#thedefectedone

“What exactly are you doing here, Regulus?” It had not been said unkindly, suspicious and on guard but never unkind. Some time passed since Sirius had talked with his younger brother, ever since being kicked out and leaving forcing Regulus to take up the mantle of the Heir of Black. He felt bad thrusting the unnecesssary burden on him, however, things could not be avoided. 

“If that were fact you’d think half of Slytherin should be magically more powerful than I am, right?” She smiles beautifully, head tilted and eyes like glowing embers. Scorn is clear in her expression however, she’s aware, no, she doesn’t care to hide it. “You’re nothing but a stuck-up prat using his family’s questionable influence to pretend you’re actually a top-dog.”

It’s frustrating, really. No, she doesn’t wish to change her place of birth, that’s not it. Rather, she wants people to disregard the whole idea and just enjoy being magical. It’s a privilege, she’d know.

“… No, it’s a my Fanged Geranium has grown taller than yours thing. I was just taking a moment to admire my good work.”

Was there anyone else so infuriating? Pretending not to hear him, she waved her wand subtly under her desk - and her Fanged Geranium responded by launching itself towards Regulus, trying to latch its teeth into his fingers. 

Sitting under a tree near the Great Lake, Barty was reading a book while trying to ignore the forming bruise on his face. If he could find the proper spell in the book, he would be able to avoid going to the mediwitch for something as stupid as a bruise given to him by a Gryffindor who hadn’t liked his face.

Regulus almost believed it. Almost. His eyes widened for just a moment, so taken by his brother’s sullen tone that he nearly missed the meaning of his words.

“… Absolutely not!” he protested, his face twisting into a Walburga-inspired scowl, “They can’t sacrifice small children, Sirius. That’s illegal. And anyways, if I was to die I’d like to be buried with my cards.” If only out of spite.

He wrinkled his nose and turned his head to the window, noticing how dark it had become in the few short hours they’d spent on the train. “… Theycan’t sacrifice small children,” he repeated, fussing with his hands on his lap, “Parents would complain.”

Sirius regarded his brother with an expression that conveyed how sorry he felt that the younger boy was just finding his fate out now. The elder brother put his hand on Regulus’ shoulder and sighed loudly, “Oh, Reg… my poor brother.” Sirius even made a show of shaking his head before shifting toward his younger sibling to offer a sense of intimacy and care.

“The ritual is as old as the school itself. It keeps balance… you know, sacrifice the few for the good of the many. Every first year student’s parents are sent an owl before the start of term to remind them of this necessary evil. Why do you think Mum hugged you so long at the platform?” They both knew Walburga was not renowned for her compassion or physical affection. “And why do you think Dad stayed home this year? They’ve got a feeling you’re the smallest.” He clicked his tongue and sighed again.