ᴏᴍɴɪꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ✵ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ✵

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☾ ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ☽

»»-------≪ °❈° ≫-------««

It's Wednesday evening when Regulus is late to dinner in the Great Hall. Alcohol, the culprit, already courses through his veins and warms his body. After an intense Quidditch practice the emerald trio stayed behind on the field, mixing two things that are a recipe for disaster; drinking and flying.

Still, he saunters inside just fine with his usual manner of poise; hands shoved into the pockets of his robes, shoulders back, eyes forward.

The hall is lively with chatter and the feast has already begun, but that doesn't stop students from noticing his entrance, quite a few gawk at him. Thoughts are loud, stares are obvious, and whispers between friends fail to be discrete. With every head that turns his way, every murmur, Regulus only inwardly smirks. Gossip spreads quickly throughout this school, and it must've reached every students' ears by now.

Evelyn, Alecto, and Amycus already sit in their spot at the Slytherin table, a couple students down from them is Cerys Yaxley, who watches him with adoration, her chin resting upon her hand. He winks at her, she blushes and twiddles with her auburn hair. 

But there is one person he searches for, a particular blonde who is no doubt seated at the table ahead of his house.

When Freya Montgomery meets his gaze, the top corners of her lip quirk up into a small smile, and Regulus feels the faintest flutter of his heart skipping a beat. His mouth curves into a slight grin and he nods once in subtle acknowledgement. She does the same and then looks away, back to whatever Kingsley Shacklebolt rambles about. Regulus feels a tinge of jealousy, but he can't complain. At least she isn't avoiding him. 

"Have I ever lied to you?"

"That is actually all that you do."

Evan and Barty trail behind him, bickering over things he doesn't care enough about to intervene. What Regulus does care about, though, is the eyes that observe him from the stage ahead. Professor Montgomery, sandy hair pulled back into its usual bun, forms a benign smile toward him, and he returns one.

Regulus is surprised that things are starting to fall into his favour. 

A few more steps and the three boys join their friends, greeted by laughs of witty banter. Discreetly, Regulus slips a flask from his sleeve, and pours quite a substantial amount into a glass of pumpkin juice. Not an ideal cocktail, but taste is not what he wishes to accomplish. On his left, Evan stares at him expectantly, and he rolls his eyes before handing him the flask.

From the far end of the table, where the seventh years sit, Regulus can feel the glares pierce into him. He looks to Mulciber and Avery through a superlicious gaze. A sardonic smirk sweeps across his lips as he raises his glass to them, a sort of toast of mockery, then takes a sip. He doesn't have to read their minds to know they're both seething with hatred.

Regulus is fully aware of his arrogance, just not enough to change. Truthfully, he doesn't want to, and why should he? He knows he's better than most. Nobody in this castle has a thing on him, certainly not the two oafs that currently scowl at him. He's wealthy, he's attractive, he's powerful.

You're a drunk, a voice adds in the back of his mind, a terrorist, a monster.

Regulus takes a lengthy sip from his drink.

Amycus leans forward with a reproachful look, elbows resting upon the polished wood. "You shouldn't have done that, mate." 

Lazily, Regulus peeks over the rim of his glass. "No?"