Colère
“Mr. Black, a word.”
Regulus turned around, embarrassment flooding his cheeks as he nodded politely, “Yes, Professor.”
Professor Slughorn had always shown great interest in Regulus, in a way Regulus didn’t truly know how to handle. Slughorn seemed to find him exceptionally bright – always asking his thoughts or what he had to say. Regulus didn’t know why he loved that so much. That’s why it made him uncomfortable.
Slughorn motioned him forward with the wave of his hand, before using it to guide Regulus into the next hallway by simply grasping his shoulder. They were alone, then, and Regulus immediately realized this was about… it.
“I wanted to speak with you briefly about dorming arrangements for this year,” Slughorn cleared his throat, “there have been some changes I believe you need to be aware of.”
“Oh?” Regulus asked with curiosity, but mainly a fearful edge in his tone.
“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your former roommates have requested your relocation,” Slughorn now stopped walking, turning to face Regulus, “and we have complied. You have moved dormitories.”
“Okay,” Regulus nodded, holding everything in, “that’s fine.”
“I’m glad you’re alright,” Slughorn sighed, “I know this is uncomfortable. But perhaps it’s a change for the better, yes?”
“Yes,” Regulus tried to agree, “May I ask who I’ll be staying with?”
“Yes, of course,” Slughorn patted his shoulder, “I’m sure you’re familiar with Tarquin Clarke, the Slytherin beater?”
“I am,” Regulus spoke, dreadfully.
“Lovely. Tarquin, erm… why, I don’t remember the rest – I wasn’t exactly the one who handled the switch. But I assure you they’re fine gentlemen, and you’ve certainly met them, being that you’re in the same year, of course.”
“Right,” Regulus nodded, stiffly. He didn’t even notice Slughorn leading him towards the Slytherin portrait.
“That’ll be all then, Mr. Black,” Slughorn beamed, “your new room arrangement will be Room 913. I hope you find your way.” Regulus nodded along, just wishing the conversation would be over. “And, I look forward to seeing you in my classes this year.”
“So do I, professor.”
“Wonderful,” Slughorn then turned to the portrait, “pavarotti!”
The portrait door swung open, revealing the entrance to the Slytherin tower. “Goodnight, Professor,” Regulus said politely, already making his way inside.
“Goodnight, Mr. Black,” replied Slughorn as the portrait closed.
Tarquin fucking Clarke.
Tarquin certainly wasn’t Regulus’ favorite person in the world. Well, quite frankly, he’d annoyed the living daylights out of Regulus ever since he met him. He was brilliant in Quidditch, really, with an excellent understanding of his broom and the game itself. Regulus didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t stand him. He was confident, and brighter than most Slytherin, in the personality sense, and yet Regulus had avoided ever having a conversation with him. Well, he had once or twice. It wasn’t enjoyable.
Regulus made his way through the common room, keeping his head down as he passed by loads of familiar faces, all of which he prayed didn’t counter him for conversation. The emerald green tones and the cold towering walls surrounded him. He felt right, here. He felt good.
Once he evaded them, he quickly coursed up the stairway, running his hands along the walls as he did only the night before in his own home. The darkness seemed to capture him, as he searched door by door for Room 913. When he reached it, he was far beyond the common room. He didn’t like the idea of making that walk various times every single day.
Regulus sighed. He felt that sick feeling returning to his stomach, and he knocked on the door.
No response.
He knocked again.
Nothing.
“Hello?” Regulus asked, biting his lip nervously.
“Who is it?” A voice called.
“Regulus Black,” he answered, hating the sound of his own voice at that moment.
Suddenly, the door knob shook, and it opened to no other than Tarquin Clarke himself, looking rather large in the doorway and raising an eyebrow at him, “Come in.”
Regulus nodded, walking inside. He immediately recognized two of the other boys – Benjamin Watson and Mason Burton. The third, he didn’t recognize at all. They all sat comfortably in the space, on their own individual beds, either unpacking or fiddling with something as Benjamin was. Regulus immediately spotted his luggage at the foot of the bed furthest from the door, rather squashed up against the wall.
“Is that mine?” He asked them.
“Yeah,” Tarquin replied from behind him, closing the door, “figured that’d be obvious.”
Regulus felt a bubbling from inside him, but chose to say nothing, as he walked to the bed and sat down uncomfortably. He hated how silent they were, watching him. He didn’t know if he should introduce himself, or start conversation, or–
“So,” Benjamin began, “why’d you have to change rooms?”
Regulus didn’t even fathom that this question would be coming, “Well,” He bit his lip, unsure of what to say, “got into a fight with my roommates.”
“Really?” Mason asked with interest, his fiery red hair matching that eager look that suddenly appeared on his face, “who won?”
“I don’t know,” Regulus shrugged as he took his loafers off.
“Well, who was hurt the most?” Spoke the boy Regulus didn’t exactly recognize. But, he could recognize a glimmer of a French accent in his voice. That comforted him for some reason.
“I can’t remember,” Regulus got up shallowly and began to unpack.
The boy grunted, and then his new roommates re-engaged in conversation with each other. Regulus didn’t mind. He didn’t really have the desire to talk to them. He doubted they found him very interesting.
Regulus was so lost in his thoughts when he finally noticed that the boys had relocated, now standing by the window, leaning on the wall or onto one of the bedposts. He watched as the puffs of smoke flew past them, sparkling into the air and wafting towards Regulus. He watched, impatiently, wondering if they would invite him to join, or just let him sit there, outcasted.
And so he sat there, outcasted.
They remained smoking when Regulus climbed into bed, huffing to himself as he wrapped himself in his covers. He heard their laughter behind him as he felt a rush of anger so hot and white that he felt it would swallow him whole. He just wanted to go to sleep.
They didn’t acknowledge him. They didn’t quiet down. And somehow, some way, eventually, Regulus managed to fall asleep.
…
Regulus and his roommates stumbled into Potions class, somewhat ready for their last class of their first day. Regulus was exhausted, socially drained and overall in a nasty mood. He felt pathetic, really, feeling as if he’d trailed behind his new roommates all day, when really they just nearly had all the same classes.
He hated that.
He figured out the roommate he hadn’t known was Clement Aveline, who he had never once heard of before, but regardless, was glad to know the name of. He hated all of them just the same.
And yet, he found himself sitting beside Mason, as the group took their seats in the very last row of the room, which Regulus didn’t particularly like. He wanted to be up front, he wanted Professor Slughorn to know he cared. He wanted him to know that he knew all the answers.
Regulus knew they were sharing this class with the Gryffindors, which he wasn’t particularly excited about, but he did certainly feel surprise run through him when he noticed familiar auburn hair walk into the room.
“Shit,” He heard Mason mutter, “damn.”
“What?” Regulus asked, with genuine curiosity.
“Class with my sister,” Mason mumbled, “was hoping I could avoid her.”
“Your sister?” Regulus suddenly put two and two together, within the same last name and the identifiable striking hair colors they both shared. “Oh, Roxanne,” Regulus muttered.
“You know her?”
“Met her on the train,” Regulus shrugged, “she told me she was a sixth year.”
“She’s bonkers,” Mason shook his head, staring her down, “I do my best to ensure nobody knows I’m related to that psycho.”
Regulus didn’t really know how to feel. On one hand, he felt slightly protective of Roxanne, knowing it was unfair for her brother to speak about her that way. And, on the other hand, he was slightly thrilled that Mason was even talking to him.
So, he didn’t know how to feel.
“Good afternoon, class,” Regulus suddenly heard Slughorn’s booming voice speak, “it’s a pleasure to see you all – I hope you’ve had a wonderful summertime.” Regulus took out his parchment, fully noticing the look Mason gave him once he did so.
“What?” Regulus asked, insecurely.
“Nothing,” Mason smiled.
Regulus couldn’t shake it.
“I do hope, however,” Slughorn continued, placing his books on his desk and standing before the class, “that you have all kept up with your summer reading. Therefore, can anyone tell me the sister hair to a feline aquatus?” Slughorn smiled, pleasantly, “yes, Mr. Black.”
Regulus was proud to be noticed, since he had to raise his hand extra high to ensure Slughorn could see him. “A monarchius cryptid, Professor,” Regulus answered.
“Correct! Excellent, Regulus,” Slughorn nodded towards him, causing him to flush with pride.
He turned over, expecting to see the impressed faces of his roommates, but instead seeing them erupt with laughter. “What is it?” Regulus whispered sharply, “what is so funny?”
“You,” Benjamin laughed, “you’re fucking mental.”
“How am I mental?!”
“Nothing, Regulus,” Tarquin dismissed him with the wave of his hand.
“No, I want to know,” Regulus persisted, “what is so funny about me knowing the answer?”
“It’s your privileged arse acting like a fucking priss, that’s what,” Mason replied out of the blue, with the same cold center in his voice that Regulus used rather often, “you’re annoying, Regulus.”
Regulus stared at him blankly, as his roommates snickered, and he flushed, turning back to his parchment. He was red in the face, his hands searching for something to grip or to shake. He was angry. He was so, ridiculously angry, and he wanted revenge for it.
He didn’t raise his hand for the rest of that class period.
…
“Roxanne,” Regulus called, “Roxanne!”
Roxanne Burton had been exiting the classroom when Regulus tried to track her down, and she turned around, dismissing her friends and giving him her seemingly full attention.
“Yes?” She replied.
“Why’d you tell me you were a sixth year?” Regulus asked, plainly, “what was the point of that?”
Roxanne shrugged, “I don’t remember saying that.”
“Well, you did,” Regulus cut back, “so stay the fuck away from me.”
“Fine,” Roxanne didn’t show a twinge of unpleasantness on her face.
“Fine,” Regulus answered angrily, before pushing past her and forcing himself up the stairway. He didn’t know what he was angry at at that point, but he knew he hated Roxanne, and he hated her brother.
And he wanted to just go home.
…
Hours later, Regulus remained laying in bed, turned to his side and facing the wall. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep at all – his head was spinning, thoughts whirling as he tried to figure out what to do with himself.
“Regulus?” He heard, suddenly.
He opened his eyes, turning around and seeing Tarquin standing over his bed.
“What do you want?” Regulus snapped.
“Was just asking if you were coming to dinner.”
“I’m not.”
“Not hungry?” Tarquin asked.
“I don’t want to spend any time around any of you,” Regulus answered, honestly.
“Mmm,” Tarquin nodded, “well, you should know, we piss off and pick the shit out of each other. And you’re just gonna have to deal with it.”
“Fine.”
“So,” Tarquin looked towards the door, “will you stop being a fucking baby and just come to dinner?”
“Why would I?” Regulus tried to turn away again.
“Because I’m asking you to,” Tarquin looked at him then, “I’m asking you to come.”
Regulus took him in, then. He couldn’t decide what to say.
“So, come on.”
“Okay,” Regulus sighed, getting out of bed. He felt angry, still, and he couldn’t quite place why exactly Tarquin wanted him to join them for dinner. He didn’t know why he even cared.
Tarquin waited for him, patiently somehow, before the two departed from their dorm room and made their way to the Great Hall.
Regulus didn’t know how to feel.
…