Chapter 9
Regulus hates his brother. He hates his stupid friends. He hates the overly complicated muggle games they like to play.
"Your turn, Reg." Sirius points out, rather unhelpfully. Because Regulus is well aware of that. He knows all eyes are on him as he stares at the deal of cards in his hands. His mind is blank, and his face is burning, almost as if he's got a fever.
When he glances up, he meets James' gaze. He arches one eyebrow and tilts his head. "Bad hand?" He asks. Regulus wants to strangle him. Because no, his cards are fine. What's not fine, on the other hand, is the feeling of James' socked foot slowly dragging down his calf.
"No." He mutters, chewing the inside of his cheek. He clears his throat and throws two cards onto the table, pulling a groan from Peter and Remus.
James hums approvingly, the pressure of his foot increasing slightly. Regulus leans back in his chair as Sirius plays his turn. He can't help but push back just a little. He doesn't need to look up at James to know a smug smile is tugging at the corners of the git's lips.
Regulus wants to hate James Potter, really, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to do so whole-heartedly...