Regulus moved to the very front and stopped beside Narcissa. A sixth-year from the Nott family snorted and muttered, "Black kid, there's no place for you here."
Regulus ignored him, but he remembered the face.
His gaze shifted to the opposite side of the corridor. Frank Longbottom already had his wand raised, the tip beginning to glow. It was the opening movement of a disarming charm.
Almost at the same moment, Lucretius Burke lifted his hand as well.
They were about to start.
Regulus was faster.
His right hand flicked, wand snapping forward. A burst of invisible force slammed into Frank Longbottom's wand.
It was not a spell at all, just raw magical interference. Frank's casting rhythm shattered, and the light at his wand tip collapsed instantly.
The trick itself was not impressive. Any experienced adult wizard could have handled it easily. Against a student with limited combat experience, it was exactly enough.
At the same time, Regulus's left hand closed around Lucretius Burke's wrist.
Lucretius had been about to cast when his wrist was suddenly pinned. He reacted on instinct, trying to wrench free, but the grip was like iron.
It was not just physical strength. Something stranger was at work. He felt his magic choke at the source, the flow cut off midstream. His entire arm went numb, and his wand nearly slipped from his fingers.
He turned sharply, shock written across his face.
Regulus did not look at him. His eyes were on Narcissa.
His goal was to stop a house clash before it ignited. Any spell could become the spark, so he chose disruption and restraint instead.
Narcissa had been about to draw her wand. When she met Regulus's eyes, she saw him give the faintest shake of his head.
Her wrist paused. She did not move.
The entire exchange lasted only a moment. Students on both sides froze.
Everyone saw Regulus act. Both prefects stopped at the same time, and no one understood why.
They could not make sense of it.
On the Gryffindor side, Frank Longbottom stared at his wand, then at Regulus, disbelief plain on his face.
On the Slytherin side, Lucretius was still trying to pull free, but the hand on his wrist did not budge.
James Potter could not see what was happening and kept shouting from the crowd, "Dirty tricks! Snakes!"
Sirius joined in, bouncing at his side. "No honor at all!"
"Enough." Frank Longbottom cut them off. His eyes stayed on Regulus. "Who are you?"
"Regulus Black." Regulus released Lucretius's wrist. His posture was reserved, but his presence filled the space. "First year."
"First year?" Frank frowned and glanced past him at Lucretius and Narcissa.
Two seventh-year prefects were allowing a first-year to stand in front?
He knew who Regulus Black was. What he did not know was how this Black had managed that.
Lucretius flexed his wrist, his expression dark. He said nothing.
Narcissa stepped half a pace forward, positioning herself just behind Regulus. It looked like support, or perhaps protection.
Regulus looked back to Frank. "Prefect Longbottom, Madam Hooch's ruling has already taken effect. If Gryffindor disputes the call, there is a formal process for appeal. This is not the place."
He turned his head toward Slytherin, though the words were meant for both sides. "As for fouls during the match, the referee issued warnings. Competing within the limits of the rules is part of sport. If the rules feel unfair, push to change them, or learn to play within them."
"Post-match retaliation is not dignified."
James opened his mouth again, but Frank raised a hand to stop him. The seventh-year prefect studied Regulus for a few seconds, then nodded.
"You're right. This should go to the professors."
He lowered his wand. The Gryffindor students behind him followed suit, one by one, though their glares remained sharp.
At that moment, Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn arrived.
The two professors forced their way through the crowd. Seeing that the standoff had broken, both of them let out quiet breaths.
Professor McGonagall's gaze swept over both sides, stern and commanding. "All of you, return to your common rooms at once. Prefects, control your houses."
Professor Slughorn stepped in front of Regulus, his round face split by an approving smile. "Handled very well, Mr. Black. Slytherin and Gryffindor should not come to this over a match."
Regulus dipped his head slightly. "I only wanted to keep things from escalating, Professor."
"A wise approach." Slughorn patted his shoulder, then looked to Lucretius and Narcissa. "Take Slytherin back."
The crowd began to disperse. As Regulus turned, he felt a gaze on him.
He looked toward the professor's platform. Dumbledore was still seated, watching from afar. The eyes behind his half-moon glasses were unreadable.
Regulus did not linger. He looked away and headed back.
The Slytherin students parted for him automatically. This time, it was not just the younger ones. Even upper-years made room.
Some faces showed displeasure but stayed silent. Others frowned in thought. A few were simply enjoying the spectacle.
Cuthbert, Hermes, and Alex caught up to him. Cuthbert leaned close and whispered, "Regulus, just now you—"
"Later," Regulus said, cutting him off.
When the corridor finally emptied, Professor Slughorn and Professor McGonagall exchanged a look.
Slughorn's face was full of admiration as he stared at the space where Regulus had vanished. "Minerva, that was impressive, was it not?"
"His handling was efficient," Professor McGonagall replied, concern threading her voice. "But he's only a first-year. It's too early."
She remembered Dumbledore's words. Regulus had no interest in authority. Yet for a wizard, power and influence together became authority.
And Regulus was acquiring both at an alarming pace.
In other houses, this might not have mattered.
In Slytherin, it was different.
"Some people are destined to stand out," Slughorn said cheerfully.
Professor McGonagall remained thoughtful. She decided she would speak to Dumbledore later about Mr. Black.
"Perhaps."
That night, in the Slytherin Common Room.
The fireplace burned hot, green flames casting shifting shadows across the stone walls. Most students were murmuring about the match.
They had won, but it had not felt satisfying. Many resented Regulus for stopping what could have been a proper clash with Gryffindor.
Still, given Regulus's growing reputation and the strength he had displayed, no one dared confront him yet.
Regulus occupied a sofa by himself, an unmarked book resting on his knees.
He was practicing constant Protego. He had already passed the introductory stage and now possessed a solid defensive capability.
Around nine o'clock, Lucretius arrived. He sat on the sofa opposite Regulus. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke.
"About today," Lucretius said, his voice subdued, no longer carrying the polished arrogance of their first meeting. "When you pinned my wrist… how did you do that?"
Regulus leaned back slightly and looked at him. "Just a small technique."
"A small technique?" Lucretius lifted his right hand and rolled his wrist.
"It's still a little numb. My magic doesn't flow smoothly. I thought about it all afternoon. I even asked Professor Slughorn. He said it was a very advanced method, direct magical interference through physical contact."
"Yet you're only a first-year. How?"
His voice was low, meant only for the two of them. When he finished, his stare locked onto Regulus, intense and unyielding.
Regulus met his gaze calmly, expression flat.
Lucretius Burke, eldest son of the Burke family, future heir to Borgin and Burkes, the antique shop that dealt in both light and dark.
In the original timeline, this family had stayed ambiguous during Voldemort's first rise, and somehow emerged unscathed.
Borgin himself was shrewd and powerful. Even Voldemort had worked in his shop once, and Borgin still survived untouched afterward.
People like that deserved caution.
Lucretius, however, was still too green.
"Everyone has their strengths," Regulus said, offering a half-truth. "My control over magic is relatively precise."
"Precise enough to cut off someone else's
magic flow?" Lucretius did not believe him. "My father can't even do that."
"Perhaps your father never showed you."
Lucretius fell silent. Then he laughed, a hint of self-mockery in it. "Fine. If you don't want to say it, I won't push."
"But Black, I owe you one. If you hadn't stepped in today and I'd actually fought Longbottom, Professor McGonagall would have docked Slytherin at least fifty points."
"A prefect leading a fight would cost more than fifty."
Regulus followed his line smoothly. He doubted Lucretius cared much about house points anyway.
For pure-blood Slytherin prefects at this age, points were just a tool to maintain status, nothing more.
"So I owe you one." Lucretius stood, then glanced back before leaving.
Regulus shrugged, unconcerned. Forcing a favor on someone could be an effective social move.
He watched Lucretius's back and considered the shift in attitude. The change was obvious, from condescension to an equal exchange.
That was a good sign.
Show strength.
Reap the return.