Everything went wrong when Easton Greengrass was sorted into Slytherin.
Easton wasn't ambitious. Easton wasn't cunning. Easton lacked any sense of self-preservation in every meaning there was (she came close to killing herself during Potions on nume...
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The Common Room was perfectly quiet when Easton ever so slyly snuck inside after her "tryst" with Sirius. "Tryst" was too romantic a word for it, however. Easton would rather describe what'd transpired between them as "an evening of drunken and absolutely unnecessary confessions". Unnecessary as they were, Easton did feel lighter after bleeding her heart out to the guy she'd had a crush on for what seemed like forever. That wasn't embarrassing at all.
Easton was happy to discover that everyone had long gone to the Great Hall to stuff their bellies with food and gossip about what had happened in the morning. She'd much rather they did it behind her back than to her face, which would inevitably draw Evan's attention.
She wondered if he was even alive. It would certainly be deliciously ironic if her incompetence as a witch — one of the many things Evan made fun of relentlessly — had killed him. The malicious thought brought an equally wicked smile to her lips.
"Had fun?"
Easton almost tripped, "For fuck's sake, Regulus!" she gasped, hand clutched to her chest in horror. The Slytherin prince was lounged in his favourite chair by the fireplace, hidden in the shadows, "Do you just sit in the dark waiting for people? Is that a Death Eater thing or something?"
He sent her a bored glare. How he managed those, she'd never know, "You're lucky everyone's in the Great Hall."
"And why is that?" Easton sneered.
"You have become...a persona non grata in our House's midst as of late."
"Have become?" she snorted, "Where have I ever been grata anything in our House, Regulus?"
Regulus didn't grace the remark with an answer. Easton knew better than to expect any reaction, so she just strolled up to him and plumped into the chair beside him — it had somewhat become her designated place.
"So," Easton let out a heavy sigh, "Evan's pissed, I take it."
The fires crackled in the fireplace, the sound almost lulling against the pleasant quiet. She rarely ever found the Common Room cozy — it was situated in the dungeons of all places — but every time it was just her and Regulus, sitting together unbound by the need to keep mindless chatter, she felt at home.
"You could...certainly say that." Regulus replied at last.
Easton really tried to not ask this question. Unfortunately, she didn't posses the required amount of self-restraint, "Is he dead?"
She instantly cringed from the carelessness of her own words, "Ah, I'm sorry, never mind, I suppose I'm still a little tipsy. I know he's not dead, it would've been too good to be true. Evan Rosier will outlive us all."
Regulus, by now quite used to Easton's tendency to blabber, hadn't made an attempt to interrupt. It was as if he'd tuned out, the sound of her voice too squeaky and annoying for his patrician sensibilities, and then rejoined the conversation as if nothing'd happened, "He got you inebriated?" Regulus asked, his voice laced with a silent rage. It seemed to be the only part of her little speech that'd drawn his attention.
