Even though it is his second time upon them, the mugglemade sheets are just as scratchy as the first; blessedly there is no muggle scented ‘freshener’. No, this is house-elf clean, that is familiar.
This time it’s just his hands and wrists bare; he’s still wearing his shoes.
Amusement bubbles up in his chest, recalling the face Evans had made the last time his footwear had been in contact with her bedding. A different bed, a different time. And Evans…
Slowly, Regulus tilts his head to a side, the pillow shifting beneath his cranium, the slightest rustle of sheets alarmingly loud.
She’s sprawled out beside him now, the most unguarded expression he has ever witnessed upon her sleeping face. All the defences are down; the knight that cut so harshly with words made steel, the archer that fired those oh so sharp glares with pinpoint accuracy, both are missing.
Now there’s no castle to defend, he’s found himself within the fortress and Evans sleeps as a dragon would, the protective bulk of her magic curling around the room, sheltering her hoard.
Perhaps he should feel flattered he’s been allowed in at all.
Or perhaps he’s part of the hoard, another oddity collected and stored.
Stored, not treasured. Regulus isn’t too sure he knows enough about Evans to be sure if she’s capable of treasuring something.
But, as he’s come to realise recently, there’s a whole lot he doesn’t know about Evans.
“Not that she’s the only mudblood of that waste-of-space house, but she’s the one that stands out. The bludger yet to the chained back into the box, the snitch yet to be caught.” I love that line, but it didn’t fit into the picture, so I mention it now. In fact, I love every line, I really do, I would cite the whole thing, but that’d be pointless. How do you write so well?
“The tome can wait, Regulus. I can’t. Didn’t you get my note?” (Note: Get your noble ass in bed, asshole.)
Poppy Evans and Regulus Black (from A Fresh Bouquet" by @tsume-yuki) as a happy couple! Regulus geeked out in the last chapter, and I loved it. So here is more geeky nerdy Regulus who’d leave his girl high and dry for a tome. Almost. And truth is, it goes the other way round, too. What you don’t see here is that Poppy, in fact, got to read the tome first (a frustrating week for Regulus). In the future, with nothing to worry about, their fights are all about who gets to read the newly pursued tome first :D NERRRRDS
Still, he finds himself holding his breath as the man walks out, dark cloak rippling around his body in the summer’s wind. It is as is the world stops when Riddle steps into that snare; Regulus’ breath is tight in his chest, his lungs burning but his ribs and abdominals refuse to mobilise, to move even an inch.
As if such a thing will mean Riddle knows what’s happening before it’s too late.
But no, he steps into the hidden runic circle as if he is invincible.
Hey there, I finally finished this chapter as well! Hope you will like it, this is longer than the previous one… I think. :) Also, cliffhanger at the end, even if some of you will surely figure out what is happening there!
At the sound of the racks crashing the boy stopped, just under the last whitewashed arch, the blue sky and a stretch of sea opening behind him like an immense mouth of intense light ready to swallow him, and slowly turned around to face the tourist.
His silhouette drawn by the back lighting, Andreas marveled at the boy’s outlined beauty of classical proportions, highlighted against a scene so ageless of a cat lazily yawning and stretching under the warmth of the sun, and fresh red poppies of early Spring fluttering in the breeze and dropping their petals. Time stood still – or had it always been that eternal in Greece?
“Do you think I’ll be able to
write my own book some time in the future?”
“It’s quite possible. What would
you write about?”
“Dark Lords, I think,” Poppy concludes,
wand tapping against the rounded side of her bump, watching the colours dance
out across the material of her shirt. On a whim, she pulls it up to expose her swelling
belly, tracing the stretch mark that had sneakily appeared during the week. A
flick of her wand as the image of her baby overtaking the skin, formed in
different shades of gold.
Little limbs shift about, legs kicking out and Poppy
can feel it against her skin.
“That won’t be a terribly
beloved topic,” Bathilda grumbles dryly, only giving the baby a single curious
glance before she returns to her own notes.
“But it’d be oh so interesting, wouldn’t
it? Don’t you ever wonder why?”
Here the old woman pauses, eyes finding the
cabinet by the wall, her eyes lingering on the photo of one tall, merry-wild
blond. “All the time.”
“How goes your foray into premeditated murder, dear Nephew?”
Head hanging back over the arm of the chair, Regulus forcibly stills his body from squirming in place. This is his damn safehouse and if he wants to be laid out across the sofa he’ll damn well lay out across the sofa. His parents aren’t here to chide him for it and he highly doubts Cassiopeia will care all that much. As for her question-
The fireplace in the backroom
ignites but he can’t find the energy to be too bothered by his aunt effectively
storming out on him. He has, after all, bigger and more important things to
spend his time thinking over.
Yet, he still finds himself
thinking of Evans, still puzzling over the conundrum of blood when he should be
focused on taking Riddle out.
It doesn’t matter that the
only woman who has ever interested him is no longer off limits.
No, that’s not quite the way
to put it. She’d never been ‘off limits’ to begin with; it was more than just
his silly prejudice, a mindset forced upon him from a young age, that stopped
things from continuing further than they did.
Given the current political
climate, his family background, announcing themselves as a couple would have
been suicidal a move. In the very least, he can thank the pureblood agenda for