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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When the first snow arrived in Scotland's High-land that early dawn, Regulus was already wide-awake. He watched the snowfall from the mosaic-paneled glass on his bedside window and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before he made his way out of bed. As he reached for a pair of woolen socks, he noticed that the fireplace was lit, the tangerine flames was devouring the bark and twigs, splitting through chunks of firewood. The house-elves had ignited the fireplace for him, and he made a mental note to thank them if he met one later.
He realized by now that his body had gotten used to waking up this early. Although, he was an early bird out of circumstance, really. Unlike the quietness in Head-Boy's room, the Slytherin's male dormitory knew no peaceful morning. Sometimes it was Nott's piercing snore, other times it would be Rosier's moaning guest or pranks that the Flints brothers pulled. But it wasn't always bad, one of those days, Regulus found himself waking up next to a brunette.
She would rest her head on his extended arm, their body entangled beneath emerald sheet, and her breath was calm and deep, brushing gently against his chest. He would freeze as if a cat was lying on his lap, even if every nerve on his arm were on pins and needles he would remain as still as stones. He'd lean closer, just enough to shield her from the sun rays that filtered through the window and fell on her head. He'd wait for her to wake up as if she was the first blossoms after a long winter.
And he did watch her unfurled like one. There was a sliver of freshness that rest on her face when she had just awoken. Her lips plump, melon-pink and her cheeks seared rosy in the golden hues of the sun. She squirmed, dragging her polished skin against the silken sheet. Her azure eyes twinkled, bright as if she was only alive by then.
"Good morning," Regulus would tell her and he wouldn't realize that he was smiling until she pointed it out.
She would put a finger in front of his lips and ducked her head to his chest, mumbling sleepily, "Five more minutes."
And he remembered he'd laugh like he never did before.
Regulus drew his lips into a line when he felt his heart pinched. It felt as if something had cut him in a single motion, swift enough to lose the vision of the attack until the damage was done and blood rippled out of his skin. It was memory.
He struggled with the rusty hinge before swinging the window open. The air that rushed past his face was pine-fresh and chilling, it spooked the hair on his nape. Thin steam left his mouth and he stretched an arm out, bare and bone-dry against the winter breeze.
