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Regulus wanted to stay here forever, dripping with Butterbeer and seated on the shoulders of his fellow snakes in the common room. The tide of people cheered.
It was theirs, the Quidditch and House Cup! He nudged the boy aloft right next to him. “Sev!” Reg cried, “We did it! Weeee did it!”
“State the self-evident, why don't you?” Severus asked, and he grimaced, unsure of his seating.
Once released from the emerald throng Severus found a spot in the corner, lit by a single everlasting candle. Regulus joined him.
“You can't tell me you didn't enjoy that,” Reg grinned. His grey eyes were alive with adrenalin, his black hair longish.
“They banged both our heads on the door lintel.” Severus looked as if something was burning in his black gaze.
“Your glass is always half empty, Sev.” Reg whisked a hand through his hair, leaving it ruffled. What a pain. Like Potter. It wasn't that Severus didn't mind winning but –
“I'm a realist.”
“A true realist would be jumping up and down in a vat of Firewhiskey,” Regulus snorted.
Severus agreed, in silence. He always had to step into the distance.