The Darkest Hearts || REGULUS BLACK

Chapter Eight

 Regulus was sick of Potions.

As Professor Slughorn puffed on about Felix Felicis from the front of the classroom, Regulus let his eyes and his mind wander. Feigning attention would have been in his best interest, of course, to keep up his charade of a good little student trying to improve his grades, but along with his complete boredom in being taught a potion he already knew everything about was the irksome eyesore that at in front of him, Diana Fairchild.

Two weeks had passed since the incident with Nott in Charms, and the Hufflepuff hadn't spoken a word to him since he'd left her in the hospital wing. For some inexplicable reason, their last conversation had crawled beneath his skin and now sat there, lingering, like an extra layer he couldn't shake. He'd thought about approaching her several times in the days after, but every time he'd gotten close and seen the swath of bandages around her hand, he'd simply turned and walked in the opposite direction.

It was maddening. She was maddening, he decided. He hadn't been the one to blow a hole in her hand, but she was avoiding him like the whole thing had been his fault.

You know that's not why she's avoiding you, whispered a small voice at the back of his mind.

Piss off, he told it.

He clutched his quill tighter and glared at the witch's back. Her shoulders tensed like she knew she was being watched, but her hand—now bandage-free and completely healed, from what he could see—kept moving as she copied down notes. Her free hand reached up and scratched the back of her head, just under the messy knot she liked to use as a wand holster. He sneered. Such a ridiculous place to keep a wand. Didn't she know she could blast off her own head that way?

Staring at her back, Regulus realized that he was a lot more irritated than he initially thought. The slight of her, a Hufflepuff half-blood, blowing off him made his blood simmer. And that she'd even had the audacity to question him, to ask him if he was like Nott, if he would ever hurt her...

"Mr. Black? Mr. Black!"

Regulus's attention snapped back to the Potions professor looking at him questioningly from his desk. "Sir?"

Professor Slughorn tapped the blackboard behind him with his wand. "Since you seemed so invested in the lesson, I was asking if you knew of any antidote that could work to counteract the euphoric effects of Felix Felicis?"

"Not that I know of, no," he said flatly. "But a bezoar is always an option to offset the effects of any potion."

Professor Slughorn seemed surprised. Regulus seethed. "Oh. Right you are, Mr. Black. Five points to Slytherin." He grinned toothily beneath his ginger walrus-like mustache. "I'm glad to see that you've been improving under Miss Fairchild's tutelage."

In front of him, Diana stiffened. Regulus's grip on his quill tightened. They hadn't even shared a tutoring session together in almost three weeks. Slughorn had to have known that.

"Yes, sir," Regulus ground out. He glared at Diana's back. "My tutor is good with talking points over whenever it suits her."

"You're being modest, Black," Diana said without turning around, but Regulus could very well imagine the scowl on her face. "You're very good at listening and keeping quiet even when directly asked a question."

Regulus glared at her. Beside her, her friend Henrietta Brown looked back and forth between her and Regulus, her lips pursed. Regulus glared at her, too.