꧁ʙᴏʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴜʀᴘʟᴇ꧂

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 124

꧁✧✧✧꧂

𝕯ADA is a doddle.

Much in the same way Astronomy and Potions are for Regulus, his extensive education having been well underway the second his capacity to understand words and their meanings was recognised. Stars shine at the top of the sky, and the top is where he was expected to be, in both his cultivation and his supremacy. And he could be at the top, comfortably. But he couldn't be the lead.

Not unless strictly to be conformed to alphabetical ordering had anything to do with it.

Clandestinely, over his shoulder, he peers, forced to choke back full-throated, booming laughter at the sulkiness looming over the bunch of L's. No. It isn't a secret Romie isn't exactly jumping for joy about the situation, her wonted pecking order feeling terribly disrespected. The twist in her eyebrows could easily be mistaken for concentration on the last essay question, but Regulus knows better, he knows more.

He knows he should pray for hope that the examiner is able to wrap their head around the monstrosity that is her handwriting. He thought about slipping in a suggestion to simplify the letters, but decided against it, afraid of tampering with her exam-focused mind with besetting thoughts of Remus. Not a scrap of news about his whereabouts or more importantly, his wellbeing had reached them, Sirius promising to keep them posted yet at a dead end himself. Ostensibly, the prevalent keeper of secrets is Dumbledore.

Prevalent but not aggregate, Regulus thinks smugly to himself, tracing the familiar strip of silk keeping the flawless French braid running down the length of her left side from loosely unravelling. She had been averse to the aggravation of hair obstructing her view, Regulus was inclined to agree. Because my, oh my, what a view it is.

Breathtaking and rib-tickling and ever so rudely interrupted by the appreciable, rule reminding clearing of a throat right by his desk. Reluctantly, he pulls his unimpressed pale eyes forward to his own exam paper, jaw tensing at the sudden quake of the table when squat Professor Fingerling, like the clumsy fellow he is, trips into one of the legs.

A polite smile is imposed onto his face when the half elf apologises, dropping the instant he totters away to presumably bang into the next victim. Regulus can't feel an ounce of sympathy, not when it distracts the cheery invigilator from him and his breaking of the rules.

His visible surprise instantly morphed into delight when he finds Romie already staring back, lights up her sulky face and he suspects if she wasn't so set on being a temptress, a secret only they're keepers of would've blessed his eyes. No one knows of those soul-uplifting, knee-weakening upside down smiles, no one apart from them. And that's how it'll stay. They're his, from the first one won amid Three Broomstick chatter and Winnie the Pooh natter, Regulus knew they were his. She was his.

And he's hers, melting and winking and catching the sneaky kiss she blows his way. Pandora's gentle humming steals her heed, shedding light on the watchful approach of the professor once again. Fortunately, time is called before Regulus loses the will to live, the rush of magically collected exam papers nearly knocking Fingerling clean off his feet. Excuses. Chances are he'd have lost his balance with or without them.