SEQUEL OF GYMNOPÉDIE
The war is inevitable. Wizards, witches, pick a side, pick your ruins. Because in the eye of war, brothers shared no blood though came from the same marrow, families strayed and abandoned, heart ostracized from mind, and you mi...
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A black bird perched curiously on the yew tree that sunless noon, its wings stretched as it cawed. Below, wizards and witches, clad in black, gathered around the tomb of Alphard Black, coiling their arms as grief singed the air. Among them, Regulus Arcturus Black stood, squinting at the sky. His cold gaze studied the bird, searching for a flaw. When the funeral ended, the bird fled. And he was upset that he saw nothing wrong with the bird.
It was supposed to be a gloomy day, and yet between the humid London air that summer, Walburga Black managed to raise her wand and scorched the spot of skull that belonged to Alphard Black with fury. Her vexation was projected all over the house, rankled by the fact that Sirius Black had inherited every bit of Alphard Black's galleons.
"This is what will happen if you cross the line, Regulus." She warned, eyeing the dark flame that scorched his uncle's skull in the tapestry.
She shuddered, keeping her eyes on Sirius' scorched spot. "If you help someone who's covered in mud you would stain your palms. Those who helped people who crossed us will be just as filthy." she said curtly, "Therefore, your uncle is a traitor."
Regulus tried to look away but the trace of flames managed to linger in the corner of his eyes. He hated this room. He would rather lock the room and never opened it if he were to inherit Grimmauld Place. There had been too many things happening in the said room, too many shouts and fury, embossed to its walls and his memories.
Nevertheless, this room and every star rooted in these walls were his—his family's, and no matter how gore or repellent it looked, it belonged to him still.
Regulus was a Black, and he had always been proud of being a part of the family that he replied. "Of course, mother."
"Good." She cooed as she raised her hand to raise her son's jaw. "You always make me proud, Regulus." Her lips pulled into a smirk. "Now, if you could just fix your taste in woman . . . preferably not as naive or ill-mannered as your previous little friend. That would be perfect."
Fix? She said, Regulus thought out loud, What is there to fix? She was the only person who ever cared about me.
His eyes were bloodshot when he stared at her. His jaw clenched, there was a yell, booming inside his head that he wished he could muffle with his fist. It was an instinct, some sort of muscle reflex, to draw his anger and launched it like he did to Avery's eye in his fifth year.
