- ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
"You. Me. Hogsmeade. Tomorrow" Romie demands, leaving no room for objection.
Regulus slowly lifts his head from his book, briefly wondering if he's managed to land himself into a similar alternate dimension,
"Come again...
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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽egulus sits tall in his chair, surveying the chamber.
Malfoy Manor had never been sunshine and rainbows, giving, sombre and sinister, 12 Grimmauld Place a run for its money. But recently it's taken to another level, one that Regulus doubts the elegant and classy taste of his older cousin approves of.
Narcissa was in no position to challenge. He wouldn't take too kindly to that. He, who's currently positioned in the run of the show place that Regulus will soon experience first hand when Orion decides to finally kick the bucket.
Another night, another meeting.
Unlike the generality of teenage magic folk spending their dog days destroying their bloodstream, shaking sheets and ardently tanning until the pale lines of underwear can be made a fool out of, Regulus was bound to a table darker than his surname. Darker in both the furniture and ambience. A fair few of the flesh and blood gathered around this table are the definition of evil.
And arse-lickers.
"Your Ministry strategy is succeeding, My Lord. Tremendously"
Regulus barely stifles an eye roll, tuning out Lucius Malfoy's obvious attempts to earn himself some more brownie points. The effusing reek of desperation was already bad enough. Atleast Narcissa had the audacity to appear moderately abashed, intently inspecting the cuticles of her nails. Looks like someone will be forking out for a luxurious trip to the salon soon.
At long last, Regulus caves, offering what the snooping beady eyes across the way have been striving for. A good look of him. He turns, removing the veil of impassiveness only to smirk a fraction when the world's most crooked nose retreats as much as possible into the greasy curtain the colour of ink it's hugely poking out of. Remembering exactly who he's dealing with.
Others, like Severus Snape, had to work arduously for the high rank number and reputation Regulus has been handed on a silver platter. Others, like Severus Snape, had to hope one day, their time will come, and their name will be spoken from the serpent tongue of their stately Dark Lord.
Regulus didn't want nor need a single speck of that hope.
"Regulus Black"
In his own good time, Regulus averts from the chair belonging to Severus Snape's to the one making a fine habitat for the long, savage snake curled around it. He doesn't look who else it makes a fine habitat for dead in the eye, not for the dearth of dare of capability like many present devotees. For the genuine reason blood red isn't his favourite. Therefore no aspiration to drown in it.
The invisible devil that takes refuge on his left shoulder is the primary focus of Regulus' cutting gaze, droning lowly,
