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❝ late ! ❞
-- ･:*:･ﾟ★ ･:*:･ﾟ★ --
─── THE NEXT DAY, Regulus found himself at the Slytherin table, surrounded by the obligatory company of any other obedient, pureblood child. Perhaps the only person Regulus genuinely befriended amongst the group of pompous Slytherins his parents forced him to hang around with was Nolan, his best friend. As for the likes of the other arrogant, spoilt rich kids alike, Regulus would've rather opted to diverting to the company of a gaggle of Gryffindors, following in the tarnished footsteps of his disgraced and disowned brother, Sirius. But now, Regulus had been marked: burning on his forearm like a dark, deathly omen, the Dark Mark penetrated his pale skin and branded him for life. There was no escape out of the Death Eaters other than death, and Regulus didn't know which one he was most afraid of: a life condemned to obeying orders from a malicious man with the malevolent likes of Voldemort, or Death itself. But as he sat in his seat, elbow propped up and his chin buried into to the palm of his hand for support, he was beginning to wallow in his thoughts, wondering if there was any difference between the cold hands of Death and the Dark Lord he had been condemned to serve.
He figured he'd eventually drown in his own thoughts until the gaze of clear, blue eyes averted his stony flowed away from his empty breakfast plate and up toward her. Holly Flemming flashed him a flattering smile as soon as they made eye-contact, the curvature of her lips engraving pretty dimples into her pale skin. Holly was amongst the group of presumptuous, sophisticated Slytherins, a sixth year with a sharp wit and a colossal wardrobe. She was light and pretty and dainty, she was the palpable sweetness of sugar remaining at the bottom of an antique, cerulean teacup. But, in spite of tiny, graceful exterior she emanated with her coy smiles and her sparkling, periwinkle eyes, Holly Flemming has the sly, cold heart of any other deep-rooted Slytherin. Regulus truly believed that if she wanted to, Holly had the capability to murder everyone in the Great Hall right then and there, and play off the innocent, last remaining victim with the acting skills of an ominous Shakespearean actress, cowering, screaming and manipulating.
"You alright, Reg?" she asked him, her voice as soft and smooth as velvet. She battered her eyelashes flatteringly, her head tilting to the side curiously.
Regulus strained a tight smile. "M'fine, thanks, Holly," he said with an assuring nod.
Either Regulus' lie was exceptionally on-point, or Holly simply didn't care enough to prod him any further, since she swerved back around the plunge back into animated, comical gossip with Helena Rigby, allowing Regulus to submerge back into his spiralling thoughts. They swerved around the prompting, patronising thought of all the homework he failed to complete over the summer and before he could avoid so much as pondering on it for a minuscule, vulnerable second, his mind fell into the deep void had been attempting to keep at bay: his task.