𝐈𝐍 𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐒

𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋, the clatter of breakfast echoing around him, his eyes fixed on a plate he had no intention of touching. The morning light filtered through the enchanted ceiling, casting a soft glow over the students, though he found no solace in it. His mind, a turbulent sea of disdain and frustration, churned with thoughts of Tom Riddle.

Riddle. Just the name sent a ripple of irritation through Regulus. He had woken that morning to find Tom looming over him, a shadow cast long and dark in the early dawn. The sight had been unsettling, an intrusion into the sanctuary of his sleep, leaving him with a sour taste that not even the strongest cup of tea could wash away. Regulus prided himself on his patience, a virtue he believed he possessed far beyond his peers. Yet, the urge to lash out, to break the mask he wore, was almost overwhelming.

Tom’s presence was suffocating, an oppressive force that seemed to seep into every corner of their shared dormitory. He had watched, unblinking, as Regulus dressed, his gaze cold and calculating. It reminded Regulus of the way Snape  would stare at the mudblood Evans—a fixation that was both repulsive and pitiable. There was something profoundly unsettling in the intensity of Tom's eyes, a darkness that hinted at ambitions far beyond the walls of Hogwarts.

Regulus pushed the untouched food around his plate, his mind a whirlwind of disdain. The thought of Tom Riddle rising to become Lord Voldemort was a truth he struggled to reconcile. He had once admired the man, and even feared him, for his charisma and cunning were undeniable. Though to discover that the future Dark Lord was of mixed blood—a filthy fucking halfblood masquerading as a pureblood—was an affront to everything Regulus held dear. It was a betrayal that cut deep, fueling a loathing that simmered beneath his composed exterior.

In the Great Hall, the buzz of conversations was a constant hum, but Regulus heard none of it. His thoughts were a spiral, each one feeding into the next that colored his perception of the world around him. He had only been in the past for a few weeks, yet the weight of time travel bore heavily upon him. The knowledge of what was to come, of the darkness that would envelop the world, was a burden he carried alone.

His first day of classes at this version of Hogwarts loomed ahead, a prospect that filled him with a sense of dread. Not for the challenges of academia—those he could handle with ease—but for the continued presence of Riddle. The boy is an upstart, a pretender to the throne of pureblood supremacy, and the very thought of engaging with him once more was exhausting.

The morning dragged on, each moment a trial of endurance. Regulus longed for the solitude of the library, for the quiet refuge of his own thoughts. Yet, even there, he would not be free of Riddle's shadow. The boy was everywhere, a constant reminder of the world Regulus had left behind and the one he found himself trapped in now.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐋𝐔𝐒 walked into the classroom, Tom leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He had anticipated this moment. Professor Slughorn was predictable, a man with a penchant for collecting bright young minds, and the arrival of Regulus Black was an opportunity too tempting for him to resist. The Defeater of Grindelwald and heir to the House of Black, Regulus was destined to become Slughorn’s prized jewel.

As expected, Slughorn practically bounded towards Regulus, his enthusiasm palpable. Tom watched with a detached interest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed the interaction unfold. What intrigued him was not Slughorn’s fawning—that was a given—but Regulus’s response. The way Regulus handled Slughorn was masterful, a dance of subtle manipulation and charm that left the professor beaming with delight.

“Ah, Mr. Black! Such an honor to have you in our class.” Slughorn gushed, his round face flushed with excitement. “I’ve heard so much about your accomplishments.”

Regulus offered a polite smile, inclining his head slightly. “Thank you, Professor. I’m eager to learn from such a distinguished Potions Master.”

Tom couldn’t help but admire the ease with which Regulus navigated the conversation, steering Slughorn’s attention with a deftness that was almost artful. It was a skill Tom recognized and respected, a mark of intelligence and cunning.

As the class settled, Tom’s plan fell into place. The only available seat was beside him, a detail he had orchestrated with careful precision. Regulus hesitated for the briefest moment, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, but he took the seat, his posture rigid and composed.

“Regulus.” Tom greeted, his voice smooth and measured.

“Riddle.” Regulus replied, his tone cool, barely masking the underlying disdain.

Tom chuckled softly, unfazed by the barbed response. There was something fascinating about Regulus, a complexity that drew Tom’s attention like a moth to flame. The disdain, the insults that dripped from Regulus’s tongue, only added to the allure. It was a challenge, a puzzle that begged to be solved.

As Slughorn began the lesson, Tom watched Regulus from the corner of his eye. The way Regulus’s hands moved, precise and deliberate, as he prepared ingredients was captivating. There was a grace to his movements, an elegance that spoke of years of practice and discipline.

“Careful with the valerian root.” Tom advised, his voice a low murmur.

Regulus glanced at him, his expression inscrutable. “I know what I’m doing, Riddle.”

“Of course.” Tom replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise.”

There was a pause, a moment of tense silence, before Regulus returned his attention to the potion. Tom continued to observe, noting the slight furrow in Regulus’s brow, the way his soft lips pressed into a thin line when he concentrated. It was a portrait of intensity, of a mind constantly at work.

“You handle Slughorn well.” Tom commented, breaking the silence.

Regulus’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and assessing. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Tom’s smile widened, a flash of white teeth. “I don’t doubt it. You’ve made quite the impression already.”

“Is that what you think?” Regulus asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I know it.” Tom replied confidently. “You have a way of commanding attention.”

Regulus didn’t respond immediately, his focus shifting back to the simmering cauldron. The scent of brewing potion filled the air, a heady mix of herbs and magic. Tom reveled in the atmosphere, the charged energy of the classroom, the silent battle of wills between him and Regulus.

“Slughorn likes to collect.” Tom continued, his voice a soft undertone. “He sees potential, and he wants to nurture it. You’re exactly the kind of student he adores.”

“Let him adore.” Regulus said, his tone dismissive. “It’s of little consequence to me.”

Tom’s gaze lingered on Regulus, intrigued by the layers of complexity. “You’re different from what I expected.”

Regulus met his gaze, eyes cold and calculating. “And what did you expect, Riddle?”

Tom leaned in slightly, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “A Black consumed by his own legend. But you... you’re something else entirely.”

For a moment, Regulus seemed to consider him, weighing his words carefully. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, a brief glimpse of curiosity that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Don’t presume to know me.” Regulus warned, his voice edged with steel.

Tom inclined his head, acknowledging the warning. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He said, his tone light, almost playful.

The class wore on, each moment a delicate dance of tension and unspoken words. Tom found himself drawn deeper into the enigma that was Regulus Black, captivated by the challenge he presented. There was a power in Regulus, a potential that Tom could sense, and it intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

As the lesson concluded, Tom gathered his things, casting a sidelong glance at Regulus. “I look forward to our next... interaction.”

Regulus arched an eyebrow, his expression one of cool detachment. “Don’t hold your breath, Riddle.”

With that, Regulus stood, his movements fluid and composed, and left the classroom without a backward glance. Tom watched him go, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. The game had begun, and Tom was nothing if not a patient player.

Abraxas remained behind in the now empty classroom, watching Tom with a mixture of awe and apprehension. The air was heavy with the unspoken tension that had filled the room moments before, and Abraxas couldn’t shake the feeling that he was standing at the edge of something monumental. The silent duel between Tom and Regulus had been palpable, an undercurrent of power and defiance that threatened to ignite the world around them.

Tom stood by the window, the sunlight casting sharp shadows across his face. His eyes, usually so composed, flickered with a strange intensity, a hunger that was both mesmerizing and unsettling. Abraxas approached cautiously, choosing his words with care.

"Regulus Black, is a force to be reckoned with." Abraxas said, his voice smooth and measured.

Tom turned slightly, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. "Indeed he is, Abraxas. The most intriguing adversary."

Adversary. The word lingered in the air, a testament to Tom’s view of their interactions. Abraxas felt a chill run down his spine. He knew Tom’s fascination ran deep, but there was something dangerous in the way he spoke of Regulus, something feral and unyielding.

"You seem... captivated by him." Abraxas observed, his tone laced with subtle caution.

Tom’s eyes gleamed with a predatory light. "Captivated? Perhaps. Though it’s more than that. He’s different, a challenge I’ve not encountered before."

Abraxas nodded, choosing his next words carefully. "A challenge that could burn brightly or consume everything in its path."

Tom laughed softly, a sound that was both amused and chilling. "You think I’m playing with fire?"

Abraxas met Tom’s gaze, his expression unreadable. "I think you’re both waiting to ignite. The world may not be ready for such a conflagration."

Tom’s smile widened, a glint of something wild in his eyes. The unhinged edge that lurked beneath Tom’s polished exterior. Abraxas suppressed a shiver, aware of the precarious balance Tom maintained. There was brilliance in him, a charisma that drew others in, but also a darkness that threatened to overshadow everything.

"What of Regulus?" Abraxas asked, probing gently. "Do you believe he shares your view?"

Tom’s expression shifted, thoughtful yet unreadable. "Regulus masks his intentions well, but there’s a storm beneath the surface."

Abraxas considered this, nodding slowly. "A storm that could rival your own."

Tom’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his features. "Precisely. It’s what makes him so fascinating."

Abraxas knew better than to press further, sensing the undercurrent of obsession that threaded through Tom’s words.

"Just be cautious." Abraxas advised, his voice low and earnest. "He is not one to underestimate."

Tom’s eyes met his, a flicker of something almost affectionate in their depths. "Your concern is noted, Abraxas. Though worry not. I have no intention of underestimating him."

Abraxas inclined his head, accepting the reassurance for what it was. Yet, as he watched Tom, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was witnessing the beginning of something that would reshape their world.

As he turned to go, he cast one last glance at Tom, standing at the window.

"May the flames you kindle burn brightly, my friend." Abraxas said softly, his voice carrying a weight of hidden meaning.

Tom’s laughter followed him out, a sound both haunting and exhilarating. "Oh, they most certainly will, Abraxas."

As Abraxas stepped into the corridor, he felt the chill of the castle walls seep into his bones. The game was afoot, and the stakes were higher than ever. He could only hope that the fire Tom sought to unleash would not consume them all.