SEQUEL OF GYMNOPÉDIE
Regulus Black had picked a side. So did Gammaliel of Merlin. What's next?
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Regulus Black x Fem!OC
Marauders' era ( 1978 - 1981 )
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Fabian believed that a story had to involve a dragon to be great. It was a mindset that was cultivated in his brain since he was a boy. He did not see them as hideous creatures with terrifying roars and burning breaths. He envisioned them the same way as his late father described to him and his twin during bedtime stories. His amber eyes would beam while he listened about the Chinese Fireball's scale, how it looked like scarlet leather under the sun or how his old man put a baby Welsh Green to sleep with his whistle in the sanctuary.
Armand Prewett was a dauntless, passionate man and a consummate caretaker.
The wizard was the paragon of a lionhearted being, he wholeheartedly treated these beasts as if they were merely giant dogs. The same way he took care of dragons, he poured so much love, time, and effort for his children. Fabian had no memory of his mother, he learned about her through pictures that were hung on the walls. His father had refused to bring her name in the dining table. But if he was lucky, Molly would tell him about her during their yearly visit to her burial ground. But he remembered vividly the vibrant grin that spread across his father's face. The scar around his eyes, his eye patch, and the burnt marks on his arms that he turned into stories. Not to forget, his messy whiskers that covered half of his sunkissed face.
Unlike the twins, Molly found his appearance rather unpleasant. "I can get the blade and give you a trim," she often said, "You are scaring the children looking like that...Arthur finds you intimidating."
"Molly, dear," was usually how Armand would begin his reason. "This is what makes me fireproof, see, if I don't have these I'll have more burns than I am now." he raised his cup of coffee to hide his grin. "Scaring your little boyfriend is a bonus."
Living under the care of a dragonologist had molded Fabian's perception of dragons into cautious and misunderstood creatures who beheld such crude beauty. Albeit, his interest wasn't a manifestation of paternal admiration. Dragons and the Prewetts were entangled by centuries-old history, passed through generations in bloodline.
The majestic beast was the amalgamation of pure magic, a holy creature in some cultures, and the Prewetts had adapted their existence as their signatures. The same way Rosiers had red roses and the Black had ravens, the Prewetts had a vermillion bright dragon engraved onto their crest.
Just like the beast, the Prewett were known for their flaming red hair that would glisten like a bonfire under the sun. If dragons could fly then the Prewetts' agility on a broom was unquestionable. It was as if their second nature. The art of flying had simmered in their bones. Their surname was often printed on the capes that belonged to quidditch stars and stretched as banners on world cup stages. In the sky, they were boundless. They moved like a fuzzy fireball; bright, daring, and swift. Their courage would charge at the hearts of spectators, setting them ablaze. So, it was not a surprise that ten-year-old Fabian and Gideon would fight over who got the next turn for their sister's broomstick.
