The Unspeakable Sort ||English version||

Chapter two: Awareness

2
||Regulus||

The sun had risen in a livid dawn. A few fearless pale rays had filtered through the thick fog, which timidly kissed Regulus's face, slipping into the steepest curves of his face.They pinched his eyelashes, spitefully, causing his eyelids to open, lumps of sleep still between them.

He had woken up in a slow breath and dressed quietly, his hair pushed behind his ears.

The morning had dragged on in a tired torpor, an inertia that seemed to echo in the ancient walls of Hogwarts. The soft lights of the candles had accompanied him during the breakfast spent with Evan and Barty and also in the first hours of lessons, which had taken place in the History of Magic classroom. Regulus had listened in unsteady yawns, barely scribbling something in his notebook in an evanescent concentration.

After that he had headed to Transfiguration and, except for the use of a few spells, his attitude had not changed much. The lighting in the room was colder, detached because of the disinterested magic of the wizard who had produced it. The light in the Great Hall had always been softer, perhaps due to its role. It was intended that it should be more hospitable precisely because that was the task of the room, to welcome.

The last lesson had been Potions and Regulus had been feverishly happy to be able to spend those last minutes in total disinterest, since it had never been necessary for him to pay attention during those hours. So, he had sat down on the chair and spent the hour watching the morning fog become less and less disruptive to his sight, slowly thinning out.

When he left the classroom, heading for lunch, the sky was clear and the air crisp. He ate the lamb with some roast potatoes and after a brief greeting, he disappeared from his fellow Slytherins, heading for the third floor, where the library was located.

At this time of day, it would have been rather unusual to find a large number of students there. The sun was still high in the sky and despite it being mid-October, the grass was thick and green, bent by the intermittent puffs of the wind. Many had, in all likelihood, carved out a moment of quiet from their busy routine to go out for a walk or to read a book under the shade of an oak tree. The more athletic, however, were undoubtedly heading for the Quidditch pitch, determined to make the most of the warm hours of sunshine, before a blanket of cold would fall and autumn would come an end.

Precisely for this reason, Regulus was not surprised to find the narrow corridors, guarded by Madam Irma Pince, mostly empty.

He sat down in a corner that looked out onto a large opaque glass window and, rays of sunlight kissing his raven hair, he retrieved the Arithmancy book from the bottom of his briefcase. It was particularly large and when he placed it onto the table a cloud of dust rose into the air. Regulus sulkily cleaned the blue cover with the sleeve of his tunic, opening it a moment later. The acrid smell of ink made him wrinkle his nose, his fingers caressing the pages.

He opened the page of exercises assigned to him the day before, huffing, the quill gripped firmly between thumb and forefinger. About half an hour passed before, with furrowed eyebrows and a sulky expression, he decided to close the matter and devote himself to something that he was at least capable of deciphering.

He opted for potions. The translucent black cover hurt his irises for a fraction of a moment, the corners of his lips curling downward.

Then he began to jot down some answers to the questions in the left corner of his notebook, not caring that he could have simply turned the page. He bent his wrist in listless curves, the words scribbled with a negligence that clashed with the usual elegance of his hand.

When Pandora Lovegood interrupted him, touching his shoulder in an attentive caress, the sun was already setting. Beyond the clouds, suspended in the air in snowy curls, confident rays of light cut through the air, shades of orange and thick red. A little further away, the sky wore the colors of sugar paper, dressing the horizon with a determination that made you hold your breath. The endless expanse of meadows shone like a pool of emeralds, reflecting the light in a vivid and pulsating green. It was a bold sunset, the kind that makes your pupils itch, but that at the same time you can't help but look at.