Chapter 32: Slughorn
Horace Slughorn's office, much like the man himself, was steeped in a carefully curated sort of comfort and wealth.
The air carried the layered fragrance of costly Potion ingredients, sweet and sharp at once. Photographs of celebrated witches and wizards covered the walls, their subjects smiling and waving as if they had never left the room. On the desk, silver instruments gleamed under the lamplight, and the armchairs were upholstered in velvet so thick it looked like you could sink into it and disappear.
"Ah, Regulus, my dear boy, come in," Slughorn boomed, his round belly arriving a heartbeat before the rest of him. His cheeks were rosy, his eyes bright, and he looked delighted to have a visitor.
"Sit, sit. A little mead, perhaps. Or a lemon sherbet."
"Thank you, Professor, but no thank you," Regulus replied politely, taking the chair indicated with a posture that was proper without being stiff.
He studied Slughorn in silence.
The man was undeniably shrewd. He collected talented students the way some people collected rare ingredients, not out of cruelty, but out of instinct. Talent, family name, and future usefulness all mattered to him. He also had an excellent sense for danger, and an even better sense for when to step aside.
A classic Slytherin investor in favours, not a villain, simply someone who pushed the art of opportunity as far as it would go.
"I heard about the little incident in the common room last night," Slughorn said, rubbing his hands together as though warming them over a fire. His gooseberry coloured eyes gleamed with interest.
"That Travers boy. Always so impulsive, not quite mature enough. But you handled it very well, very decently. Exactly the sort of composure one expects from the House of Black."
Regulus felt a flicker of amusement that he kept carefully off his face. Slughorn called it decent. Regulus had essentially dismantled the boy and paraded him in front of half the house. Whatever counted as the Black style, it clearly had a very generous definition.
He merely dipped his head in acknowledgement.
"I believe," Slughorn continued, lowering his voice and leaning forward as if they were sharing a delicious secret, "that with your talent and temperament, you will become someone of real importance in our world."
He beamed.
"I love to see excellent young people shine. If you ever need help with Potions, or anything else, my club, my collection, even some of my small connections are always open to you."
Regulus understood the shape of the offer. Slughorn avoided the name everyone was thinking about, but his meaning was clear. He believed a new era was coming, and he wanted to place his chip early, while the odds were still favourable.
Regulus let a hint of age appropriate humility show.
"Thank you very much for your confidence, Professor. In fact, I do have a question, about a rather obscure direction in Potions. I was hoping you might advise me."
"Oh," Slughorn said at once, eyes brightening further. "Tell me."
"I have seen references in some very old family fragments," Regulus began, choosing each word with care, sounding like a curious student rather than someone with a plan, "to sacrificial rites where the officiants would draw complex totems or runes on their skin. The texts claim it allowed a brief communication with a particular power."
He paused, then continued smoothly.
"I wondered whether it might be possible to create a similar external drawing material through a Potion. Something that could be safely applied to the skin and release its potency gradually. In other words, processing ingredients with specific effects into a form that can adhere, remain stable, and work over time."
Slughorn's fingers drifted to his chin. His expression shifted from pleased to genuinely thoughtful.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Very old, very obscure."
He nodded to himself as he spoke.
"Drawing runes directly onto the body is extraordinarily risky. But using a Potion medium as a carrier. There are records, yes. Ancient northern wizards used ointments prepared from dragon blood, troll heart powder, and frost crystal flowers to grant temporary strength. The side effects were… considerable."
He gave Regulus a pointed look, as if to make sure the warning landed.
"If you want it safe, durable, and specific, you are dealing with material stability, skin permeability, controlled release. And preventing magical conflict and backlash. That is a complex subject, my boy."
The more he explained, the more animated he became. It was obvious the problem delighted him.
"However, it is not impossible. I recall a basic carrier formula mentioned in the appendix of Hidden Pharmaceutics that might be adaptable. And there are traditions at Uagadou, in Africa, where practitioners draw rune work with plant juices mixed with mineral powders. It is said to improve magical resistance."
Slughorn's gaze turned eager, almost boyish.
"I would need to check references and think through the theory properly, but if you are serious about this direction, we might have some safe, theoretical discussions during the holidays and test a few gentle base formulas. With absolute caution, of course."
"That is exactly what I hoped for, Professor," Regulus said, inclining his head. "Thank you for your guidance."
When he left Slughorn's office, he felt a quiet satisfaction settle into him. One key plank had been placed. Not the whole structure, but enough to build on.
At lunchtime, two owls with utterly different demeanours landed in front of him almost at the same moment. Their talons clicked on the table as they dropped two letters, one thick and one thin.
The first was from Walburga.
Her handwriting was fierce, sweeping, and brimming with heat.
"My proud son,
News has already reached us. You defeated the provocateur and defended the dignity and glory of the Blacks. Well done. This is how a Black heir should be. Silence those doubters.
The family is proud of you. Your father and I are immensely proud of you.
Continue to show your strength. Let everyone see that the House of Black will take a leading position in the great changes to come.
We are ready to answer That Lord's call and fight for the future of pure bloods. You will be our sword and our glory.
Keep your edge, my Regulus. Remember your mission and your bloodline."
The fanatic pride between the lines was unmistakable. Regulus folded the parchment neatly and set it aside without a change in expression.
The second letter was from Orion.
The handwriting was controlled, measured, and restrained.
"Regulus,
I have heard of your recent performance. Be mindful of moderation when displaying your abilities. Do not make enemies lightly.
Slytherin relationships are complex. Strength is the foundation, but knowing when to adapt and weigh options is how you establish yourself over the long term.
The situation outside is becoming increasingly tense, and matters at home are complicated. Your mother's attitude is currently very proactive. You should be clear about this in your own mind.
Focus on your studies and your improvement. Hogwarts remains stable enough for now. Make good use of its resources.
Attached is an update to your library access. You may now consult the books on shelves seven through twelve.
Knowledge brings not only power, but wisdom."
Two letters. Two expectations. Two directions pulling at the same name.
Regulus tucked them both away. His father was warning him that a storm was coming. His mother could not wait to walk straight into it.
Across the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table, the mood in one corner had gone oddly flat.
Sirius Black jabbed at the mashed potatoes on his plate with far more force than necessary, his face dark and closed.
He had, of course, heard about Regulus.
There had been shock, yes, but not the sort that made his world tilt. Sirius had always known his younger brother was different. He had simply not expected the difference to be this sharp, this immediate, this public.
What made his stomach knot was not jealousy.
It was fear, dressed up as irritation.
The more brilliantly Regulus performed, the more he satisfied Slytherin and the pure blood circles, the more likely he was to be noticed by the one person Sirius did not want looking his way.
The image came unbidden: Regulus in black robes, standing behind Voldemort, swallowed by that cold, violent orbit.
Sirius's chest tightened, even though he had told himself for years to be ready for it.
"Oi, Sirius, don't make that face," James Potter said, clapping him on the shoulder. He clearly thought Sirius was sulking about a Slytherin showing off.
"It's just winning against some fifth year idiot. Travers was never any good anyway. Your brother got lucky, and he used some underhanded tricks."
Sirius shook his head and said nothing.
James mistook the silence for agreement. He leaned closer, voice dropping with conspiratorial confidence.
"Don't worry, mate. I've disliked him for a while. All high and mighty on the train, remember. I wrote to my dad and asked. He says that method of directly solidifying spells, while rare, definitely has weaknesses. Either it eats power like mad, or it fails against fast, dense attacks."
His eyes darted to the side, where Remus and Peter were listening.
"I talked it over with Remus and Peter. We'll find a chance to show him what's what and get a bit of payback for you."
Sirius's head snapped up.
"James, don't."
"Relax," James said, cutting him off with a grin and an infuriating wink. "We know what we're doing. We won't make it hard for you. We'll catch him when he's alone, make it quick, and leave him with a very deep impression."
Remus Lupin frowned slightly, as if a warning wanted to be spoken. Then he saw James's excitement, saw Sirius's expression, and let out a quiet sigh instead.
Peter Pettigrew nodded quickly, eyes darting, as though agreeing was safer than thinking.
Sirius stared at James, the words of argument rising and then sinking again.
James was doing it for him. And when James decided something, shifting him was like shifting a mountain with a teaspoon.
More than that, buried beneath Sirius's anger and unease, there was a darker sliver of curiosity.
He wanted to see.
He wanted to know whether James and the others could actually force Regulus to reveal more of what he had become.