ᴏᴍɴɪꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ✵ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ✵

𝐗𝐕𝐈

☾ ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ☽

»»-------≪ °❈° ≫-------««

Honey, jasmine petals, sweet vanilla.

Those are the scents that twirled together in the fumes and permeated through Regulus' nose from the Amortentia potion. No matter how desperately his brain tries to deny it, his heart knows that is the smell of Freya Montgomery. As soon as he held her in his arms as she cried, he could not repudiate the obvious, and it may have just been a moment for her, but Regulus expects it'll change every single one that follows for him.

That smile. Those eyes. That face.

Among so much pain that surrounds him, Freya brings an oasis to his desert. They seem to fall into each other so effortlessly, despite the fact they differ like the sun and moon, the eclipses of their time together show they share much in common as well.

It's strange how his heart can be lifted with euphoria, yet dragged back down with despair in the same beat. Regulus is very aware of the fact that he should stay away from Freya, spare her from the danger that will impose just by being close to him, from the inevitable heartbreak in the end. But he is selfish, and continues to spend time with her in the sanctuary of their room.

And today is yet another example of his selfishness. After Friday's classes, Regulus and Freya sit on the ground upon a blanket of soft blue wool near the fireplace, where flames of yellow and red ribbons intertwine to permit comfortable warmth.

On either side of the wizard's chess board between them, Regulus sits criss-crossed and Freya lays on her stomach with her elbows bent for support. Preston, her new pet, cuddles in the crook of her arm and hums softly. Regulus orders his bishop to move three spaces and it captures her king in a compromised position. Checkmate.

"You're so bad at this," Regulus erupts into stitches of laughter, "absolute garbage."

Freya sticks her tongue out as she pushes herself off the floor. When she slumps into the ornate chaise lounge, Preston tries to leap up to join her, but falls back. It is pathetic and adorable all at once. She bends over to scoop the thick ball of fur into her arms.

"Your hyper competitiveness is nauseating."

Regulus sits on the couch across from her, squaring an ankle over one knee. "If you want me to destroy you yet again in chess, just say the word. Perhaps fifth time's a charm."

"I don't want to play any more games with you for the rest of my life."

"Sore loser."

"It's not fair, you cheat," Freya accuses, though there is a twitch of a smile that peeks through her frown. "You read my mind to know my next move."

Regulus lifts his shoulder in a lazy half-shrug. "Your thoughts are loud."

"Stay out of my head."

"But I like it in there."

That earns a soft chuckle from her, and Regulus feels something warm pool in his stomach.

"Whatever," she says, "I'll get my redemption at the match tomorrow."

"Oh, really?"

"You bet your sweet ass."

"My arse is sweet, I must say," Regulus teases, but he knows she isn't as confident as her words claim. Folded hands in her lap pick at cuticles. There's a storm that brews in her mind, a turmoil of anxiety. "Sickle for your thoughts?"

Pursing her lips, Freya tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. "Honestly, I'm insanely nervous for tomorrow."

"What's the worst thing that can happen?" Regulus offers in support with a dismissive wave of his hand, "you fail?"