ᴏᴍɴɪꜱᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ✵ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ✵

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐕

☾ ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜꜱ ☽

»»-------≪ °❈° ≫-------««

"Mother... FUCKER!"

Regulus jerks upright from his deep slumber and is hit with immediate regret. A clammy hand flinches to support his cranium that throbs so violently his vision blurs. He swings his legs out from the sheets that tangle about them, and sits on the edge of the bed with his head bowed, messy curls draping his face. Inhales through his nose, exhales out his mouth, and repeats.

Once the dizziness abates, he scans his surroundings. Surprisingly, there isn't a body next to him in bed, nor anywhere else in the bedroom. But that yell is one he knows far too well by now; Barty Crouch Jr. has just woken up somewhere in the home. He'll kill him, but first, breakfast.

With a shameless whine, Regulus reaches over to the nightstand, his fingers lazily searching through the dim light until they feel cold silver. He bangs the cigarette tin against his palm before pulling a smoke out with his teeth, and it wobbles between his lips as he shoves his legs through a pair of trousers.

Out on the landing, Regulus can hear echoes of clanking silverware and muffled laughter from downstairs. His one hand glides with the polished bannister as it bends while the other snaps to ignite the end of his cigarette. The first harsh inhale never fails to conquer his brain and cause a headrush.

He pushes open the kitchen door with a foot to find his two best friends seated at the long table. Evan hunches over a bowl of cereal, mouth full when he looks up and says an inarticulate hello. Barty leans back on his rear chair legs and grins with his annoying godlike immunity to hangovers. Clearly his shout of anger from waking up has subsided.

"Good morning, sunshine," Barty chirps.

"Piss off," Regulus grunts, reaching up to knuckle at his eyes as he shudders through a yawn. He draws more smoke into his lungs, and exhales before he adds, "What the fuck are you two doing here?"

"Last night was a total drama blackout, huh?" Evan points a spoon at him, ignoring the bits of milk that fly out. "I knew you were done for after the dragonbomb shots."

Barty tips his head back as though to laugh at the ceiling. "We had to carry you home from Evelyn's party, mate."

"Oh." Regulus heaves a heavy sigh and sits. He plants his elbow on the table, reaching up to swipe his hand over his face, dragging it back and forth over his hair. Every morning is like a difficult puzzle and he's sick of the missing pieces. A drying out session is long overdue, but Regulus doesn't want to think about that now. He peeks over at Evan's bowl, where cornflakes and cubes of ice float in the milk. "Is that ice in your cereal?"

"Don worr bout it," Evan says through his chewing.

Barty scrunches his nose in disgust. "There's a special place in Hell for you."

"Awh," Evan croons, dropping the spoon to theatrically place a hand over his heart, "that's so thoughtful."

They both lock eyes and laugh — good, hearty bellows that almost makes Regulus smile, but he catches a glimpse of mottled grey-brown wings at the window. With a brisk wave of his hand, the cigarette disappears, and he rushes over to the owl that lets out a series of low hoots. Talons drop a familiar unopened gift, and Regulus' heart sinks.

The owl sticks out a leg, beady dark and soulful eyes stare at him expectantly, and Regulus realises there's a velvet pouch. Despite his confusion, he unwraps it, and large rounded wings open before taking flight. Regulus lingers there for a beat, then retreats to his friends at the table where he loosens the tiny drawstrings.