❝In which the girl who feels too much gets close to the boy who wants to feel nothing.❞
━━If one would ask Regulus Black to give his opinion on Alera Abbot, he would unhesitatingly tell you that she was a walking hazard to society.
But in his defenc...
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3th September, 1979 ~ Monday
Night:
------------------> REGULUS BLACK WALKED ALONG THE DARK, EMPTY CORRIDORS OF HOGWARTS ALONE, his hands promptly folded behind his back and dark robes billowing in the occasional breezes of wind, giving off the impression that he was a noble king. His emerald green striped silver tie was tightly and neatly hung around his neck. "Like a rope around a criminal," Sirius had often semi-seriously joked.
It was the same uniform that he had worn since he was eleven with two new additions. The first being a jade green emblem which had a silver stripe running diagonally across it with the bold, block letters, "QUIDDITCH CAPTAIN" and the second, was the gleaming badge currently pinned to his chest which captured and reflected the light of the sporadically placed torches in the dim hallway. Regulus was Head-Boy this year, a position of great honour that bore many responsibilities, one of which included patrolling the dark corridors all by himself well after curfew and making sure everybody had gone to bed.
While his fellow prefects often whined about this duty, Regulus enjoyed it. He liked the silence that the patrols offered, something that was rarely found in the busy and alive school. He used this time to think about anything and everything really— about school, family, friends and life in general.
It was terrifying to think that he wouldn't be able to stay at Hogwarts in only a year henceforth. He wouldn't be able to blanket himself in the comfort it offered nor would he have the option of hiding behind its protection any longer. He would be thrust into the world, expected to make his own decision and experience the effects of the spell he had cast.
That thought made him subconsciously touch the long sleeves of his left forearm, where the mark of Lord Voldemort had been burned into ever since the summer he turned sixteen, penetrating his pale skin and branding him forever as an attribute, another addition to the Dark Lord's growing army.
The Dark Lord was much more intimidating and malevolent than the whispers had painted him out to be. Those remorseless red eyes, the same shade as all the blood he had caused to be spilt, had narrowed as they fixed their gaze on him and Regulus had difficulty swallowing down the thick, overwhelming urge to shiver.
To Regulus, it had felt strange being under his malicious slits, as if he was as easy to read as a beginners guide to Potion's book. As if every one of his secrets and hidden intentions had been put on display for the world to see.
He remembered hearing the sound of his own heartbeat as the Dark Lord scrutinised him as if he were nothing but a complex blueprint. He recollected experiencing one thousand different emotions ranging from dizzy, lethargic, nausea and helplessness to longing and a sense of hope as his stomach somersaulted against his will.
