ARSONIST'S LULLABY ━━ r. black¹

𝖛𝖎𝖎. light of my life

彡 chapter seven
( light of my life )

"HAVE YOU EVER thought about it?"

Morgana tilted her head to the side as she bit her lip, the mulberry hue smudging ever so slightly. "Thought about what?"

Regulus offered her a wry smile, the corners of his lips turning up and his stormy eyes crinkling very slightly. "What life will be like after we graduate?"

"I don't know," Morgana whispered, her voice airy and barely audible. "My grandmother will sell me off to the highest bidder and I'll forever be stuck in a manor."

He chuckled. "You do know it's not necessarily a stranger that you'll be marrying? Perhaps a friend?"

Morgana offered him a teasing glare. "Is this you asking me to marry you? I don't see a ring anywhere."

"I'm wounded," he joked, miming a dagger through the heart. "Don't think I've forgotten that you're my date to the Rosier Christmas Ball."

She buried her face in her hands, cheeks flushed bright pink. "Shall we get on with it then?" she asked, straightening her black leather jacket that hung loosely off of her slender frame, Regulus's Slytherin scarf wrapped around her neck. He liked how she looked it in, snow dusting her cheeks, the hue matching her eyes as they trudged their way through the snow up the main street in Hogsmeade. "I need new gloves, shall we stop by Gladrags?"

"Sure," Regulus managed, slinging an arm around her shoulder. He didn't know what they were. Definitely not friends, and definitely not the kind who proclaimed love minutes into a relationship, but all he knew was that he was completely and utterly besotted with Morgana Fawley, a girl who just three months ago, he had insulted in a fit of inebriated rage. He had been smarting from Sirius's betrayal, fire licking a usually serene temper, and had lashed out. Regulus had never enjoyed playing with fire, but she was a burning candle, and he was a moth, fixated and unable to get away from her enchanting grasp.

He milled around as she sorted through different pairs of gloves, chatting with the woman at the register and debating between two pairs of lovely looking, knit gloves. Regulus liked looking at her like this, from a slight distance, admiring the crinkle in the corners of her eyes as she spoke, her eyes glittering with joy, a glow of happiness exuding from every inch of her face. Morgana was a girl scorned by her own flesh and blood, yet she was an angel, sweet and polished around the edges, yet rough in spots that made her human. Perhaps it was what drew him to her. Her normalcy.

Morgana never made it a point to conceal every single one of her flaws. She wasn't like the other pureblood children, self-obsessed and insecure, whining over the smallest of inconveniences, obsessive over appearances. She was genuine, flawed yet perfect in his eyes. She had a temper but it cooled down rather quickly, and she always added exactly one spoonful of sugar to any hot beverage. She loved watching Quidditch, but could barely fly a broom in a straight line down the pitch, even if he had tried to teach her last week.

She lost her voice after speaking too loudly, but she had been screaming for Regulus during his match against Ravenclaw, and had found the rasp of her sore voice the next day adorable. Morgana was perfect, and he was completely and utterly, head over heels, in love with her, even if he would never say it out loud.

It was then that he spotted it, gleaming and shiny in its case. "Not sure if you can afford that young man," the shopkeeper told him with a grin displaying silver fillings among yellowing teeth. "It's the finest goblin-wrought silver money can buy."

Regulus glanced over at Morgana, who was busy shuffling through a rack of silk scarves, before opening the leather pouch with an undetectable extension charm he carried, reaching in elbow deep to fork out a fistful of galleons, and another fist. "A hundred galleons," Regulus smirked, pointing at the tag on the dainty locket.