Chapter Text
Maybe I'm just old fashioned
Read too many fairytales
It's no wonder I've had no luck, no one's ever good enough
I want a love like I've seen in the movies
That's why I'll never fall in love
Friday, 16th September 1977, Really late.
The room smelled of old wax and damp parchment.
Only two candles sat on McGonagall’s empty desk—she had issued her instructions with brisk, professional curtness before vanishing : "You have to copy out the Hogwarts school rules. In full. No abbreviations."
Fifty-two pages.
Regulus Black was already there when the door opened. Of course, a wizard is never late. He was seated at the farthest seat to the door, back straight, quill in hand, his gaze fixed on his parchment with a concentration that mirrored his cultivated air of indifference. He did not look up.
Nor did he look up when he heard someone enter.
He took note of the arrival, nonetheless. The sound of light, unhurried footsteps : someone who wasn't stressed about being in detention. Annoying. A faint, floral scent not overpowering. And then, above all a presence in the room that seemed to occupy more space than a normal human body had any right to.
His quill kept scratching against the parchment.
"Article One: Students of Hogwarts are required to..."
He said nothing. He had no intention of saying anything at all.
- Hi ! said the girl sitting right in front of him. Why are you there ? I mean, I know it's because of the detention... But why are you in detention ?
The silence hung in the air for exactly two seconds after her question.
Regulus did not look up. He never does. The reason ? Dignity. His quill did not pause. He finished his sentence, neat, precise, before deigning to answer, and even then, without looking at her.
- That's none of your business.
His voice was low and steady. Almost aggressive. He dipped his quill into the inkwell and began the next line. "Article One, Paragraph Two: Failure to comply with these rules entails..." He had looked up after all, very briefly while talking, a fraction of a second, barely anything before lowering his head again. Just long enough to take it all in. The hair, the mismatched eyes. The smile that seemed to have appeared at least ten minutes before the question itself.
A Potter. Of course. He had recognise this sent. The boy couldn't really say how or why but he did. Liana Potter, 6th year (like him), Hufflepuff. Jame's little sister. Regulus had seen her before. In the hallway, in class. Always with her friend, he couldn't remember her name. They were aloways laughing and smiling, as if like was cool. Oh but yes, for her, of course life was cool. Lovely parents, lovely friends, lovely brother, lovely face... He tightened his grip slightly on the quill and went on writing, as if the conversation were already over.
- Oh okay ! Fine ! Me, I stunned my friend Dorcas with a big book so she could skip class. We had a History of Magic essay to hand in, but she had forgotten it. But some 1st years saw me and now, I'm here ! Fortunately, Dorcas has 3 more days to give her essay ! Hahaha
The quill stops. This time it’s different. He looks at her, and there is something almost imperceptible on his face. Anger ? Why ? It lasts perhaps a second and a half.
Then the mask slips back into place, perfectly smooth. He is a Black, Merlin ! Black family doesn't have emotions. Exept Sirius but well... is he really a part of that family...
- You knocked out your own friend.
- Yes ! My best friend !
- It wasn't a question, you dumbass !
- Oh sorry !
- You knocked out your own friend and you find that funny ?
- I mean... yes ! It is funny !
He lowers his eyes to his parchment. He begins writing again the movement perhaps a little sharper than before, though only just.
- It's pathetic. Regulus says simply, without raising his voice, without even bothering to sound truly disdainful. Just stating a fact. Like something so obvious it isn’t worth dwelling on.
- I did it because she asked me to do it. Anyway ! I'm done with that detention, it sucks. I'm heading off. Bye Regulus, Have a good evening. Liana smiled, gathered her things, and left the room.
He looks at his own parchment still half-empty then at hers, already full ? How ?! Then at the door that has just closed behind her, and then back at his parchment again. The room is quieter now. Colder, too in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature. Because yes, she is a Potter. Of course she is. arrogant, self centered, loud, annoying, way too confident, sunny, pretty... Fuck ! He picks up his quill... again. "Article seventeen: students are required to observe..." He stops. Puts the quill down. Was he in a circus ? No. Picks it up. That smiling face. Those mismatched eyes, one green, one blue, that had looked at him as if detention were a great night out. The way she’d said goodbye with exactly the same cheerfulness she’d used to say hello, as if nothing he’d said during those twenty minutes had mattered in the slightest. "Pathetic"—and she’d smiled. He writes. Article seventeen. Article eighteen. His handwriting is a tiny bit less steady than at the start, but it’s truly imperceptible. Truly. Because SHE was pathetic. Not him. He hates her. And all the Potter on this fucking Earth.