The Marauders: Year Six Part 2 #Wattys2017

Uncultured Swine

Regulus Black was sitting in the Great Hall, at the furthest end of the Slytherin bench as he could go, keeping entirely focused on his meal, trying very hard not to be noticed by his friends (or so Barty and the others called themselves). He felt uneasy, though he could not fully explain why, and was not eager to join in on their conversation about whether one of the upperyear students had really successfully brewed himself Felix Felicius for the match on Ravenclaw. He didn't much feel like being the only one of the fourth years not speaking of it with admiration.

Horace Slughorn came into the room, tugging his silver vest nervously. He looked over the Slytherin table, eyeing its occupants, and started toward it, his eyes meeting Regulus's.

Bloody hell, Regulus thought, feeling quite annoyed, not another Slug Club thing, I hope. I ought to have gone and pretended to morally approve of cheating.

Slughorn's countenance was dim. He arrived at Regulus's side and rocked to and from the balls of his feet nervously, "My boy, might I have a word with you?"

Regulus summoned his patience. "Yes sir?"

"Come with me, my boy." Slughorn turned and Regulus glanced fleetingly back at Barty Crouch and the others, but they were paying no attenti0n to Regulus, even as he abandoned dinner and trudged after Slughorn. Regulus was surprised, however, when Slughorn continued past the door to the Gryffindor table. Regulus halted at the corner of Ravenclaw, stunned and afraid to approach Gryffindor. Several of the students at the end of the table sneered at him from their seats.

"Mr. Pettigrew!" Slughorn's voice carried to where Regulus stood, waiting. "Have you seen Sirius Black?"

Peter, who had looked up the moment someone had said his name, shook his head. If he was surprised to see Horace Slughorn at the Gryffindor table, looking for Sirius, he did not show it. Rather, it seemed almost as though Peter might've been expecting Slughorn, though that was utterly ridiculous, thought Regulus, and he pushed the thought from his mind, even as Slugorn thanked Peter and walked, in his heavy gait, back to where Regulus stood, waiting.

"Come along, Regulus," Slughorn said, and he led the way out of the Great Hall.

For a fleeting second at the door, Regulus glanced back to see Peter Pettigrew staring after him, eyes wide, before he stepped into the entrance hall. Slughorn led him down the stairs to his office. "Have a seat, have a seat," Slughorn instructed Regulus. He went to his little brass cart of bottles and poured himself a glass of oak mead, preferring to do it by hand than magic in the name of putting off the moment a moment or two more.

Regulus sat in one of the tufty chairs by the fire, under the watchful eyes of hundreds of student photographs that littered Slughorn's mantel. He stared up and watched as the past members of the Slug Club smiled and nodded and waved from their various frames. 

"Care for anything to drink, my boy?" came Slughorn's voice.

"No, thank you, sir," Regulus replied.

Slughorn sighed and pushed the stopper in the mead he'd been pouring, and turned around, carrying his glass in his thick fingers, and shuffled over. He groaned as he lowered himself into the chair opposite Regulus and took a long sip of his mead before putting the glass on the side table.

Reguuls stared at him, hoping very much that he hadn't been plucked from the Great Hall to simply keep Slughorn company, as though they were friends that chatted over tea, like Maryrose and any one of the other females from Hufflepuff, braiding one another's hair and eating low-fat Cauldron Cakes.

Old Sluggy's probably never eaten anything low-fat in his entire life, Regulus thought meanly.

"Regulus, I am sorry that it must be I who tells you what has happened, but as your Head of House, the duty does fall upon me," Slughorn began, his jaw quavering slightly, and he stared apologetically at Regulus.