Chapter Three Of Vows Made Of Wine
“Regulus.” He tries. No sign of life. “Regulus,” he tries again. Desperate times call for desperate measures he supposes, so he reaches out and swipes the book right out of Regulus’ hands.
“Hey!” He tries to grab it as Evan pulls it away.
“We got our assignment one hour ago. The smell of Mcgonagalls fucking chalk hasn’t even faded yet.”
“I want to be ready.”
“And you will be,” Evan promises, setting the book down on the table in front of him—and out of reach of Regulus, who just glares at him. Evan stares back, blank faced until Regulus finally folds.
“Fine.”















