Time was running out—he had to become stronger at all costs.
Regulus pushed himself at 200% effort.
Except for his non-negotiable eight hours of sleep each night, every moment of his day was planned with high-efficiency homework sessions, painstaking research, information gathering, climbing practice, and stealth drills.
Even his leisure time was scheduled in advance.
He was either getting things done or on the way to get things done, often surviving on sandwiches stuffed into his robe pocket.
This must be what the academic overachiever version of a British boarding student's life looked like.
And he wasn't the only one busy.
In fact, aside from a few seventh-years who already had their post-graduation plans sorted, nearly every student was buzzing around like a honeybee—cramming for exams, squeezing in last-minute adventures before the summer holiday, and savoring time with friends.
The Room of Requirement, as always, was a massive help.
Regulus hadn't shared it with anyone yet. With the term ending soon, he figured he'd leave that for next semester.
Amidst this focused and fulfilling rhythm, time quietly passed.
…
At the end-of-year feast, the Great Hall was newly transformed with magic. Every face glowed with the joy of graduation or the approaching summer break. Of course, there were also small groups like Sirius's, reluctant to leave and wishing they could just settle down at Hogwarts forever, saying long and lingering goodbyes.
The staff table was also packed. Professor McGonagall, Professor Slughorn, Professor Sprout, and Professor Flitwick were seated around the central figure—Albus Dumbledore.
As a side note: this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had accidentally hexed himself and was currently under the care of a medical team from St. Mungo's.
The Hogwarts House Cup ceremony, as usual, was presided over by Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Dumbledore rose from the staff dais, tall and lean, his silver-white beard and hair gleaming in the light. His famously crooked nose held up his signature half-moon spectacles.
The gold embroidery on his elegant purple robes shimmered fluidly, exuding a tasteful and refined aesthetic.
This was the first time since arriving in this world that Regulus had seen Dumbledore up close.
Having been busy from day one, he never made a point to approach the Headmaster, and thus hadn't had a real opportunity to interact with the man whose list of titles was longer than a Chocolate Frog card could show.
Under the brilliant candlelight, Regulus couldn't make out the color of Dumbledore's eyes, but he could feel the piercing weight of his gaze.
The First White Wizard—truly formidable.
"This year, first of all, congratulations to Gryffindor for winning the Quidditch Cup! It was a thrilling match. Well done, little lions of Gryffindor!"
A round of cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table.
"Now then," Dumbledore continued, "as I understand it, we must proceed with the awarding of the House Cup. The final point totals for each House are as follows: In fourth place, Gryffindor with 312 points; in third, Hufflepuff with 352 points; Ravenclaw, 426 points; and Slytherin in first place with 472 points!"
The Slytherin table erupted into thunderous cheers and the stamping of feet.
This time, with no last-minute additions from Dumbledore, Slytherin had won the House Cup fair and square.
Dumbledore smiled and motioned for quiet. Just then, to everyone's surprise, a group of first-year students led by Regulus rose from one end of the Slytherin table.
Amid the confused hush, a song no one had ever heard before suddenly rang out through the Great Hall—
🎵 "We are the champions, my friends."
"We'll keep on fighting till the end."
"We are the champions."
"We are the champions."
"Because we are the champions of the world!" 🎵
This was something Regulus had organized with his classmates during a Charms class after Slytherin secured the House Cup following the Quidditch match. The song was simple and hadn't taken long to rehearse.
Singing for their House's victory—what a fun idea. The activity was instantly embraced by the young students. Thanks to Regulus's influence—by this point, he had firmly secured his spot as one of the standout figures of the first year—the moment was a hit.
The catchy melody, paired with the simple, rousing lyrics, drew more Slytherins into the chorus. Before long, it turned into a full-blown Slytherin House singalong.
The first-year snakes, having rehearsed the high notes in advance, led the song into a triumphant climax. One by one, they straightened their backs, heads held high, glowing with pride.
Even Professor Slughorn began softly joining in, cheerfully keeping the beat at the staff table.
Naturally, those paying close attention had already noted that this little Black boy had clearly become a leader among the first-year Slytherins.
A black-haired, troublemaking, slightly unhinged pure-blood-obsessed little Slytherin—let's hope Dumbledore didn't get a Tom Riddle PTSD flashback.
Well, no, Regulus wasn't quite handsome enough for that…
"As for the Slytherin side, I'll handle it. 'Unite all forces that can be united,' as one wise person once said," Regulus had declared.
The one who might genuinely give Dumbledore PTSD—Sirius Black—was now thinking about those words his younger brother had spoken, his expression thoughtful.
At the head table, Dumbledore clapped along, and even raised his wand to conduct the final chorus.
"Ah, music! The enchanting magic that connects hearts. I believe that every one of you who made it through another year is a true champion! And that just about sums up this school year. Thank you, everyone!"
With a wave of his wand, the tables filled with a magnificent feast.
Dumbledore's leadership speech style could best be summarized as: "Just a few quick words," followed shortly by, "Thank you, let's eat." Regulus wholeheartedly agreed with this approach in his heart.
Quite a few Slytherins came over to greet Regulus. Everyone had noticed the sudden and impressive effort he'd shown toward the end of the year.
Combined with his prestigious background, many were already seeing him as a rising star in Slytherin House.
"Outstanding. Excellent. You didn't let us down!" Cousin Narcissa, upon learning that Regulus had organized the choir, was thoroughly pleased.
She even hugged him in front of everyone. "From now on, you're the only representative of the House of Black at Hogwarts. You must uphold our family's honor and become a prefect like Lucius!"
Narcissa, very much in love, couldn't go three sentences without mentioning Lucius.
Today, Narcissa wore a silver form-fitting gown—elegant, graceful, ethereal, like a woodland fairy.
Click! One of Narcissa's girlfriends pulled out a magically enhanced camera, capturing the moment.
Ah, so it was graduation photo day for the girls. That explained a lot.
Regulus joined in as well, smiling for the camera.
…
Exam results came out, and just like that, it was time to head home.
Notices were sent to every student, reminding them that they were forbidden to use magic during the holidays.
Upon receiving the notice, Regulus suddenly understood the importance of friendships between Muggle-born and wizard-born students—
Wizard-born kids could use magic at home without detection. Obviously, this rule disproportionately affected Muggle-borns. So, if a Muggle-born wanted to use magic, they had to visit a wizard's home.
Just like Hermione at the Burrow.
Regulus glanced at Severus—thanks to Lily, his summer probably wouldn't be too lonely.
"Hey there, young Black," Hagrid greeted him as he helped them board from the dock.
"Happy summer, Mr. Hagrid." Regulus replied with ease, much to the shock or nervous curiosity of the younger Slytherins around him.
On the Hogwarts Express, Regulus shared a compartment with his Slytherin classmates.
Sunlight shone on the table piled with snacks, and beside him, Severus was chewing on a Chocolate Frog.
Regulus listened to the idle chatter, chiming in now and then, but spent most of his time turned toward the window—
The scenery outside shifted from green valleys to serene countryside landscapes.
Si vis pacem, para bellum!
London, here I come.
Year One—Complete.