songsaboutroses:
rcgulusblk | location: dervish and banges | date: morning, wednesday, january 18th
“How fortunate you are, Regulus.” Lucius utters, dry in tone as he flips the parchment in hand. The quick notes of the Order’s latest secretary were about all he could rely on, to keep tabs of the Order’s latestly plans. He peers up from the parchment, staring directly at the pop of pink that enters Narcissa’s storefront. “Were you still outside Hogwarts, the Death Eaters would arrest you on that embarrassment of hair alone.” It’s as warm a joke as one can get from Lucius, and it’s uttered with a quick smirk and an even quicker look of reverence. Unlike the Malfoy’s, the Black’s were a prosperous family. And by marrying into it, Lucius never lacked in accompaniment when he could make it to Hogwarts.
“Any news worth mentioning? Frantic notes only gets one so far - and Draco seems sorely tired of my reading.” The scraggly haired, stark-eyed boy gurgles in the bassinet beside him. Huh. Looks like he was right.
–
Bookstores are supposed to be safe places, Regulus always thought. They were quiet and tucked nicely away from the rest of the world. But nowhere was safe from Lucius Malfoys snarking. He had learned that a long time ago. Regulus is rolling his eyes before he can stop himself, though thankfully he doesn’t feel any sense of embarrassment. It was his life. He was reclaiming it.
“Call it my teenage rebellion, just five years late.” He drawls, slow and unaffected, though resisting the urge to run a hand over his much shorter hair. He had always worn it long before. Now he could do whatever he wanted to it.
Regulus is distracted, anyway, because there’s a baby. Tiny little Draco in his tiny little bassinet. Regulus has never loved something so quickly as he loved Draco. But he took one look at that childs face and thought: oh, so this is the kind of thing we’re all fighting for. It was a possessive kind of love, but that was what the Blacks were best at. And Regulus had vowed that he would never let anything bad happen to Draco. He’s crouched down now, running a finger over the pudgy little baby cheek, and cooing out his words. “Everyone is tired of your fathers voice, little dragon. Because he loves to hear himself talk and talk and talk, isn’t that right? Yes it is. Oh, yes. No one can blame you for not listening to a word he says.”
He straightens up a little, giving Lucius a bland look, a stark contrast to the way he spoke to Draco. “Dumbledore has me working on the... locket thing. With Potter, unfortunately. So if you get any more clues to pass on to him about... other similar artefacts, he would greatly appreciate it.”
