Time was running out. At all costs, he absolutely had to—
Become stronger!
Regulus threw himself into a grueling schedule with 200% effort. Aside from the strictly non-negotiable eight hours of sleep he required to function, every single minute of his day was aggressively optimized. He was diligently completing his assignments, scouring the library for historical information like searching for a needle in a haystack, covertly gathering intelligence on the student body, and ruthlessly grinding his 'Climbing' and 'Stealth' proficiencies.
Even his designated 'entertainment time' was meticulously planned in advance. He was either actively causing trouble all day, or sprinting through the corridors on his way to cause trouble, frequently surviving solely on cold sandwiches he had aggressively shoved into his robe pockets at breakfast.
This, he thought grimly, chewing on a stale piece of bread while hanging upside down from a suit of armor to grind his Stealth stat, must be what the life of a top-tier British student actually feels like.
However, his frantic busyness wasn't entirely unique. In fact, with the notable exception of a few lazy seventh-years whose graduation and career paths at the Ministry were already comfortably secured by nepotism, almost every single student in the castle was currently buzzing around like a panicked little bee. They were desperately cramming for their final exams, rushing to finish their last-minute, rule-breaking adventures before the summer holidays hit, and trying to squeeze in as much time with their friends as physically possible.
The Room of Requirement continued to be his absolute greatest asset during this brutal period. Regulus hadn't yet shared the secret of the room with anyone else, not even his brother. Anyway, he reasoned, the summer holidays are basically here. I'll think about letting the Gryffindors in on the secret next semester.
Set to this incredibly diligent, hyper-fulfilling rhythm, the remaining weeks of the term quietly flowed by.
At the massive Leaving Feast celebrating the end of the school year, the Great Hall had been newly decorated with spectacular magic. The air hummed with energy, and every single student's face was beaming with the sheer, unadulterated joy of graduation or the rapidly approaching summer holidays.
Of course, there were also highly co-dependent groups—like Sirius, James, Remus, and Peter—who were already acting profoundly reluctant to part ways, looking as though they were plotting a way to simply permanently settle down in the Gryffindor common room over the break.
The high table was fully seated. Professor McGonagall, Professor Slughorn, Professor Sprout, and Professor Flitwick sat clustered respectfully around Dumbledore in the center.
(On a side note: the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for this year was conspicuously absent. Rumor had it the poor man had accidentally hit himself with a severely botched ricochet curse during a practical demonstration, and was currently receiving long-term, intensive care from the magical medical team at St. Mungo's.)
It was time for the annual House Cup Awarding Ceremony. As usual, it was to be presided over by the Headmaster himself: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Headmaster Dumbledore stood up gracefully from his golden chair at the center of the platform. His figure was incredibly tall and painfully thin, and his silver-white hair and beard sparkled under the enchanted ceiling. Resting precariously on his slightly crooked, twice-broken nose were his famous half-moon spectacles. Tonight, he was wearing magnificent, deep purple wizard's robes heavily embroidered with shimmering golden constellations. The fabric was lively and flowed beautifully as he moved, showcasing an unexpectedly excellent aesthetic taste.
This was actually the very first time Regulus had seen Dumbledore up close since transmigrating into this world. Being a busy, terrified first-year, he simply hadn't had the time to deliberately seek out the Headmaster. Thus, he had never really had the opportunity to interact with the legendary Grand Sorcerer—a man who canonically possessed more political titles in the Wizarding World than could be easily counted, and whose face was literally certified on millions of Chocolate Frog cards.
Even from his seat at the Slytherin table, bathed in the brilliant candlelight, Regulus couldn't quite make out the exact color of the Headmaster's eyes. But he could clearly feel the immense, piercing power in Dumbledore's gaze—a terrifyingly perceptive look that felt as though it could reach directly into a person's soul and read their deepest secrets.
The First White Wizard, Regulus thought, a cold shiver running down his spine. Truly terrifying.
"Another year gone!" Dumbledore's voice boomed magically across the hall, instantly silencing the chatter. "This year, first of all, I must offer my most sincere congratulations to Gryffindor House for winning the Quidditch Championship! The final match was exceptionally exciting. Congratulations to the little lions of Gryffindor!"
A deafening, triumphant cheer instantly erupted from the Gryffindor table, led primarily by James Potter standing on his bench.
"Now," Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling, "as far as I know, we must proceed with the House Cup awarding ceremony. The detailed scores for each House are as follows: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points. In third place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points. Ravenclaw, with four hundred and twenty-six points. And finally... Slytherin, with four hundred and seventy-two points!"
A massive, thunderous cheer and the aggressive, synchronized stomping of expensive dragon-hide boots erupted from the Slytherin long table.
This time, thankfully, Dumbledore didn't pull any last-minute, deeply biased Gryffindor point-grants out of thin air. Slytherin was the undisputed, well-deserved champion.
Dumbledore smiled warmly and raised a hand, gracefully gesturing for silence. Just then, to the absolute shock of the entire hall, a large group of first-year Slytherins—led confidently by Regulus Black—stood up in perfect unison from the far end of their table.
Amidst the deeply surprised, slightly confused silence of the other three Houses, a highly rhythmic, deeply unusual song that no one in the magical world had ever heard before suddenly echoed through the ancient Hogwarts Great Hall.
"We are the champions, my friends!" "And we'll keep on fighting 'til the end!" "We are the champions!" "We are the champions!" "No time for losers, 'cause we are the champions... of the world!"
Regulus had seen the writing on the wall. When Slytherin had officially secured the point lead after the Quidditch match, Regulus had secretly rallied his entire first-year class. He had ruthlessly drilled them in an abandoned classroom after Charms, teaching them the Muggle rock anthem. The song was incredibly simple, the rhythm was deeply infectious, and it hadn't taken much time to master.
Singing loudly and arrogantly for their House's definitive victory was an incredibly fun, unifying activity, and it had immediately gained the young wizards' enthusiastic approval. It was also a massive testament to Regulus's rapidly growing rallying power; by the end of this semester, the quiet, mysterious Black heir had undeniably become one of the most highly respected 'popular figures' among the first-years.
The catchy, aggressive melody and the simple, deeply inspiring lyrics quickly led more and more upper-year Slytherins to join the chorus, completely abandoning their pureblood reserve. Within seconds, it had evolved into a massive, roaring choir for the entirety of Slytherin House. The first-year 'little snakes' brought the song to a soaring climax with their pre-trained high notes, creating their own legendary highlight moment. Every single student puffed out their chest and raised their head, exceptionally proud.
Finally, even Professor Slughorn broke his professional composure. He began humming along softly, a massive grin on his face as he happily tapped his velvet-slippered foot beneath the teachers' table.
Of course, the more politically astute students and teachers who paid close attention also noticed something highly significant: this unusually quiet little boy from the notoriously dark House of Black had clearly, seamlessly become the undisputed leader of his Slytherin cohort.
A highly charismatic, dark-haired little Slytherin... who casually breaks rules, possesses immense magical talent, secretly rallies students behind him, and belongs to a family madly infatuated with pure-blood supremacy...
Regulus suddenly panicked internally. Oh sweet Merlin. I really, really hope Dumbledore doesn't suddenly get massive Tom Riddle PTSD from watching this! He quickly consoled himself. No, no. It's fine. My version of Regulus doesn't have the whole 'manipulative orphan' vibe going for him.
Across the hall, Sirius—who was actually the Black brother truly qualified to give Headmaster Dumbledore severe disciplinary PTSD—was staring at the Slytherin choir. He was carefully contemplating something Regulus had told him in the library: "On the Slytherin side, I will find a way to unite all forces that can be united." A deeply thoughtful, highly complex expression settled on Sirius's handsome face.
Up on the platform, Dumbledore didn't look traumatized at all. In fact, he was delighted. He began clapping his hands enthusiastically, actually using his Elder Wand as a glowing baton to conduct the final, roaring chorus of Queen's legendary track.
"Ah, music!" Dumbledore beamed, his voice echoing over the applause. "A magic truly beyond all we do here! It is a moving force that deeply connects our hearts. I firmly believe that all of you who have successfully completed another rigorous year of study are true champions! That perfectly sums up our school year. Thank you all!"
With a sweeping, dramatic wave of his wand, a massive, unbelievable feast of food instantly materialized on the four long tables.
Dumbledore's entire leadership speech style could effectively be summarized as: 'I'll just say a few deeply profound words, and then... thank you, now eat.' Regulus couldn't help but deeply, profoundly agree with the man's priorities.
Throughout the feast, dozens of older Slytherins casually strolled over to greet Regulus. Everyone had witnessed how he had inexplicably put in massive, terrifying effort at the end of the year and achieved incredibly considerable academic and social results. Coupled with his flawless, impeccable pureblood background, many of the older students were already highly willing to view him as the next rising political star within Slytherin House.
"Outstanding, Regu! Absolutely excellent! You are truly living up to our expectations!" Narcissa beamed. She was highly pleased when she learned that Regulus had single-handedly organized the choir activity to assert Slytherin dominance. She even broke protocol and hugged him affectionately in front of everyone in the hall. "From now on, you are the sole true representative of the Noble House of Black at Hogwarts. You must continue to aggressively uphold our family's honor, and you will undoubtedly become a prefect just like my Lucius in the future!"
Regulus suppressed a sigh. Narcissa, who was currently deeply, blindly in love, found it physically impossible to speak three sentences without somehow mentioning Lucius Malfoy.
Today, the icy House Beauty was wearing a beautifully fitted, shimmering silver robe. She looked incredibly graceful, moving with a light, devastatingly beautiful elegance, resembling a literal fairy queen walking through the woods.
Click! A bright, blinding flash of magical powder erupted nearby. One of Narcissa's sycophantic friends had pulled out a heavy magical camera and perfectly captured the hugging moment.
Ah, Regulus realized. So today is the day the seventh-year girls take their obsessive graduation photos. No wonder she's dressed up. No wonder she's being so publicly affectionate.
Playing his part perfectly, Regulus turned, straightened his posture, and offered the camera a flawless, aristocratic smile.
After the final exam results were officially posted in the common rooms, it was suddenly time to pack their trunks and go home.
Standard Ministry notices were handed out to every single student as they boarded the carriages, strictly warning them against the use of underage magic during the holidays.
Upon receiving his official warning slip, Regulus stared at the parchment, suddenly realizing a massive, deeply unfair truth about the wizarding world: the absolute importance of Muggle-born wizards actively making friends with pureblood wizards.
Because of the Ministry's archaic tracking spell—the Trace—if a young wizard from a magical family used a spell inside their highly magical home, the Ministry couldn't pinpoint who exactly cast it. It was completely untraceable. This archaic system was clearly, intentionally designed to be highly disadvantageous to young Muggle-borns, who would trigger the Trace the second they lit their wands in a Muggle suburb.
Therefore, if a Muggle-born student desperately wanted to legally practice magic over the summer, they had absolutely no choice but to get invited to stay at another wizard's house.
Just like Hermione desperately spending every summer at The Burrow, Regulus mused.
He casually glanced over at Severus, who was staring blankly at his own warning slip. Well, considering he lives right down the street from Lily Evans, it seems his summer holidays won't be entirely lonely.
"Hey there, little Black," a booming voice called out. Hagrid, who was responsible for safely escorting the first-years from the castle down to the boathouse to board the train, offered Regulus a warm, friendly wave.
"Happy holidays, Mr. Hagrid," Regulus responded naturally, offering a graceful, highly respectful bow.
Around him, a dozen little Slytherins gasped, staring at him with deeply shocked, utterly fearful gazes, completely horrified that their unofficial leader was casually fraternizing with the 'half-breed' Groundskeeper.
An hour later, comfortably seated on the Hogwarts Express, Regulus and his inner circle of Slytherin classmates claimed an entire compartment. The warm afternoon sunlight poured through the window, illuminating a small table piled absurdly high with expensive sweets and snacks.
Severus sat next to him, aggressively chewing on the leg of a Chocolate Frog. He listened quietly to his aristocratic classmates chatting and boasting about their summer plans, occasionally joining in with a sharp, sarcastic comment, but mostly, he kept his face turned, staring blankly out the glass window.
Outside, the view rapidly blurred, shifting from the lush, wild green valleys of the Scottish Highlands to the incredibly refreshing, manicured countryside scenery of southern England.
Regulus leaned back against the plush velvet seat, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon. He flexed his fingers, feeling the new callouses from his climbing training.
Si vis pacem, para bellum. If you want peace, prepare for war.
London... here I come.
First year, officially finished.