Once upon a Midnight Dreary - Regulus Black

Chapter 2

"ℌey, look. Isn't that the Mudblood you like?" Rosier nudged me in the side to get my attention. "And there's Black's brother and Potter, too."

I raised my head, keeping my features composed. Master of myself though I was, I couldn't stop my hands from trembling; I clenched my fists and thrust them deep down in my pockets.

I saw Jiao at the opposite end of the bookstore, her messy black hair in a half-bun on top of her head. She hid her petite figure inside an oversized white shirt that nearly reached her knees and hung on her like a sack. It was impossible to tell whether she was wearing any shorts underneath, her skinny legs on display. Her four-eyed boyfriend stood behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder as he hugged her close. They were certainly a very unlikely couple; I never would have expected the two of them to ever end up together, considering Potter's nearly three year-long obsession with Lily Evans.

Reggie's arsehole of a brother was loitering around them too, a look of pride and arrogance playing across his chiseled features. I noticed some girls giggling and whispering behind his back, furiously blushing when he graced them with a brief glance and a wink. I never got the fuss about him; he was without doubt an attractive bloke, but not nearly as breathtakingly gorgeous as Regulus was. His handsome face must have been his only positive quality, everything else about him was irksome.

I had come to hate him with a burning passion over the years; he had let down Regulus way too many times in the past. Even now, he was having all the fun in the world hanging out with his friends while Regulus was at home, enduring another afternoon tea party his mother had arranged. Only his cousins and the Lestranges were invited, which left me to spend the day with Rosier, Parkinson and Bulstrode instead.

"Who even likes Mudbloods?" Parkinson chimed in, his squeaky voice wearing my nerves ragged and thin. "They are all despicable."

"Nott apparently does. He's used to getting himself dirty playing with filth. Isn't that right?" Rosier grinned at me merrily.

I smiled back at him just as gleefully, but I was already picturing him and his friends as rotting pile of meat on the floor after I beat them severely. I was going to do just that when the time was right. For now, I pretended indifference and picked up a book on Merlin's notable achievements.

"I like very many things. Why would Mudbloods be an exception?" I turned over the pages, seemingly absorbed in thought. Yet, the letters seemed to have ran together and I couldn't make out much of the words; even the illustrations blurred.

"Well, I wouldn't touch them with a barge pole," Parkinson huffed and puffed.

"Lucky you don't need to touch them, then."

Only Bulstrode kept quiet, too busy to find a Syria travel guide. That was the main reason we had come to Diagon Alley in the first place. We could have stayed at home, too, and it would have been a better use of time than being here and waiting for Bulstrode to finish shopping for his upcoming trip.

"You shouldn't, either," Rosier commented. He leaned against one of the shelves, his clumsy elbow almost knocking a tower of gastronomy books to the ground. He quickly stood upright and crossed his arms over his chest instead, attempting to play it cool. "The Dark Lord wouldn't be happy if he knew about your alliance with her and those blood-traitors."

"Yes, that's right! We heard from your father that you were soon going to join his ranks," Parkinson quipped, nodding his head so rapidly that even his double chin shook. It was a rather nasty sight, one that would be fixed on my retina for a long time. "I forgot to say congratulations."

"Congratulations for what?" I counterquestioned, repelled by the fanatic look in both his and Rosier's eyes.

They made it seem as if I just hit the jackpot by becoming one of the Dark Lord's personal assassins-slash-bootlickers. To them, it truly must have been the greatest degree of glory to serve a maniacal pure-blood supremacist dictator. To me, this was just another disaster in the long series of calamities that ever happened to me. Not that it mattered all that much; I was already used to life continually beating me down.