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31 - Lesser Demon
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The room was muted, nothing but loud ringing blazed Alphard's eardrums. Champagne eyes enlarged, and footsteps matched his thundering heart. The azuline demon had vanished, imbibed to her flesh, leaving creases of a turquoise scar as a reminder that the devil lived within her.
Gemma's fissured skin was glistening goldenly, just as blinding as the thunder Alpha sent to stop her a few seconds ago. The demonic star had burst to supernova, the way Gamma and Leonis revolved too close, unable to restrain the galactic blast.
As gravity dragged the witch down, Isle of Glass was no longer fancy. Geode floor crushed, metal and woods burned, as if catastrophe had hit the flashy estate. But such disaster was vesseled in a person that was Gammaliel. Alphard heart's was slowing down, dragging his feet with the remaining energy.
Her peach dress was undamaged, the friction between the tule material and the air was rabid, her eyes shut. Between chaotic rhythm of thunders rang outside the estate, she fell peacefully. Alpha leaped forward as he caught the witch's body before it hit the ground. The siblings landed on the ruined floor, but the older used his body as her mattress.
"Gemma," his voice breathless, inhaling the scent of the brunette's perfume. He peered down and found her body undamaged, but her forearm glistened with a trace of scars. "Nana, quickly!"
The Merlin heir hastily shifted his sister's body and placed the girl, as she laid down weakly on the floor. Fidelya rushed herself and took out her wand before she casted a healing spell on the girl. Alpha's eyes peeled to her forearm, where a long line was carved on her skin. Crimson blood didn't leak out of her tissues, instead, it was turquoise.
It glimmered as if blue lava was running through her veins. After a round of healing spell and a few minutes later, inaudible language escaped from Gemma's lips. Her consciousness spun back as Fidelya coo her back to close her eyes. Alphard sighed in relief as he tossed his head back. His fingers were trembling, and he dusted his temple feeling a small part of his epidermis peeled.
"I can't heal the scar." Fidelya gasped, wiping the sweat off her temples, eyes at the girl's glistening forearm. "Alpha, she's not going to heal quickly — she might need a few days."
Alpha's lips told no tale, though his honey eyes glossed with vexation. He threw his gaze away where a familiar gold and ruby dagger was settled between the geode flooring. He knelt to examine the dagger, narrowing his eyes, "It's all right, Nana, at least she is fine." he exhaled deeply. The older heir hesitated at first but extended his right hand to reach for the shiny dagger.
"What do you mean by all right?" Fidelya's voice was uptight on her throat, she squeezed her wand, "I told you. Austin has to stop acting like a coward and do what is right, not to inherit his cowardness to you! You're just as ruddy as him!"
Ignoring the criticism Alpha took a grip of the dagger handle, lips curved upward in surprise. He then got to his feet, dusting the antique. "That scar won't fade away because it's an ownership contract, she unknowingly summoned Morgana's dagger."
Fidelya batter her eyelashes then shifted to meet her grandson's eyes. He was twirling the metal, eyes stripping on the devilish object. "How could she summon that?" her voice honeyed, pushing through her nostrils as she tried to inhale. She didn't expect the party to end by watching her grandchildren threw a godly fight. Her lungs twisted sourly as she tried to grasp the air. "Isn't the dagger supposed to be in—"
"Isle of the Blessed." stated the heir, gaze peeled to Fidelya as she narrowed her creased eyes. He exhaled and relaxed his shoulders, "This dagger is forged in Aithusa's breath, it has magical powers, Nana. It claimed the owner — I think she chose Gemma as her new owner."
Fidelya paused, trying to register the way Alphard simply stated that the dagger of wickedest witch had claimed Gammaliel to be its owner. "Return it." she stated sharply, her voice hollow and flicker had vanished from the usually cheerful eyes, "Bring it back to him — keep that cursed thing away."
"Nana, that's not how it works." Alphard puffed his chest, he twisted to meet his grandmother. The old-lady straightened her posture and the strict attitude resurfaced, "It will always come back to her, whenever she needed it, she would come. "
"I don't care, Alphard!" Fidelya's timbre raised as she huffed, her russet eyes polished with tears. The Merlin's heir peered down to see her wand-hand was trembling. She raised her hand to touch her temples and eyes scanned around the destroyed hall, she huffed. "This blithering shite happened because he tried to own that demonic thing! I don't care what sort of magic it has. I want her to stay out of this mess!"
Alpha frowned, peering down to the ruby dagger, "Nana if He knows what happened last year He will come after her." he began shakily before shot his gaze up, "This dagger might be the one to help—"
"I said return the bloody dagger!" Fidelya shouted right back and Alphard stepped back feeling as if the floor burned, "None shall know about it, He shall not know about it. She's a child, Alpha! That woman was a fraud. You don't honestly think your sister could defeat him — you've seen it all, a mental bloke of no soul, he's immortal. Or would you rather watch her die then?"
Alphard swallowed thickly, his irises narrowed as he tore his gaze to the pale-faced girl. "Nan, it's not that I want to watch her die, never!" began the heir exasperatedly, "I'd put my life on her track before death takes her. But this isn't something she could escape from her lifeline, this is her fate."
"To hell with fate!" Fidelya Zygo's timbre roared between the thundering night, heart filled with rage. Thunder stroke nearby the Isle of Glass and he stared dagger at her. That was a bad omen. The last time mortal doubted fate, Arthur Pendragon died.
The voices were buzzing inside Gemma's head and her eyes were far too heavy. Once she got to open her eyes, she returned to lay down on her king-sized bed. She exhaled deeply, discerning gratitude that coursed through her. Feeling relieved that she didn't harm Alphard or Fidelya.
Gemma peered to find a long azure line scar over her forearm. She couldn't recall how she got the scar, perhaps from one of Alpha's spell. The Irish witch could feel the burning swirled inside her body gradually left the pain receptors on her skin. She tossed her head back, inhaling the peony-scented candle that evaded the room's ambience. The silk bedsheet was cool against her skin, stirring to the side. She wished she could bury herself in her bed, procrastinating throughout the day.
Though she huffed knowing if the pain was true to her flesh, that meant the truth about her father wasn't just a bunch of wrackspurt dancing inside her head. She frowned, biting her lips apprehensively. Hearing the door creaked open, she twisted to meet the figure poked from the doorframe.
Her greyish curls brushed against the corduroy jumper, her skin had sagged from age. Though the kind russet eyes still graced her feature, etching as she smiled, "Rise and shine, deary." Fidelya smiled, the Irish pursed her lips while she got off her bed. "Come on, up! up!"
Guilty didn't wash away as she knew she yelled at her grandmother. Gemma fidgeted on her pale pink nightgown, gaze dropped to her bare feet. "Nan—"
"It's all right." her breathy voice cut off, the Irish witch shot up to meet her grandmother's eyes. Her pointed heels were clicking against the floor as she approached the young witch. Fidelya leveled her gaze to meet Gemma's, "I know you didn't mean what you did, darling. We all make mistakes."
Gemma formed her bratty pout, eyes enlarged, "But I almost burned the house — I yelled at you, I haven't seen Al, and I yelled at Críonna too," she stammered as Fidelya's eyes narrowed for a moment showing a glimpse of disgust, "He's missing from the portraits. How can I feel all right, Nana?" she queried, shaking her head. "I don't know where did Alphard go."
The lady pursed her lips in respond, "First of all, your brother is on a business trip until New Year's eve." she began with a deep sigh, hand caressing Gemma's cheek gently. "Second, I know you have questions. But always look at the other side of coin, darling. He has his reason to keep this away from you, you can ask him once he returns."
Gemma blinked rapidly with lips parted, "But he - he didn't mention any business trip."
"I'm sure he forgot to tell that detail to you, also that old-bat probably throw a tantrum and went to portrait in Alphard's office or something." replied Fidelya calmly, maintaining her posh posture before softening her gaze "Now, why don't you go run a bath and I'll meet you downstairs, — breakfast will get cold and I don't want to have my tea alone."
The young witch parted her lips to retort but bailed as she received a look from her grandmother. Gemma mustered her reasons, thinking she would ask again when she had another chance. With that, she nodded half-heartedly before turning to the bathroom.
Gemma soaked her skin in a powdery-scented bath, drowning in her disruptive thought. Two days, that was how long she wasn't able to open her eyes and the sensation of warm water was calming the hurricane inside her brain. The girl drew her knees closer to her chest, resting her chin against them gently.
Her marine irises stared at the forming bubbles on the water. It was finally quiet, she recalled the day her Nana insisted to hire three personal hand-maiden when she was younger. From picking a day to day clothes in the morning, running her a bath, until brushing her hair before bed and it was never quiet in Merlin's estate.
Since attending Hogwarts, the Merlin heiress had gotten used to depending on herself. After all, she had spent her day being alone. Before she met Rosier on her 7th birthday or Martin on her first day of school. She smiled at the memory, the blond was trying to catch his chocolate frog as it escaped from his last package. Gemma who had no clue how galleons worth, bought a few packs.
She found her excuse to share a compartment with the blond and eventually shared their chocolate frog. Since then, Gemma never looked at chocolate frog the same way. For it always reminded her how she met a friend for life — then bitterness came as she recalled the last time she saw Martin.
Contrary to many girl's beliefs, friendship with a boy was just like any other, it would have its bumpy road — though melodramatic problems was rather avoidable. The two Ravenclaws had their differences and peeving demeanor that they hated from each other. While Gemma's perfectionism and childish traits made him wished to hex her to Avalon, the boy had an unconventional peeve.
The blond was not as straight forward or blunt as Marlene. He was leaning to bottle up his feelings for his own and when the bottle of emotion filled it burst into colorful anger and curses. Oftentimes, the boy got frustrated from excessive quidditch and he would offer to help Professor Sprout watering the greenhouse's plants. Leaving the boy cursing to plants rather than a human being.
Gammaliel couldn't foresee what was exciting from learning flesh-eating plants. Yet from the way Martin beamed each time he saw shrivelfigs, it was crystal how it soothed him. He looked at it the way he would look at the beach waves, longingly and gentle. The only problem was, he never told anyone about his problem. It grew into an invisible wall that separated the two, not the blood status or lineage.
Martin built his walls of emotion so high as the sun that he became untouchable. To Gemma, it felt as if she could never cross his personal space. As much as she tried to understand the art of privacy, the thought of him always had his dark side of the moon upset her. Gemma was afraid to cross the line — if her effort would vex him or push the warmest person that graced her life away.
The Irish got out of her bathroom, wrapped an ivory bathrobe over herself. Her obsidian hair was drenched, vanilla-scented. Water dripped down to the porcelain as she walked out, crossing her hands in front of her chest while pondering at the thought.
"Hey, Gem how are— OH MY GOD!" she heard the familiar voice, she shot up to find a blond sat on her bed. He closed his eyes and waved his hand in front of her, the boy pranced himself back, reaching a pillow before pressed it to his face.
"What are you doing in my room?" queried then Irish with a puffed chest, she gaped, "No, what are you doing in my house?"
"Nana invited me here for breakfast, I just arrived from your gigantic fireplace all right." McKinnon admitted, his voice dampened by the pillow. "Put something on, I beg of you — as much as we're best friends, but not this comfortable! I don't want to spoil my innocent eyes."
Gammaliel rolled her eyes, "I'm in my robe you randy arse." she twisted to the side, shaking her head as she picked her clothes. "Stop being so dramatic, it's not like I'm naked—"
"Don't tell me details!" McKinnon shouted right back, ears tinged red, lips mumbling gibberish as his heart paced faster, "Think of filch, think of filch."
"It's your fault that you didn't knock, Nana didn't tell you to go in my room." she pointed wittily, eyes onto Martin who was still pressing the pillows and mumbling nonsense.
"Are you changing in front of me?!"
"Of course not!" Gemma shouted with furrowed brows, "What a debauchery if I do that. I'm taking my clothes and I'll get back in the bathroom."
"Okay cool, cool, do that." Martin agreed with a nod. Layers of clothes later, the witch beckoned the blond to go down for breakfast.
It was one odd breakfast for the three as Fidelya questioned Mr. McKinnon's job, how the auror was doing at work. After lots of coughing intervention, the two Ravenclaws found themselves strolling down the maze garden, drowning in conversation.
"So you almost burned the house." Martin's cyan eyes enlarged, blinking as Gemma pursed her lips. "And your dad isn't actually mental."
Gammaliel peeled her gaze to the frosted maze, hummed to his statements. "But that's not the only thing that's odd in my life you know," she chuckled, "Avery being right isn't so scandalous if I compare it to how quiet you were the last time I saw you."
Martin dropped his gaze on the snowy ground, smiling as he buried his hands in his jeans pocket. The smile was bitter, masking his resentment with innocent facades. But unlike the purebloods, the half-blood wasn't trained to fake his conflicted soul.
"What are you talking about?" He scoffed, turning to face the girl, "Me and quiet isn't even in the same dictionary."
"Marty, know this, I don't want to push you." the Irish began, she stirred to the side leveling up her gaze to meet his cyan's eyes. And Apollo had found his weakness yet again, portrayed in front of him. She pursed her lips, "What happened after the party?"
The air was spiraling inside his lungs as he felt it hitched. Memories flashed before his eyes, of her lips and the way he had it for a good moment before he realized he was kissing rose's thorns instead of its petals. That kiss was hurting him, yet the taste of nectar paid the torture at once.
Apollo contemplated whether he should tell the truth or not. But he couldn't live and dam the guilt that resided in him, with pavonated eyes he leaned down at her. His peach cologne fused with the cold, while few strands of his messy golden hair fell to his forehead. "Gem, We uh — we kissed."
***
There was something that attracted Evan Rosier to the warm shade of ruby red. Perhaps, it was the way Amanda Selwyn always used anything accented in the alarming shade, the way it would complement her olive skin and sultry lips. He couldn't explain why, for his rationale he consulted to Regulus. The bookish said about a research of woman would look way more attractive in red.
Hell to that, Rosier's mind was blown the way he gravitated to the color. Certainly, Selwyn was such a saccharine treat, a splash to crimson to his patented grey life. Proper to re-attached his loosened stitches of aphrodisiac flesh need. Maybe it was in the name he was born into, the way his rosy red french tongue was adamant to say he was not in love.
Rosier was profound that love was temporary feelings, he didn't have any role model in the said topic as his parents were gone before his eyes. His parents had left the boy so young that he had to peer a glimpse of their picture to remember their face. Just to recall his father's eyes and his mother's lips identical to his.
But that Christmas evening between the drunk stories session with his uncles. The heir discovered that he was attracted to the color red, because that was how his parents' body was like when they went up to the so-called heavens. A crimson shade that tainted his vision, aroused the devil's laughter and his cried that echoed Paris's silent night.
He tossed the precious glass of eggnog to the marbled floor, white stained with pieces of red. The Rosier's heir felt tongues of fire caressed his hair, sinister whisper shoved to his ears - so loud that he couldn't mute it out. He stirred and grabbed knives on his practice trunk, three refined metal was clutching to his pale palm. The vein on his hand popped blue as the fireplace flames soared higher, matching his fury. He sprinted up to Prometheus's study room, his vision was filled with redredred as he tightened his grip to his blades.
His bloostreams contained lava, there was a tsunami ravaging inside his court of justice. The wave was hitting like rainstorm, clogging his moral value. Aristotle and Plato's definition of justice sow to his brain was ruined by a drop of lie. The court of his mind was chaotic, his deepest fury was awaken and cracked the cage of his well-guarded heart. With one firm hit, the glass was broken, his frailing soul was exposed in the cold of Athens' remains. He was away from justice, a shame case to Athena.
He kicked the rosewood door open, within a swift motion his eyes caught the man sat on his chair. A knife landed on the laid open book, split the pages into two. The man didn't flinch, but furrowed his ashen brows as he lifted his book to peer a large scratch marking the wooden surface. "Don't you think it's too late for challenging me, Evan?"
His reply came with a grin, the great titan god, Prometheus, was beaming. He had always been the young boy's partner in his rather odd sport; knives-throwing. Evan bit the inner of his cheek as he studied his uncle's face, the greyish hair appeared golden from the dancing flames in fireplace nearby. His pale eyes etched of exhaustment and age, he smiled. A second blade was thrown towards him, he didn't flinch as it landed on the table with a firm stab. He peered with a frown as it missed his fair knuckles by a mili-centimeters.
"Tell me uncle Ambrose was lying to me." Evan's timbre was final, and he gripped on his last blade so tightly. Resentment glossed the young wizard's face. His footsteps were firm and heavy, twisting his very last knife on his grip. Albeit, when Prometheus peered at his clenched fists, his fingers were reeked of fear and anger. He shivered with rosy lips parted, "Tell me, my parents weren't killed by muggles."
The man stilled with a blanched face, the boy's timbre raised. "Tell me that gunpowder, that bullet didn't strike their heart!" his palm now slammed the table where Prometheus sat, the man's cerulean eyes staring at the pair of almond-shaped eyes. For a split second he caught the ghost of his youngest brother.
"Tell me!" The boy yelled louder and the fire was soaring bright white from his magic. Hurt marinated his soul. But Rosier was not a boy who was taught to cry, he sewed his emotion in a perfect canvas of his beauty. Disgust laced on his teary eyes, the heat of the fire was flowing to the boy. Fuelling the bonfire flames in his heart, and he clung close to it like he was in trapped in cold.
Prometheus stilled, chin lifted as he gazed through his reading monocle, "Anger be now your song, immortal one, Akhileus' anger, doomed and ruinous, that caused the Akhaians loss and bitter loss and crowded death souls into the undergloom, leaving so many dead men—carrion for dogs and birds; the will of Zeus was done." his eyes peered between his book, as he quoted the first line calmly. His stare was calm, ocean dark. "Anger, Junior. Behave yourself if you wish to speak to me."
Evan's chuckle was rough and croaked as if he had swallowed his own bitter tears down the gut. "For years, you taught me justice, the philosophical nous that we shouldn't miss." his timbre was raised as if he was challenging the gods. He scoffed, tearing his gaze away. "But you . . . You ignored the injustice lingered in front of you—I am a case of unquenched justice, you told me my parents died of illness. But I know, their murderer is out there and free! They should be punished, they should be dead!"
"An eye for an eye will leave us blind, Junior." Prometheus's gaze hardened, watching the boy pulled away with his palm curled around his favorite blade and scoffed. His silhouette was stygian, resembled a dark deity that nested in his soul tried to escape from Nyx's engulf. "Having a grudge is never wise, it is a waste of time."
A firm jab stabbed the teakwood table, its fiber resurfaced pale under the knife ravaging power. The boy sniffed, though, maintained his devilish facade. Evan watched disappoinment glazed his uncle's eyes, and yet it was muffled with the wails of anger inside his mind. "Muggles, they killed my parents and you let them be."
There was no tear in Evan's eyes as he pleaded before his uncle, leaning closer with his arms rested on the sides of the last knife. The french rose scent roamed the study room and it dilluted away into firewood and metals fragrant. "Your father would agree with me, Junior." stated Prometheus firmly, Evan shook his head in denial. "He ran away from all his duty, he ran away from the dark—for years, our family were serving for Grindelwald and we nearly came to an extinction line."
"Evan didn't want the same life for you, he saw the political climate. He knew, war will bleak, he ran away and married your mother and had you, so you three could be free from this wicked war." his voice seeped to the boy's ears like citrus to wound. "He wanted you to stay out of the brutality. I took you in, I raised you in what I believe would be your parent's wish. I keep you away from our tainted history, from war."
"That's an act of cowardice." remarked the french boy as he tore his gaze away, apparent from his side profile his eyes were polished of voidness.
Prometheus' gaze hardened at the insult, his voice uptight and strict. "The outcome of a war is versatile, ever changing. Your father was simply tired to be a marionette for power-hungry man." began the man, and the boy drew his lips into a line, shaking his head as he held his tears to remain in his eyes. "There is nobility in acknowledging that love is so much more than power."
Evan shuddered, his shiver escaped his lips. "Love only exist to hurt us." his tongue was sharp, eyes taunting the man sat before him. "If I learn anything about love from you, the way your wife and children left you to rot in this manor, it would be that I'm better without this emotional bullshit."
"Junior!"
The boy's lungs were burning inside out, his chest heaving as he glared at Prometheus. "Maybe, the both of you are wrong." declared Evan in final, his sob was faint and tearless. "Running away from the war is not the way, not when the side we are fighting for is what is right. Then we will be fighting for the greater means." there was no doubt in the boy's eyes when Prometheus watched it saturated into murky green. "And if you cannot give me the justice I seek, I will look for it myself!"
And his foundation of faith to love was wrecked more than it should've been. The storge love Evan had for Prometheus Rosier was crushed when he discovered the truth. Prometheus had stolen a core fire to Evan's rage—he was no longer an uncivilized man. Evan's psyche was shattered as wrath plunged into his well-guarded heart. He deciphered that love had to be passionate and romantic the way Eros had defined it to be. He guarded himself from heartbreak and thorns of love. Alas, love came in several forms and languages, so he still broke his heart.
To avoid every form of love would be cathartic, for once Evan was not a soaring phoenix in a cage with no fire, he was free. Curiosity was one futile nature for the mortal, now that the boy had no bits of faith left in love—his heart was riled up by anger, he discerned Avery's Siren lure about the Dark Lord's plan that used to seem uninteresting to his being. But now, Muggle had vanquished his mundanity, they made him an orphan and dehumane him. Prevented him to feel all the things he deserved, he envied Regulus that he could live with such a perfect family. It itched his soul, not only he was fooled all these years but to the fact that his parents were killed by Muggles. Such filthy muggles and their fucking gun. The hatred soared in his chest that it consumed his pallid heart and tainted it red—crimson dark, that used to be the color of lust had become a symbol of his rage and vengeance.
Red was no longer the color of lust or love. Red was plastered to filthy muggles and the mudbloods and Rosier was the angry bull, ready to stab his horn to their flesh. He had been standing alone in no man's land when most of his pals had subtle clue which side of war they would choose. Perhaps, it was time for him to pick a side. Evan oathed to no longer be a bystander, unlike Prometheus. With that, he felt the need to surround himself with the alike-minded.
That was how he ended up snickering along with Avery, Mulciber, and Snape. His wand pressed to a Gryffindor muggleborn that was Lily Evans. "How brave of you to keep your head high, mudblood." Rosier seethed, the girl didn't bask and settled with her Gryffindor courage.
"I'm not afraid of you Rosier." Lily's voice just as dulcet with jade eyes piercing the younger boy. The Slytherins sniggered in amusement. She tore her gaze to search for the pair of dark eyes of Severus Snape yet the boy stood woodenly, "Coward."
"S'pose, if we give the mudblood a little lesson won't hurt?" Morphine inquired wirh a cocky grin, his crystal eyes identical to Gemma's but Lily refused to believe the two were related.
Between Regulus and Evan, despite having the same wicked bone in feelings and twisted soul. The two Slytherins boys were excellent in different ways. Whereas Black was bookish and could brew a death-inducing potion if he wished, Rosier was the finest dueller to ever grace Slytherin's dueling club.
Lily gripped her wand in warning, "You cast a spell in here it will break the rule. And I'll have no choice but to hex all of you." she jested fearlessly. "Now this is the last warning."
Rosier curved his lips upward when god of wrath decorated his face. He recalled the sanguine scent of blood that lured hungry crows and summoned the darkness laid inside of him. Once mortal had lost the faith of love—a heartless man was birthed and their soul harbored a vindictive monster. The Slytherin boy gazed at his enemies with excitement glazed his eyes. He was no longer the heedless french boy.
He was Rosier: the lesser demon.
"Cute." he scoffed, raising his wand and when a spell came out of his lips a glint of light burst in. The younger boy dodged the spell before tearing his gaze to find four fuming Gryffindor boys.
The jet-black haired boy stared dagger at Rosier, almost murderous. He pounced forward ruthlessly, "You touch her again and I swear you will regret it." James seethed, wand raised above his face. Evan's hazel eyes leveled to James's own.
"Playing knight in shining armor, now, Potter?" Evan's voice rock sharp, scoffing through his nasals, "The damsel in distress must be the mudb—"
James's fury plunged and Evan never got to finish his words. A hex escaped James's wand and Rosier ducked off the amateurism of Potter's move. Rosier returned the dagger eyes with a smirk, then the duel began. Lily leaped forward, trying to pull Potter away but his pride was set on Olympus.
The fire that Prometheus stole was returned to Evan and he feed off the heat. Rosier had become a deity of darkness, a former lesser-rank angel of the order of dominations, now officiating in Hell. Evan laughed for each spell that escaped his wand and James's. The train alleyway was packed and colorful, curious eyes batted at the crowd.
The demon was not written in the Apocrypha or the Bible, nor mentioned in Holy Encyclopedia or Britannica because he was the wickedest of all hell deities, the prince of lust and heartless being.
A jinx from James's wand sent to Avery as he was feeling his nose enlarged. Mulciber and Snape took a step back, leaving the demonic prince stood alone in front of the King of Gryffindor, "James, stop!" Lily yelled out in a hollow voice. "Please!"
Until James was sent at least five foot and the Gryffindor tasted the dusty floor from Evan's spell. The demon smirked so satisfyingly from the sight of his defeated enemy. Sirius's pride was poked as he drew out his wand promptly. He sneakily casted a knockback jinx to Rosier, pushing him far ahead.
A smug grin decorated Sirius's face but out of his count a familiar figure dashed in, stoical. He stood before Rosier, "What the hell are you doing?" Regulus queried firmly, jaw clenched.
The head boy and the head girl rushed to the scene as they charged detention and 50 points off Slytherin and Gryffindor on the spot. But Sirius's eyes lingered on Regulus who was helping Rosier to get on his feet.
"Regulus," Sirius called and the said boy looked over his shoulder. "I'm — How's father?"
"I don't recall we have the same father." spat the younger, timbre was cold as the outside's air. Sirius felt his heart frosted from the cold glare. He knew the answer and he had been watching over the boy from Snuffle's point of view, but hearing Regulus saying that pang his soul unlike he ever felt before.
"Regulus, I have the right to know how's father doing, he's sick isn't he?" inquired the older brother, Regulus irises narrowed in surprise as to how did he know about that. "I mean to hell with that woman, you are still my brother and you know that." Sirius's voice was hoarse, his wand almost dropped off his grip feeling his soul sublimed.
Regulus stirred to the side, scoffing, "No, you are not my brother since the day you left that door. I do not want to associate myself with a filthy traitor like you nor you have right to call me at all." seethed the boy right back, he could see the silver eyes of Sirus melted in sorrow. His eyes darted to James hoisted by Remus and Peter. "You might as well change your last name to Potter."
Sirius stood woodenly, feeling his body had turned ice-cold. The casanova received dozens of rejection in love, but he never registered the pain of heart-break. Once Regulus denied their familial relationship, he learned what a real pain was like.
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