Avery frowned. Hermes shot Alphard a dark look. Alex Rosier glanced at Regulus with visible concern.
Regulus behaved as if he had not heard a word.
Alphard Prewett's face tightened.
As the lesson moved into the second half, Madam Hooch allowed free practice while she helped a handful of struggling students. The lawn scattered into small groups.
Alphard deliberately steered his broom toward the Slytherin side, two friends flanking him.
"So, Black," Alphard called, hovering a few feet away, "does your family train you to ride a broom like a statue? Got to keep that noble image, I suppose."
Avery drove his broom forward instantly.
"Watch your mouth, Prewett."
"I am talking to Black, Cuthbert," Alphard challenged, chin lifted. "Or does he need other people to speak for him?"
Regulus turned his head slowly. Grey eyes, calm and unreadable, settled on Alphard.
"Prewett," he said, voice quiet. "What are you trying to prove? Gryffindor courage, or Prewett upbringing?"
"A Slytherin brat lecturing me about upbringing?" Alphard snapped.
Regulus did not react. He simply watched Alphard until the boy's face flushed with anger.
Then he spoke, still quiet.
"Do you have any?"
Alphard froze for half a heartbeat. Then rage swallowed the pause.
If he did not respond, he would look ridiculous. Everyone was watching now, pretending not to.
Alphard's hand shot to his wand.
His two friends followed, wands drawn and pointed toward the Slytherin side.
Avery drew his wand almost at once, expression tight with wariness and a flicker of excitement. Hermes's face darkened as he slid his wand into his hand and nudged his broom forward to align with Avery.
Alex went pale. He hesitated, then raised his wand with shaking fingers, though it pointed at empty air.
Alphard shouted, "Expelliarmus!"
Regulus lifted his wand.
"Expelliarmus."
His spell launched after Alphard's, but it arrived first. It was tighter, cleaner, more focused. The two red beams met precisely in midair and burst into a shower of sparks.
The Disarming Charms collided and cancelled each other out.
For a heartbeat, the wind seemed to stop.
"What?" Alphard blurted, stunned.
Around them, students stared, mouths open, eyes wide.
The Disarming Charm could be used like that?