❝In which the girl who feels too much gets close to the boy who wants to feel nothing.❞
━━If one would ask Regulus Black to give his opinion on Alera Abbot, he would unhesitatingly tell you that she was a walking hazard to society.
But in his defenc...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
18th November, 1978 ~ Saturday
----------------> REGULUS GROANED AS CONSCIOUSNESS DAWNED ON HIM. His head hurt badly, and he felt as if he had just taken a bludger to the head.
"That's because you have, Mr Black," the matron of the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey spoke, making him realise that he had said those words out loud, rather than in the safety of his mind. Himself and the healer were well-acquainted with each other, especially considering how many times he had landed there thanks to her.
Madame Pomfrey handed him a potion, and he wordlessly took it from her and drank it all up without cross-checking the contents. His father would be so disappointed if he saw Regulus right now.
"What do you remember last, Mr Black?" Madame Pomfrey asked, waving her wand over him and muttering diagnostic charms under her breath.
Regulus racked his brain, a tornado of images bombarded him with a speed of lightning, too quickly for him to comprehend or make sense of them. "I think... Quidditch?" He guessed, thoughts slowly becoming clearer. "I had a match today. Against Hufflepuff."
Madame Pomfrey nodded. "Yes, and you were doing quite well, also. You were just about to catch the snitch when a bludger knocked you straight in the head, off your broom and onto the ground."
Regulus winced at Madame Pomfrey's blunt description but he couldn't help but ask, "Did we win?"
Madame Pomfrey nodded, taking the empty potion beaker in her hand and replacing it with another one for him to drink. "Fortunately or unfortunately, the blunder had come from the same direction as the snitch, which makes me question how you didn't see it, probably too focused on that golden ball. But anyway, the snitch was knocked right into your mouth while the bludger hit your head. So yes, Mr Black, Slytherin did win the Quidditch Match."
A burst of euphoria chorused through Regulus as his lips curled into a victorious smile. He couldn't enjoy the feeling, however, as a shot of pain returned to his head, making him clutch it.
"Drink the potion, Mr Black, it's for curing headaches." Madame Pomfrey reminded him.
Regulus' nose scrunched up in disgust at the green-brown colour of the potion but felt his headache was much worse and so, gulped it down. The pain reduced slowly and the fog that partially blinded his thoughts became clearer.
He looked to the small stand beside his bed which was overflowing with best wishes and congratulatory presents, making him smile at the thoughtfulness of his house-mates. But among the valley of green and silver, there was a single note of the colour purple with a handful of chocolate cauldrons (his favourite sweet specifically because it contained firewhiskey), immediately making him realise who exactly had sent that note.
And sure enough, when he opened it, a short and rather badly written poem in an admittedly neat handwriting was the first thing he saw.
I'm sorry I hit your head with a bludger,
And I really hope you soon get better.
I'm offering your favourite sweets in return for peace,
Good luck with the upcoming potions test, I hope it's a breeze.
Regulus scowled as he read the note, not even bothering to read the name of the person who had signed it at the bottom. He already knew it. It was Alera Abbott, just like it always was.
She was the bane of existence simply because he was sure she was trying to get rid of it.
Regulus didn't know what was it he had done to offend her so much that she had attempted murder on him so many times, but he wanted her to stop. The worst part of it all was that hardly did anybody believe his words, simply waving away all his honest accusations.
Alera had put up such an innocent facade, managing to fool even the brightest minds (except him, of course) and it didn't help that she was an empath, a person who could feel and if they wished to do so, control the emotions of others.
After all, how could sweet, Hufflepuff Alera who gave chocolates to anybody who was having a bad day, was polite to everybody she met, had impeccable manners and was kind enough to even make Mr Argus Flinch return her smile, ever be rude? Let alone, attempt murder?
Regulus scowled as he remembered the blank looks and tones of disbelief he had been rewarded with in reply to his allegations. He was not creating conspiracy theories nor did he have a personal grudge against her nor was he making false claims. Alera Abbott was out to kill him and he knew it.
It all started in the summer of 1966. He was just a few weeks away from turning five, and his mother had seen fit to arrange a playdate with her best friend, Demetria Abbott nee Avery's daughter, Alera. The playdate began well enough, he supposed. Alera didn't force him to play princesses and tea parties with her like Primrose Parkinson nor did she attempt to put make-up on him or dress him up like Evangeline Rosier.
Alera and himself had chosen to play puzzles and building blocks. The puzzles part of it went smoothly, but things went south when Alera tried to carry too many blocks with her, hugging the lot tightly to her chest.
Unfortunately for him, soon after she began walking near him to lay down the blocks, she tripped on a stray puzzle piece and slipped, the blocks that she had been so carefully carrying flying up in the air and landing straight on to a wide-eyed Regulus' face, piling upon him.
Alera had been perfectly fine and had gotten away without so much as a scratch. Regulus, however, had to be rushed to Saint Mungo's for a concussion and to this date, he still had a very thin, barely visible white line towards the temple of his forehead to prove the childhood trauma he had received from the incident.
His mother didn't believe him when he said that Alera did it on purpose and that she was trying to kill him, simply waving off his concerns about the threat to his life. Similarly, his father had just flashed him an amused look and told him that he was overreacting just a little bit while his brother had laughed.
Okay, he might have been slightly hysterical back then, but he wasn't kidding about it now.
Alera Abbott was out to kill him, he was sure of it. She would -quite literally- be the death of him.
