𝙘𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨-𝙧.𝙖.𝙗

𝟬𝟵-𝗸𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗻𝘀

THE TROPHIES ARE POLISHED TO PERFECTION UNDER JO'S FINGERS, shining so bright and clear she can see her reflection in it, warped and distorted in the gold. She's on her knees, wiping away any imperfections and smudging away dirt to reveal the names of long forgotten students. The heavy trophy she has in her lap is dated all the way back to eighteen-ninety, dedicated to a few Ravenclaw Chasers. Jo's sure her brother's name is somewhere among them, and even more sure that hers is not.

People stare as they walk by, harsh whispers of her name as they drift in and out of the library. She hears everything they say about her, each word tight in her chest, twisting and sharp. Heard she nearly killed him.... only two weeks detention?...broke both of his knees....said she tried to use an Unforgivable....do you think it's true? Jo just turns her head, jaw locked and snickers when they turn their heads down, shuffling away with big, panicked eyes and blushes. It seems to Jo that no one else is looking to get knee work done.

Jo doesn't mind her detentions, not that much. Of course, there are things she'd rather be doing, but they get her out of a lot. They take precedent over Quidditch, so instead of flying in the dark, frigid air, being ignored and dismissed and isolated, Jo can sit on her own, repetitive motions of polishing putting her mind at ease. She does, however, mind the way people speak about her, spreading lies and venom and latching onto whatever vile Reed's rambling on about. Breaking his knees only seemed to affirm his lies, and though Jo can't seem to make herself feel an ounce of regret, she's tired of hearing about her life from other people, or at least, a twisted and perverted version of it.

The rotten egg smell of the polish lingers in Jo's nose; after hours she's still not used to it, choking back gags and grimaces as she rubs and polishes and buffs. Jo bites down on the inside of her cheek, swallows thickly, pushes the trophy away from her for a fresh gulp of air. Two more weeks, she thinks. Just two more weeks.

The corridor's empty now. Jo shifts on the ground, thinking that dinner must be well under way while she sits there on the cold ground, and fingers frozen as they work. Jo hates the cold. She hates it. It's all she can think of as she stares at her warped reflection, the corridor and portraits and everything else blurred, out of focus.

"I think you missed a spot there."

It is once again Regulus's voice that has snapped her out of her stupor, forcing her back into reality with rapid blinks and a sense of dizziness, ripping her from her thoughts, from her haze. He's leaned up against the wall beside the trophy case, looking down at her, wry smile and black robes and everything that she would expect of him. Jo snickers. "Aren't you supposed to be at dinner?" she asks, standing with the trophy in her hand. Her joints creak and crack as she stretches them out, but she is unnerved by the thought of being on her knees while he stands above her. She hasn't figured out where she stands with him.

"Aren't you?" Regulus quirks, eyebrow raising along with the inflection of his voice.

Jo shrugs. "I prefer trophy polishing to the storytelling," she tells him, placing the trophy back on the display, haphazardly and with a loud slam back on the case, for emphasis.

"Are you sure? They're getting quite creative," Regulus tells her, hands in his pocket, looking like he is examining the space between them. Regulus speaks to her in a tone that she wouldn't expect from him, different from the first time she confronted him, light and smooth, an airy tone, gentle and soothing. He is not harsh or spitting or blunt or brash or anything like Sirius. "Did you know you might go to Azkaban?"

Jo sighs, "Might as well start preparing for life on the inside then."

Regulus gives that nothing but a light chuckle. His hands are deep in the pockets of his robes, tip of his shoe tapping against the wall, slow and rhythmic. He looks down when he says, "You should still eat something. Would you like me to walk you to the Great Hall?"